Not a muscle of the Marquis de Montboron's face moved, and when the day
of the review arrived, he was at his post on the staff that followed the
General, who sat as upright as a dart in the saddle, and looked at the
crowd to see whether he could not recognize some old or new female friend
there, while his horse pranced and plunged.

He rode onto the review ground, amidst the increasing noise of applause,
with a smile upon his lips, when, suddenly, at the moment that he
galloped up into the large square, formed by the troops drawn up in a
line, the band of the fifty-third regiment struck up a quick march, and,
as if obeying a preconcerted signal, the jennet began to turn round, and
to accelerate its speed, in spite of the furious tugs at the bridle which
the rider gave.

The horse performed beautifully, followed the rhythm of the music, and
appeared to be acting under some invisible impulse, and the General had
such a comical look on his face, he looked so disconcerted, rolled his
eyes, and seemed to be the prey to such terrible exasperation, that he
might have been taken for some character in a pantomime, while his staff
followed him, without being able to comprehend this fresh fancy of his.

The soldiers presented arms, the music did not stop, though the
instrumentalists were much astonished at this interminable ride.

The General at last became out of breath, and could scarcely keep in the
saddle, and the women, in the crowded ranks of the spectators, gave
prolonged, nervous laughs, which made the old _roué's_ ears tingle with
excitement.