THE CONSUL'S SENTENCE
"'Tis an old maxim in the schools,
That flattery's the food of fools;
Yet now and then your man of wit
Will condescend to take a bit."
"I wonder what her cousin will say about it? He is her next of kin,
and I suppose will have some authority."
"You mean the young Duc d'Enghien? He is in Baden, you know, and not
in a position to say anything. He is still émigré, and likely to
remain so; for the First Consul distrusts all Bourbon princes."
"Yes; but he might use his authority with his royal cousin, even at a
distance. I had always thought he and the Comte d'Artois had other
plans for the comtesse--that she was to strengthen their house by an
alliance with one of the royal houses of Europe."
"Without doubt that was their plan, but the other side of the house
got ahead of them. It is to prevent just such an alliance, I believe,
that the wily old duchesse is planning this marriage with the
chevalier. He is too far down in the royal ranks to be a dangerous
_parti_."
"Have her estates been restored, do you know?"
"I am not sure, but I think not. I have heard that Bonaparte is making
this marriage a condition. He, too, wants to prevent anything that
will strengthen the power of the Bourbons."
"Oh, then the marriage is assured, and the duchesse has accomplished
her purpose. I am sorry. I wish the comtesse had remained a little
longer in America."
"I am not quite so sure about it. It seems the comtesse herself is
making difficulties. Perhaps, now that she has discovered her true
rank, she does not consider the chevalier sufficiently noble."
"It will make no difference what she thinks or feels, poor child; with
the duchesse and the First Consul both against her, she is as helpless
as a bird in the snares of the fowler."
I was one of the group where this conversation took place, and so,
though I had no part in it, I could not be considered an eavesdropper
(for I had sworn that, rather than listen again to what was not
intended for my hearing, I would go about with my ears stuffed with
wax and be deaf to the whole world). No name had been mentioned, yet I
knew well it was of the Comtesse de Baloit they were speaking, and
every word pierced my soul like a knife.
A stir at the upper end of the grand salon put a stop to the
conversation. Every voice was hushed, and all eyes were turned to
where Madame Bonaparte and the First Consul were making a grand entry.
They were followed by a throng of ladies and gentlemen in attendance,
and the scene could not have been more magnificent had they been king
and queen holding royal court, with lords and ladies in waiting.
I had eyes at first for no one but Madame Bonaparte (since coming to
live at the Tuileries she was no longer called Citizeness Bonaparte),
whom I had not yet seen, this being my first levee, and of whom I had
heard almost as much as of the First Consul. I had heard that she was
not faultlessly beautiful, but of great charm, and I could see at once
that this was true. I do not know why she was not perfectly
beautiful--perhaps her features were a little heavy, her nose a little
long, her cheek-bones a little high, which just prevented her face
from being faultless; but her eyes were large and lustrous and beaming
with kindness, and her hair was soft and dark and abundant and
gathered under a Grecian _filet_ in rich waves and curls, and her skin
was of that creamy whiteness so often seen in creoles, and which sets
off so well dark hair and eyes. I have never seen more beautiful neck
and shoulders and arms; they looked to me more like some of those
beautiful figures in marble in the Louvre Museum, that Bonaparte
brought back with him from Italy, than like real flesh and blood.
She was dressed all in white, and my aunt whispered to me that the
First Consul liked her best in white, and that it was said when Madame
Bonaparte (who was herself fond of more gorgeous costumes) appeared in
white, it was a sign either that she was jealous of her husband and
was trying to win back his straying affections, or that she wanted
some special favor granted. Very likely this was only idle court
gossip, but it might easily be true, for I could hardly think her so
nearly beautiful in any other dress as in that softly falling white,
with high girdle of gold, richly jeweled, and her dark waves of hair
caught in a golden net under the Grecian filet.
