"Blessed Jesus!" interrupted Aunt Medea, in alarm.

"It must be a wedding," added the coachman, whipping up his horses.

It was not a wedding, but Lacheneur's little band, which had been
augmented to the number of about five hundred. Lacheneur should have
been at the Croix d'Arcy two hours before. But he had shared the fate of
most popular chiefs. When an impetus had been given to the movement he
was no longer master of it.

Baron d'Escorval had made him lose twenty minutes; he was delayed four
times as long in Sairmeuse. When he reached that village, a little
behind time, he found the peasants scattered through the wine-shops,
drinking to the success of the enterprise.

To tear them from their merry-making was a long and difficult task.

And to crown all, when they were finally induced to resume their line of
march, it was impossible to persuade them to extinguish the pine knots
which they had lighted to serve as torches.

Prayers and threats were alike unavailing. "They wished to see their
way," they said.

Poor deluded creatures! They had not the slightest conception of the
difficulties and the perils of the enterprise they had undertaken.

They were going to capture a fortified city, defended by a numerous
garrison, as if they were bound on a pleasure jaunt.