inhabitants. Thirteen-year-old lad as I was, I had to receive the
officers of the National Guard--very military indeed they were, with
their uniform with its white facings, copied from that of the Imperial
Guard. And these receptions and official entertainments, which were not
at all to my personal taste, were repeated all along the road till we
got to Toulon, marked by increasing animation and fervour as we got
farther south, and as the population through which we passed became more
and more divided by political passions. At Valence I found an enormous
crowd of people, and the garrison and National Guard both under arms,
while a tall lieutenant-colonel, of the 49th Regiment of the Line,
insisted on my inspecting the troops in person.

He took my hand with one of his, with the other he waved his sword, and
led the plaudits. His name was Magnan, and he was a Marshal of France
before he died. At Mornas, the native place of the famous Baron des
Adrets, the reception took a very original shape. As we drove up to the
posting-house, I saw a great crowd, and the National Guard drawn up in
two ranks, on the right and left of the postilions who were to take us
on. The carriage pulled up between the ranks, and I fancied I saw a sort
of suppressed smile on the countenances of the National Guard. It did
not last long, for the commandant in the wildest excitement rapidly gave
the words of command: "Present arms--Fire!" And they were followed by
the most abominable noise, every man having presented arms with his
finger on the trigger of his musket. The crowd cheered tremendously, the
horses plunged and reared, and there was a terrible disturbance, which
seemed to afford the keenest joy to the officer in command. There was
nothing very striking at Orange, nor at Avignon. Speeches by the
authorities, visits to the public buildings, very much the same routine
as that which official receptions have nowadays made so familiar to
everybody. But at Orgon, between Avignon and Aix, it was a very