In the morning he hastens to the post-office, then to the colonel's house to obtain the order of the day; then he rushes back to the barracks in company with the messenger.
He then hastily sorts the letters, making a separate pile for each squadron; these he gives to the sergeants, who give them to the corporals on duty for the week, who distribute them among the soldiers.
But the hour for the report arrives; he hastens after it; then he starts off again. The report must be submitted to the superior officers. The lieutenant-colonel is waiting for it; the major is waiting for it, so the vaguemestre hurries away. On returning, he must stop to see a captain who has sent for him; besides, the colonel has intrusted him with a letter to be delivered to a lieutenant who lives at the very end of the town. What a nuisance! He rushes to the place, but does not find the lieutenant. The letter is important; the lieutenant must be at the _café_--lieutenants are always at the _café_--at least, when they are not at breakfast. The vaguemestre visits the _café_, no lieutenant; at last, he finds him at his boarding-house and delivers the letter.
He heaves a mighty sigh of relief. Now he can breakfast; he hurries on with all the fleetness of which his tired limbs are capable; hunger lends him wings. He reaches the barracks. Alas! the adjutant-major who has just left the table, stops him in the passage; he has a few suggestions to make--adjutant-majors always have suggestions to make.
At last he breakfasts in turn; he is the last of all. But it is useless to describe the experience of the entire day.
The vaguemestre is gifted with an extraordinary memory. Every week, when he distributes the money received by the soldiers, he knows the exact condition of each man's account; he must know if those who are entitled to money are in disgrace or ill. Every week the sergeant on duty in each squadron must furnish him with a report embodying this information; but it would take too much time to consult these documents. He prefers to remember.
So, Sunday morning the trumpeter sounds the vaguemestre's call, that is to say, executes a sort of flourish that signifies:
"All who have received money-orders through the post must come and find the vaguemestre if they desire what is due them."