The First Consul was very magnificent also; I think he likes dress as
well as his wife. When I had looked well at these two, I had leisure
to look at their retinue; and I looked first at the gentlemen, many of
whom were wearing the brilliant uniforms of army officers. To my
chagrin, my eyes fell almost instantly upon the Chevalier Le Moyne,
wearing the very gorgeous uniform of aide to General Bonaparte. As I
looked at him his eye caught mine, and I saw him start, turn pale, and
then color violently. In a moment he forced a quick smile to his lips
(to his teeth, I had almost said, for there was always something
wolfish to me in his smile), and then he bowed. I returned his bow
very coldly, and his presence there suggesting to me that I might
possibly find Pelagie among the court ladies (for so 'tis the fashion
to call them in jest), I turned to look for her. Yes, she was there,
and, like Madame Bonaparte, all in white. Only Pelagie's white was
filmy and lacy, and fuller and more flowing than madame's, with jewels
shining in its folds and in her waving hair. And whereas Madame
Bonaparte made me think of a Greek goddess, Pelagie reminded me of one
of Mr. Shakspere's fairies, sparkling, graceful, exquisite.
She did not seem to see me, and I could gaze at her no longer, for the
First Consul was already moving about from group to group of the
assembled guests, saying a few words to each, and he was just
approaching our party. He greeted my aunt and uncle and those standing
with us, whom he knew, very affably; then he turned his quick glance
on me, and my uncle presented me.
"Ah," he said, "I was not mistaken. I thought you were from America
when I saw you in church on Easter morning"; and, turning to my uncle,
he added:
"We do not grow such great fair men in France, Citizen Minister."
"No," said my uncle, quickly; "we have small dark great men in France,
Citizen First Consul."
Bonaparte laughed, pleased both with the play on words and my uncle's
compliment, and turned quickly to the next group before I had time to
stammer out how flattered I felt at his remembering me.
The next group happened to be the English ambassador, Lord Whitworth,
and his friends. The Consul had been very affable with us, and I had
discovered that his smile was of rare sweetness and gave great beauty
to his face. But as he turned to Lord Whitworth the smile vanished and
his brows were drawn together in a dark frown. Without the slightest
word of greeting, he spoke to him abruptly and harshly:
"I find your nation wants war again."
Lord Whitworth bowed low, and a dull red slowly spread over his face
as he answered:
"No, sir; we are very desirous of peace."
"You have just finished a war of fifteen years," said Bonaparte again,
in the most offensive of tones, almost a sneer.
The ambassador bit his lip in his effort at self-control, but he
answered with great suavity:
"It is true, sir; and that was fifteen years too long."
"But you want another war of fifteen years," insisted Bonaparte, his
tones every moment harsher and louder, so that every one in that part
of the salon could not help but hear. All conversation ceased, and
every one listened with strained and painful attention. Lord Whitworth
quietly reiterated:
"Pardon me, sir; we are very desirous of peace."
Then, in a tone that rang out like the harsh clang of crossing swords,
Bonaparte cried:
"I must either have Malta or war!"
A shock ran through the whole assembly. No man dared look at his
neighbor. This was nothing less than a declaration of war, and in the
most insulting manner. Whether the proud representative of the
haughtiest nation on the globe would receive such a rude insult to
himself and his country calmly was very doubtful, and we all awaited
Lord Whitworth's reply in trembling silence. With compressed lips and
eyes that flashed in spite of himself, but with a calmness in marked
contrast to Bonaparte's petulance, he replied:
"I am not prepared, sir, to speak on that subject; and I can only
assure you, Citizen First Consul, that we wish for peace."
Bonaparte's frown grew darker, but he said no more; and with a curt
nod, and almost a sneer on his lips, he withdrew at once into a small
cabinet opening into the salon, leaving the rest of his guests without
addressing a word to them, which I was told afterward was very
unusual with him, and showed that his irritation must be very great.
