This call is so well understood that the soldiers respond promptly, and without hesitation, whereupon colloquies of this kind ensue:
THE VAGUEMESTRE. Private Demanet, you have received twelve francs.
PRIVATE DEMANET. Yes, lieutenant Vaguemestre. Private Demanet, your outfit is not yet paid for; you are credited with only eleven francs, which is a deplorable state of things. You must devote your twelve francs to this purpose.
PRIVATE DEMARET. I entreat you, lieutenant--Vaguemestre. Well, then, here are a hundred sous. I will keep back only seven francs. Make out a receipt.
VAGUEMESTRE. Private Castagnol, you have received fifty francs.
PRIVATE CASTAGNOL. Yes, lieutenant Vaguemestre. Your parents seem to have more money than they know what to do with.
PRIVATE CASTAGNOL. Lieutenant, my family--
VAGUEMESTRE. Ah! I remember, you are a volunteer. Very well, you may go.
VAGUEMESTRE. You have eight days in the guard-house to make. Next Sunday, if you are not punished in the meantime, you shall have your money.
PRIVATE CASTAGNOL (_turning angrily away_). I shall tell my friends to send bank-notes next time.
The vaguemestre being usually an adjutant, the soldiers address him as lieutenant.
Many have talked of the zouave: few know him.
Everybody has seen him lazily squatting at the gates of the Tuileries, like a granite sphinx on the threshold of the Assyrian palaces. He is on guard. He performs his duty with a profoundly melancholy air, smoking his pipe with feverish impatience, or, rather, watching with feverish impatience all the while he is smoking his pipe, some ray of our Parisian sunlight, which seems like moonlight when compared with that fierce African sunshine, which pours down upon the head like molten lead.
A scrap of green or white calico, twisted around a red fez; a blue jacket, trimmed with red or yellow braid, and which leaves the throat entirely bare; full scarlet trousers, cut in the Oriental fashion; white gaiters buttoning above the ankle; this is his costume.
Short, spare, compactly built and muscular, with broad shoulders, square fists, closely shaven head, keen eyes, a mocking smile, and a bold and decided bearing--such is the zouave, the best soldier in the world for bold ventures, skirmishes with outposts, impossible ambuscades, and rapid marches.