The theatres went on as usual within the walls.  The Journal des Debats stated every day that the pretenders were taken; the Chambers sat—­such as remained—­and talked immensely about honor, dignity, and the glorious revolution of July; and the King, as his power was now pretty nigh absolute over them, thought this a good opportunity to bring in a bill for doubling his children’s allowances all round.

Meanwhile the Duke of Nemours proceeded on his march; and as there was nothing left within fifty miles of Paris wherewith to support his famished troops, it may be imagined that he was forced to ransack the next fifty miles in order to maintain them.  He did so.  But the troops were not such as they should have been, considering the enemy with whom they had to engage.

The fact is, that most of the Duke’s army consisted of the National Guard; who, in a fit of enthusiasm, and at the cry of “La patrie en danger” having been induced to volunteer, had been eagerly accepted by his Majesty, anxious to lessen as much as possible the number of food-consumers in his beleaguered capital.  It is said even that he selected the most gormandizing battalions of the civic force to send forth against the enemy:  viz, the grocers, the rich bankers, the lawyers, &c.  Their parting with their families was very affecting.  They would have been very willing to recall their offer of marching, but companies of stern veterans closing round them, marched them to the city gates, which were closed upon them; and thus perforce they were compelled to move on.  As long as he had a bottle of brandy and a couple of sausages in his holsters, the General of the National Guard, Odillon Barrot, talked with tremendous courage.  Such was the power of his eloquence over the troops, that, could he have come up with the enemy while his victuals lasted, the issue of the combat might have been very different.  But in the course of the first day’s march he finished both the sausages and the brandy, and became quite uneasy, silent, and crest-fallen.

It was on the fair plains of Touraine, by the banks of silver Loire, that the armies sat down before each other, and the battle was to take place which had such an effect upon the fortunes of France.  ’Twas a brisk day of March:  the practised valor of Nemours showed him at once what use to make of the army under his orders, and having enfiladed his National Guard battalions, and placed his artillery in echelons, he formed his cavalry into hollow squares on the right and left of his line, flinging out a cloud of howitzers to fall back upon the main column.  His veteran infantry he formed behind his National Guard—­politely hinting to Odillon Barrot, who wished to retire under pretence of being exceedingly unwell, that the regular troops would bayonet the National Guard if they gave way an inch:  on which their General, turning very pale, demurely went back to his post.  His men were dreadfully discouraged; they had slept on the ground all night; they regretted their homes and their comfortable nightcaps in the Rue St. Honore:  they had luckily fallen in with a flock of sheep and a drove of oxen at Tours the day before; but what were these, compared to the delicacies of Chevet’s or three courses at Vefour’s?  They mournfully cooked their steaks and cutlets on their ramrods, and passed a most wretched night.