An embarrassed silence followed the First Consul's exit. I had been
looking forward to this levee for weeks, but it promised to be a very
uncomfortable occasion for me as well as for others. I had a great
desire to speak to the British ambassador and assure him of my
sympathy, for none of the Frenchmen so much as dared to look at him,
now that he was in disgrace, lest it be reported to the Consul, and
they themselves fall under suspicion. But I feared it would be
presumption in one so young and unknown, and I dreaded meeting the
haughty British stare with which an Englishman petrifies one he
considers unduly forward. Much to my relief, and indeed to the relief
of the whole company, my uncle turned to him and began at once to talk
in a most animated manner of the doings in the American Congress. That
the relief was general was evident, for conversation was at once
resumed, and with a gaiety that was somewhat feverish, I thought.
It was our turn now to pay our respects to Madame Bonaparte. I had
been eager to meet her until I discovered the presence of Pelagie; but
now it had suddenly become a trying ordeal to walk forward and salute
madame, and perhaps stand talking to her a few moments, conscious that
Pelagie's eyes, if they cared to, might be watching every movement.
Should I be awkward (as I feared I would under such a scrutiny), I was
sure there would be the old mocking light in them I had so often seen,
and dreaded to see, in St. Louis. I resolved not to glance at her
once while I was going through my ordeal, lest she should prove my
undoing; and I tried to think only of the charming woman who smiled
bewitchingly when I made gallant speeches, and who tapped me with her
fan in much the same playful fashion as Mistress Madison had tapped me
with her jeweled snuff-box. Indeed, she reminded me much of the lovely
Washington lady. Both had the same kind way of putting an awkward lad
at his ease, and seeming to like him and be pleased with his speeches,
especially if they savored a little of audacity. But Madame Bonaparte
had not the dash and sparkle of Mistress Madison; instead, she had a
lazy Southern fashion of speech and a wonderfully winning gentleness
that I am not sure was not more charming than the gay brilliancy of
the other.
She kept me talking to her longer than I had expected (or hoped for),
and I began to see significant glances exchanged, while my color was
steadily rising; and I was sure mademoiselle (if she looked at me at
all), noting my shining curls, as yellow as the gold lace on my white
satin court-dress, and my cheeks flaming like any girl's, was saying
to herself with infinite scorn, "Pretty boy!"
I think Madame Bonaparte saw the significant glances also, for she
said presently:
"You must meet the Comtesse de Baloit. She has just returned from your
America, and you will have much in common to talk about."
And so I found myself bowing low over Pelagie's hand, and a moment
later looking straight down into her lovely dark eyes, which looked
straight up at mine with no hint of scorn in their shadowy depths, but
only a great wonder, and a little of something else that set my pulses
to beating like trip-hammers.
"I cannot understand, Monsieur," she said. "I shall have to ask you,
as you asked me in Washington--how did you get here?"
"It was a lodestar drew me," I murmured.
But the warm light in her eyes changed quickly to proud disdain.
"I like not idle gallantries between old friends. Keep those for
Madame Bonaparte. I saw they pleased her greatly, and that you were
much flattered by their reception."
Could the Comtesse de Baloit be jealous? or was it the haughty
Faubourg St. Germain scorning the parvenue of the Tuileries? I hoped
it was the first, but in either case it behooved me to make quick
_amende_.
"Forgive me, Comtesse," I said, as coldly as she had spoken, but in
English, and so low that I hoped no listener could understand even if
he knew the tongue. "It was true, but you could not know how true, and
I have no right to tell you. I know well how great a distance lies
between the proud Lady of France and a simple American gentleman.
Permit me to inform you, Comtesse, that I have been in Paris for more
than a month with my uncle, Monsieur Barbé Marbois. And permit me to
add, as a simple fact in which you may be interested or not, that this
is the moment for which I have lived through that month--the moment
when I should meet again the Comtesse de Baloit."
It had ever been the way with the little Pelagie in America to meet
her hauteur with hauteur, but I was not sure it would work here, and I
trembled inwardly while I spoke so calmly. But it did. Her lids
dropped for a moment, and a soft color stole up to her temples. When
she lifted her eyes again, there was a sweet, shy light in them.
