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.
Gay, thoughtless, and animated by the imperturbable confidence of a child, they were marching along, arm in arm, singing patriotic songs.
On horseback, in the centre of the band, M.Lacheneur felt his hair turning white with anguish.
Would not this delay ruin everything?
What would the others, who were waiting at the Croix d'Arcy, think! What were they doing at this very moment?
"Onward! onward!" he repeated.
Maurice, Chanlouineau, Jean, Marie-Anne, and about twenty of the old soldiers of the Empire, understood and shared Lacheneur's despair.

They knew the terrible danger they were incurring, and they, too, repeated: "Faster! Let us march faster!" Vain exhortation! It pleased these people to go slowly.
Suddenly the entire band stopped.