Le 13e Hussards, types, profils, esquisses et croquis militaires... á pied et á cheval
Le 13e Hussards, types, profils, esquisses et croquis militaires... á pied et á cheval by Emile Gaboriau
Le 13e Hussards, types, profils, esquisses et croquis militaires... á pied et á cheval by Emile Gaboriau
-Mille millions de tonnerres! s'écria le hussard Gédéon Flambert, j'y vois clair à la fin. Moi qui m'étais engagé pour servir glorieusement ma patrie, je suis tout simplement entré au service d'un cheval-de mon cheval.
Encore, ai-je bien le droit de l'appeler mon cheval, et n'est-ce pas lui, qui, à plus juste titre, pourrait dire: mon cavalier?
Le hussard Gédéon, de garde d'écurie ce soir-là était alors à demi couché sur une botte de paille. Pour la première fois, depuis cinq mois qu'il était soldat, il trouvait un instant pour réfléchir.
-Oui, continua-t-il, tout pour mon cheval, impossible de sortir de là. C'est, ma parole d'honneur, à en être jaloux. Je lui appartiens comme l'ombre au corps, ma vie est à lui, il l'absorbe, il la dévore. Car enfin, à quoi se passent mes jours, qu'ai-je fait aujourd'hui?
Ce matin, à cinq heures, bien avant le jour, j'ai été éveillé par les éclats enragés des trompettes.-Premier déjeuner et toilette de mon cheval.
Nouveau coup de trompette à six heures; pansage.-Cinq quarts d'heure durant j'ai étrillé, brossé, bouchonné, épongé, peigné mon cheval.
A neuf heures, promenade de mon cheval.
A midi, autre repas de mon cheval.
A deux heures, second pansage de mon cheval, nouveaux soins, autre repas.
A sept heures enfin, souper de mon cheval.
Et encore et toujours mon cheval! Pour lui on a remis en vigueur le cérémonial décrété par Caligula à l'usage de celui dont il fit un consul.
Cependant mon cheval est en bonne santé. Que serait-ce, grand Dieu! s'il était au régime. Je tremble à la seule pensée qu'il peut tomber malade et qu'alors je deviendrais son infirmier.
Mes journées ne lui suffisent pas, il lui faut mes nuits. Ainsi, à cette heure, lorsque je serais si aise de reposer dans mon lit, je suis ici de garde d'écurie, c'est-à-dire que je vais passer la nuit à veiller sur le sommeil de mon cheval, et du cheval de mon brigadier, et des chevaux de tous mes camarades...
-Garde d'écurie! cria une voix formidable, garde d'écurie!
D'un bond, Gédéon fut sur pied et en présence du brigadier de semaine qui faisait une ronde.
-Je présuppose que vous dormiez, dit sévèrement le brigadier; vous aurez le plaisir de me faire celui de deux jours de consigne.
-Brigadier, je vous assure...
-Silence dans le rrrang ou je réitère. Que je sais que les chevaux ils se plaignent que vos ronflements ils les empêchent de dormir.
Il n'y avait rien à répondre. Le brigadier s'éloigna en amortissant le bruit de ses pas, afin de surprendre quelque autre délinquant.
-évidemment, se dit Gédéon, je suis dans mon tort. Je songerai une autre fois à ne plus réfléchir, mieux vaut dormir maintenant et tacher de mériter ma punition. Mais pourquoi diable me suis-je engagé! Pourquoi ai-je été précisément choisir la cavalerie?
Pourquoi?
This early work by Émile Gaboriau was originally published in the late 19th century and we are now republishing it with a brand new introduction.
«Les gens de bureau» est un récit plaisant et en même temps une une très bonne satyre de l'administration du XIX siècle. Ici vous pouvez trouver les parallèles à faire avec l'actuelle ou reconnaître quelques collègues dans les descriptions des fonctionnaires. Avec le portrait d'un jeune homme, Romain Caldas, Gaboriau réalise le portrait de différents types d'employés et de leurs misères. Est-ce que le travail dans l'administration publique a bien changé?
Dans la nuit du 22 au 23 juin 1871, vers une heure, le faubourg de Paris, qui est le principal et le plus populeux faubourg de la jolie ville de Sauveterre, fut mis en émoi par le galop frénétique d'un cheval sonnant sur les pavés pointus.
After a one-night stand with a stranger, Roselyn woke up to find only a bank card without a PIN number. Still in a daze, she was detained on charges of theft. Just as the handcuffs were about to close, the mysterious man reappeared, holding her pregnancy report. "You're pregnant with my child," he said coldly. Shocked, Roselyn was whisked away in a helicopter to the presidential palace, where she learned the truth: the man from that night was none other than the country's most powerful and influential leader!
After a blackout one-night stand, Celine discovers she's pregnant by a stranger she knows nothing about. Three years later, Hunter Reid returns to town. He's cold, ruthless, and obsessed with perfection. When their paths cross, Hunter finds Celine's kindness and naivety infuriating-but he can't ignore the pull he feels toward her, no matter how much he tries to deny it. Celine, confused by his hatred, does her best to steer clear of him, but fate keeps throwing them together. As secrets unbox, she's faced with a choice: risk her heart for a man whose icy gaze hides dangerous truths, or walk away to protect her child's future. Can Celine break through Hunter's walls, or will his past shatter their chance at happiness?
I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.
Clara had to die once to see who truly surrounded her-traitors and opportunists everywhere. After her rebirth, she swore to make her enemies pay. Her fiancé mocked, "You think you deserve me?" She punched him and ended the engagement. Her stepsister played innocent, but Clara shut her down with a cold retort. "Stop pretending! I'm tired of your little act!" They called her a loser, but Clara didn't bother defending herself. Instead, she revealed her real power: superstar, racing champion, and secret mogul. When her masks fell, chaos erupted. Her ex begged, and the crime lord claimed her, but Clara had already conquered them all.
Narine never expected to survive. Not after what was done to her body, mind, and soul. But fate had other plans. Rescued by Supreme Alpha Sargis, the kingdom's most feared ruler, she finds herself under the protection of a man she doesn't know... and a bond she doesn't understand. Sargis is no stranger to sacrifice. Ruthless, ambitious, and loyal to the sacred matebond, he's spent years searching for the soul fate promised him, never imagining she would come to him broken, on the brink of death, and afraid of her own shadow. He never meant to fall for her... but he does. Hard and fast. And he'll burn the world before letting anyone hurt her again. What begins in silence between two fractured souls slowly grows into something intimate and real. But healing is never linear. With the court whispering, the past clawing at their heels, and the future hanging by a thread, their bond is tested again and again. Because falling in love is one thing. Surviving it? That's a war of its own. Narine must decide, can she survive being loved by a man who burns like fire, when all she's ever known is how not to feel? Will she shrink for the sake of peace, or rise as Queen for the sake of his soul? For readers who believe even the most fractured souls can be whole again, and that true love doesn't save you. It stands beside you while you save yourself.
The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."
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