"Monsieur," she said softly, in her pretty English, "why do you call
me Comtesse? Have you forgotten?"
"Is it still to be Mademoiselle?" I cried eagerly, and had hard work
not to pick her up in my arms and run away with her, so adorable was
she in her sweet friendliness.
"Mademoiselle always, unless it is--" But then she broke off suddenly
and turned a rosy red, and added quickly, with something of her old
sauciness: "Never Comtesse, unless I am very, _very_ naughty."
My heart told me what she had meant to say, and I whispered proudly:
"Unless it is some day--Pelagie"; and I know my eyes told her all the
rest I did not dare to say, for she looked away from me quickly, and
I, glancing up, met a black scowl on the face of the chevalier, who, I
knew, must have been watching this little by-play, though he could not
have heard a word, such was the buzz and clatter of conversation about
us. His face cleared instantly, and he stepped quickly forward with a
forced smile and an extended hand.
"Permit me to greet an old friend," he said gaily. "When did you
arrive in Paris?"
It would have been well for me if I could have swallowed my pride
sufficiently to take his proffered hand; but it seemed to me the hand
of a scoundrel and a dastard, and I could not bring myself to touch
it. I pretended not to see it, and I hoped the chevalier and those who
were looking on might be deceived into thinking I did not, as I
answered politely enough:
"The Chevalier Le Moyne is very kind to welcome me so cordially to
Paris."
And then, with a sudden recollection of our last encounter, and hoping
to throw him off the track, I added:
"I have been in Paris but a short time; this is my first visit to the
Tuileries."
But I had not deceived him. The black scowl returned quickly at my
rejection of his proffered hand, and stretching himself to his full
height, so as to be as near my ear as possible, he said between his
teeth:
"It may be your first visit to the Tuileries, Monsieur; but, if I
mistake not, you have been at St. Cloud before. If I had known you
were in Paris I would have been at no loss to account for the
mysterious horse and his rider. I suppose you have brought that
accursed mare with you?"
I may have turned pale, for I saw black ruin yawn before me, but I
answered steadily:
"I do not understand you, Monsieur. I beg you will explain."
"Diable! You understand well enough, Monsieur," he sneered, and
turned and walked away with an exaggerated limp--it had been scarcely
perceptible when he came to greet me.
I had little time to worry over this new peril that threatened, for my
uncle came up to present me to more of the "court ladies," and I did
my best to talk and be merry, while in the background of my thoughts I
was trying to plan some way of escape from the meshes of the net I saw
closing around me. Paris was no longer any place for me. I must tell
my uncle at the first opportunity, and ask his help in getting away as
quietly as possible to America; and at that thought, and that I was
cutting myself off from ever seeing again the Comtesse de Baloit, I
groaned inwardly, and could have cursed the reckless folly that had
brought me to such a pass.
In the midst of my troubled thoughts I saw an officer approach the
Comtesse de Baloit (for, no matter to whom I might be talking, the
Comtesse was ever in my sight), bow low, and apparently deliver some
message to her. I saw her turn to the lady who stood near her (the one
with whom I had seen her driving, whose bearing was so stern and
haughty, and who, I did not doubt, was the duchesse I had heard spoken
of as desiring to marry her to the chevalier), and then the officer
offered an arm to each of them and bore them away to the cabinet to
which the First Consul had withdrawn.
I did not know why this should be cause for anxiety on my part, but
none the less I felt anxious. When, a few minutes later, the same
officer approached the Chevalier Le Moyne and delivered to him also a
message, and the chevalier deliberately turned to me with a smile of
triumph, and then followed the officer to the same cabinet, I felt
doubly anxious. Indeed, so great had my anxiety become that it was
almost impossible for me to keep up longer the semblance of gay
converse with the witty beauties about me.
