The affairs of the house had prospered under the father’s control, but he was something of a blade and a roisterer, and his wife’s existence with him was not one of unmixed happiness; the consequence of which was that the lady, when she became a widow, not caring to see a repetition by the son of the performances of the father, made haste to find a wife for him in the person of a simple-minded and exceedingly devout young woman, and subsequently kept him tied to her apron string until he had attained the mature age of fifty and over.  But no one in this transitory world can tell what time has in store for him; when the devout young person’s time came to leave this life Delaherche, who had known none of the joys of youth, fell head over ears in love with a young widow of Charleville, pretty Madame Maginot, who had been the subject of some gossip in her day, and in the autumn preceding the events recorded in this history had married her, in spite of all his mother’s prayers and tears.  It is proper to add that Sedan, which is very straitlaced in its notions of propriety, has always been inclined to frown on Charleville, the city of laughter and levity.  And then again the marriage would never have been effected but for the fact that Gilberte’s uncle was Colonel de Vineuil, who it was supposed would soon be made a general.  This relationship and the idea that he had married into army circles was to the cloth manufacturer a source of great delight.

That morning Delaherche, when he learned that the army was to pass through Mouzon, had invited Weiss, his accountant, to accompany him on that carriage ride of which we have heard Father Fouchard speak to Maurice.  Tall and stout, with a florid complexion, prominent nose and thick lips, he was of a cheerful, sanguine temperament and had all the French bourgeois’ boyish love for a handsome display of troops.  Having ascertained from the apothecary at Mouzon that the Emperor was at Baybel, a farm in the vicinity, he had driven up there; had seen the monarch, and even had been near speaking to him, an adventure of such thrilling interest that he had talked of it incessantly ever since his return.  But what a terrible return that had been, over roads choked with the panic-stricken fugitives from Beaumont! twenty times their cabriolet was near being overturned into the ditch.  Obstacle after obstacle they had encountered, and it was night before the two men reached home.  The element of the tragic and unforeseen there was in the whole business, that army that Delaherche had driven out to pass in review and which had brought him home with it, whether he would or no, in the mad gallop of its retreat, made him repeat again and again during their long drive: 

“I supposed it was moving on Verdun and would have given anything rather than miss seeing it.  Ah well!  I have seen it now, and I am afraid we shall see more of it in Sedan than we desire.”