he dark and quiet
streets, I bethought myself that this young man, take him all in all,
was the best recruit we had yet got. And so I told Count Saxe that
very night.

There were unlooked-for vexatious delays about starting. We had
thought to leave at any hour, when I spoke to Gaston Cheverny, but my
master was summoned to Versailles, and there was much parleying about
nothing; for after all, it came to what we could do in Courland of
ourselves.

Cardinal Fleury must see Count Saxe, that the rights of the Church be
guarded. The king must talk with him about the rights of the ex-King
of Poland, his father-in-law. It was all very futile. Every one of us
knew that Peggy Kirkpatrick told the truth when she said we were
going upon a marauding expedition after the crown of Courland; but the
Russians were bent on the same errand, as were the Holsteiners and the
Hessians, and it was a case of every man for himself, and the devil
take the hindmost. I knew Count Saxe could beat them all to rags, and
he could probably govern Courland as well as any of the other
buccaneers after the crown. But I own from the beginning, I thought
Count Saxe's genius lay in war, not in peace. This thought gave me
great content, for if we succeeded, it was well--if we failed, it was
well. War is the game of the gods, as Count Saxe had said, and in that
he had not then a peer.

It was on the morning of the last day of May, 1726, that we left
Paris. It was a golden morning. The river ran silver, the fountains
played gold in the sun, the heavens were a cloudless blue. I was in
command of the battalion of Uhlans, and we made a gallant show, in our
scarlet dolmans, our lances, with their scarlet pennons, catching the
sun like points of fire. Gaston Cheverny rode with Count Saxe as
aide-de-camp. He looked pale, but sat his horse firmly. We wore,
according to the custom on opening a campaign, a little sprig of
laurel in our helmets, but Gaston Cheverny wore also a deep red rose.
As for Count Saxe, I will not speak of him, except to say that he
looked like Mars himself.

Great crowds lined the streets, and we were very heartily cheered.
Many persons of distinction were out, notably old Marshal de Noailles,
who, as I said before, always called my master "My Saxe." The marshal
rode with us, his white hair floating over his shoulders. Numerous
coaches were at the Port Royal, where we crossed the river. Among
them was the coach of Mademoiselle Lecouvreur. S