The chevalier's smile of triumph meant one of two things--either
terrible for me, but one impossible to think of. It meant, "You see,
now I have my chance to denounce you to the First Consul, and I shall
use it"--which would mean nothing less than death for me; or, it
meant, "You see, the First Consul is bringing his influence to bear
upon my marriage with the Comtesse de Baloit; it is all
arranged"--which would mean something far worse than death for me.
I was not surprised, therefore, and I was almost relieved when ten
minutes later the officer touched me on the shoulder.
"The First Consul desires your presence in his cabinet, Monsieur," he
said; and I turned and followed him, conscious that I was followed in
turn by all eyes. There had been no surprise when first the comtesse
and then the chevalier had been summoned, for every one thought he
understood--the First Consul's powerful influence was to be brought to
bear upon a recalcitrant maiden; and while some pitied, none doubted
that the First Consul's influence would avail. But no one knew what
connection I could have with the affair, and the first moment of
startled surprise was followed by a murmur of curious surmises.
Amid that murmur I walked as one who goes to his execution; for from
the moment the officer touched me upon the shoulder I had known what
the chevalier's smile of triumph meant, and I knew that I was on my
way to be accused and condemned, and, for aught I knew, marched off to
instant execution under the eyes of the Comtesse de Baloit. As I
passed Monsieur Marbois, his eyes, filled with a startled alarm, met
mine. I tried to reassure him with a smile, but I fear it was sorry
work, for a sudden rush of remembrance of all his goodness to me
overwhelmed me and came near to unmanning me.
Just inside the door of the cabinet the officer stopped, and motioned
to me also to stay my steps. On whatever errand I had been sent for,
it was evident that neither the First Consul nor any one else was
quite ready for me. The Consul was seated, while on one side of him
stood the chevalier, and on the other the duchesse and the Comtesse de
Baloit; and that any man should remain seated in the presence of the
comtesse filled me at once with a blind rage that ill prepared me to
play my part in what was about to follow. The attitude of the three
struck me at once as significant: the duchesse complacent, with almost
a smile upon her haughty features, and to the best of her ability
beaming upon the First Consul; the chevalier eager, obsequious,
fawning; the comtesse her head held proudly up, a little frown between
her brows, her eyes flashing; impatience, annoyance, disdain expressed
in every feature. The First Consul was speaking as we entered, and I
thought his tones were meant to be persuasive; they were less rasping
than I had often heard them.
"The estates are very great, Mademoiselle." (And again I was indignant
that he should address her as Mademoiselle, a title which I felt
belonged to no man to use but to me. I knew, of course, that it was
but the common usage,--that titles were not permitted in republican
France,--but none the less I was angry.) "Your father was almost the
richest man in France," he was saying. "Should I restore these estates
to you, I must have some guaranty that they will be used for the
welfare of the republic, and not against it. Citizen Le Moyne is such
a guaranty. His sword is already pledged to the service of the
republic, and to the Citizeness Le Moyne I will restore all the
estates of her father."
A bright red spot burned in each of Pelagie's cheeks. I know not what
she might have said (though she looked not as if she would meekly
yield assent to this powerful plea), for at that moment the First
Consul discovered our entrance and turned to the chevalier.
"Citizen Le Moyne," he said, "you asked us to send for this young man.
He is here. What has the nephew of Monsieur Marbois to do with this
matter?"
A malicious smile played round the chevalier's lips.
"If you remember, Citizen First Consul," he said "I told you that at
one time mademoiselle was not averse to my suit--that in all
probability I would have won her hand in St. Louis, but that her mind
was poisoned against me by malicious insinuations and fabrications,
the work of a rival who desired to win her for himself?"
The chevalier waited for the Consul's reply, and he nodded curtly.
"Well?"
"Citizen First Consul, that rival is the nephew of Minister Marbois,
and I have brought him here to ask him to renounce publicly all claims
to the hand of the Citizeness de Baloit."
I saw a flash in the beautiful eyes, and a proud toss of the little
head that I well knew meant, "He has no claim," and I hastened to
speak.
"Sire," I said quickly, and then stopped in confusion. How could I
have made such an egregious blunder as to address the first citizen of
the republic by a royal title? Yet it was a natural enough mistake,
for no Czar or Sultan or Grand Mogul was ever a more autocratic ruler
than he, or made men tremble more at his nod. I thought I had no doubt
ruined my cause in the very outset, for a dark frown gathered between
the Consul's brows, but it quickly disappeared.
"I believe you spoke innocently, young man," he said, with a smile of
rare sweetness. "Speak on!"
"Pardon, Citizen First Consul," I said--"it was indeed an innocent
mistake"; and then I added with a sudden impulse of audacity, "but a
very natural one."
The Consul answered me only with his flashing smile, that transfigured
his face, and I hurried on:
"I wish to say, sir, that I have no claim to the hand of Mademoiselle
la Comtesse." I saw from the tail of my eye her head take a prouder
pose and her lips curl scornfully as she perceived that I was tamely
renouncing my "claim" at the chevalier's bidding; but I went calmly
on: "I have always known that there was a great gulf fixed between the
proud Lady of France of royal blood and a simple American gentleman.
Mademoiselle la Comtesse has never given me any reason to hope that
that gulf could be crossed, but," and I turned and looked straight at
the chevalier,--and if my head was flung back too proudly and my eyes
flashed too fiercely and my voice rang out too defiantly, it was from
no lack of respect to the great Bonaparte, but because my soul was
seething with wrath and indignation against that cowardly villain "but
should Mademoiselle la Comtesse give me the faintest hope that the
honest love of an honest American heart could weigh with her against
lands and titles, that the devotion of a lifetime to her every thought
and desire could hope to win her love, then no argument the Chevalier
Le Moyne could bring to bear would have a feather's weight with me. I
would renounce my 'claim to her hand' only with my life!"
The First Consul's eyes were smiling as I ceased speaking; there was
no frown on his brow. The duchesse looked aghast, as if it were
inconceivable blasphemy that I should think of aspiring to the
comtesse, and the chevalier's face was dark, with an ugly sneer
distorting his lips. But I cared little how Consul or duchesse or
chevalier took my speech: I cared only for what mademoiselle might
think. I glanced quickly at her. Her head was drooping, her long
lashes were sweeping her cheek, her face was rosy red, and a
half-smile was playing about her mouth. My heart beat high with
exultant joy. I turned proudly to the chevalier and awaited the
thunderbolt I knew was sure to fall. He, too, had seen mademoiselle's
soft and drooping aspect, and the sight had lashed him to fury. But
before he had a chance to speak, the First Consul himself spoke with
good-natured raillery:
"I think, Citizen Le Moyne, your golden-haired giant makes a very good
plea for himself. Suppose I offer him a position on my staff and make
a Frenchman of him, and then let the Citizeness de Baloit choose
between you? Perhaps her estates would be as safe in his hands as in
yours."
Had the First Consul uttered his speech with the purpose of lashing
the chevalier to fury and goading him to still greater venom against
me, he could have taken no better course to accomplish it.
"Safe!" he hissed. "Safe in the hands of an assassin! You would give
mademoiselle and her estates to the man who hid in your closet to
attempt your life in your bath! Regardez! the coward--the sneak--the
villain! When your Mameluke discovers him he flees. I run to your
defense. Does he meet me with his sword like an honorable gentleman?
No! he trips me with the foot like a school-boy, and throws me down
the stair, to be the laughing-stock of my fellow-officers! Because he
is a giant, he falls upon your sentry of small stature and hurls him
down the terraces! He calls to his trick horse,--trained in the
circus, I do not doubt,--and rides away in the dark, and thinks no one
will ever know! But _I_ know. I have seen his tricks in America. He
is a clown--a mountebank! No gentleman would touch his hand!"
The chevalier's voice had grown shriller and higher with each word,
till he ended in a scream, tearing his hair, rushing up and down the
cabinet in his fury, and pointing every epithet with a long finger
extended toward me. I could have smiled at such childish rage but that
it was too serious a matter to me for smiling. Mademoiselle's eyes
were wide with terror and amaze, and the Consul's brow grew darker
with every word of the chevalier's.
"Officer, call the guard!" he said in his rasping voice, as soon as
the chevalier gave him a chance to speak, and I knew my doom was
sealed.
But mademoiselle sprang forward, one arm outstretched to stay the
officer, and one extended toward the Consul in supplication.
"No, no, officer, not yet!" she cried, and then to Bonaparte:
"Oh, Citizen Consul, it is all a terrible mistake! I know him well. He
could not be guilty of so dreadful a crime! He could not do anything
mean or low or dishonorable. There is no gentleman in the world more
generous and noble! And the man who denounces him owes his life to
him!"
"Look at him, Mademoiselle," said the Consul, harshly, "and see if his
looks do not confess him the culprit."
I knew that I must look the very picture of conscious guilt, for every
word mademoiselle had uttered had pierced me like a two-edged sword. I
might have braved the chevalier's accusations and the First Consul's
suspicions (for, after all, neither had any evidence against me), but
I could not bear her generous confidence in me, feeling that I had so
miserably forfeited my right to it by indulging in a foolish boyish
prank. I did not raise my head (where it had sunk in shame), but by
reason of being so much taller I yet could see her turn toward me, see
her look of implicit trust change slowly to doubt and fear. Then I
heard her utter one low cry, "Oh, Monsieur, Monsieur!" and turn away.
In a moment my resolve was taken. I would make a clean breast of it;
she should not think me worse than I was. I lifted my head.
"Mademoiselle!" I cried, and she turned quickly toward me and looked
straight into my eyes with a look that was hard to bear. "I am guilty
Mademoiselle! I am the man who was in the First Consul's closet, and
who escaped on Fatima's back."
The Consul made a motion toward the officer, but I turned to him
quickly.
"I beg you, sire,"--and this time I did not know that I had said it,
not until long afterward, when one of those who heard told me of
it,--"that you will not send your officer for the guard until I have
made my confession; then you can send for it, and I will go away
quietly, without resistance."
"Very well, officer; you can wait," said Bonaparte, still harshly. The
rest of my confession I addressed directly to him.
"I am no clown, mountebank, or circus rider in my own country, sir, as
the Chevalier Le Moyne would have you believe; I am the son of a
Philadelphia gentleman, and the nephew of Madame Marbois.
Unfortunately, life in my native land has bred in me a spirit of
adventure that has many times been near my undoing. It has also bred
in me a great love for the life of a soldier, and a great admiration
for the famous soldiers of history. When I accompanied my uncle to St.
Cloud, and knew that he was summoned there to meet the First Consul, I
was seized with a desire to enter the palace and roam through the
rooms where the First Consul dwelt. When I found admission was not
permitted I thought it would be a fine adventure to find my way in
without permission. It was a boy's wild spirit of daring, and a boy's
almost idolatrous hero-worship that led me into such a scrape."
The Consul interrupted me here, but I thought his tones a little less
harsh than before:
"Did your uncle know of your intention to enter the palace?"
"Most certainly not, Citizen First Consul," I answered, "else had I
never accomplished it."
"Then how did you find your way to my closet?"
"I followed a servant through some winding corridors, but an officer
suddenly appeared. I fled, opened the first door I came to, saw myself
in a dressing-room, opened another, and found myself in the closet
connecting with your cabinet."
All of which was literally true, and implicated neither Gaston nor
Félice, I hoped. The Consul signed to me to go on with my story.
"All would have been well, and I should have slipped out the way I
came, had not the First Consul decided to take a bath."
I was watching my auditor narrowly as I talked, for I felt my life
depended upon his change of mood, and I thought I saw here the least
glimmer of a twinkle in his eye; but if it was there it was banished
instantly, and his face was as set and stern as before.
"I have never heard any words, your"--I started to say "your Majesty,"
caught myself, and stumbled miserably--"your--your--Excellency, that
filled me with greater dismay than these: 'Tell my valet to prepare my
bath'!"
Again I thought I caught that fleeting twinkle of the eye, but could
not be sure.
"There was no hope for me," I went on, "but to wait for the First
Consul to finish his bath; but, unfortunately for me, he is fonder of
his bath than most men, and I stood in that dark closet in an agony of
suspense, and revolving in my mind every conceivable plan of escape,
for what seemed to me many long hours. All might still have been
well,--for in the nature of things even the First Consul's bath must
come to an end sometime,--had I not made a slight noise which the
quick ears of the Consul and the Mameluke heard. I was discovered,
and there was nothing for me to do but to flee through the
audience-chamber and the main corridor, surprising the guard at the
door, who, in his turn, raised the whole palace in pursuit.
"I was distancing my pursuers, and should have gotten out of the
palace without difficulty, but that at the head of the grand staircase
I met the Chevalier Le Moyne, running from the opposite end of the
corridor. I would not under ordinary circumstances refuse a sword
encounter with the chevalier (though I would prefer an opponent with a
nicer sense of honor), but there was no time for such an encounter now
if I would not have the whole palace upon me, and, besides, it was
most important that the chevalier should not recognize me. There was
nothing to do but to hide my face with my arm as if shielding it from
his sword, and trip him up, as he says, school-boy fashion. I am sorry
that it should have hurt his self-esteem to be vanquished by such a
youthful trick, and regret still more that he should have suffered in
the estimation of his fellow-officers thereby."
This time the twinkle in the Consul's eye was unmistakable, and I
could hear the chevalier grinding his teeth with rage.
"As for your sentry," I continued, "he was aiming his gun to fire at
me. There was no time for ceremony. I could have spitted him upon my
sword, which was in my hand, and it might have been more respectful;
but I dislike bloodshed, unless it is absolutely unavoidable, and so I
threw up his gun with my arm, and sent him spinning after it in the
dark. I had left my mare Fatima--who is no trick horse, but a young
Arabian trained by myself from colthood to do my bidding--in a pine
thicket close by. I was on her back and away just in time to escape
your mounted guards, who thundered out the gates of the park scarce
twenty paces behind me. Had Fatima been less swift I had not been
here to tell the tale. I hope the First Consul will believe me when I
say I have suffered much from remorse for my rash and thoughtless act.
It was a wild spirit of adventure that led me into it, but I see
clearly now that does not in the least excuse it, and I am ready to
atone for it in any way you decree."
The eye of the First Consul, clear, piercing, heart-reading, had been
upon me through the whole of this recital; but I, feeling that I was
keeping nothing back (save only Gaston and Félice), and being nerved
up to meet whatever fate should befall, bore its scrutiny well. He was
silent for a moment after I had finished speaking, and my heart sank
steadily down, for life looked very bright to me and I began to be
very sure I had forfeited it by my foolishness. Suddenly the Consul
spoke, but it was not to me nor to the chevalier; he turned to
Pelagie.
"Mademoiselle, that was a boyish escapade, certainly, and it was a
very pretty boy that contrived it. What do you think would be suitable
punishment for such a crime? You shall be the arbiter of his fate."
Mademoiselle gave me one fleeting glance, saucy merriment dancing in
her eye; then she turned to Bonaparte, and, curtsying low, she said
with pretty archness:
"Citizen First Consul, I know him well, and I know that only death
could be a greater punishment to him than to be called a 'pretty boy'!
Do you not think his crime is atoned for?"
Bonaparte's wonderful smile lighted his face and fell on mademoiselle
with almost too great sweetness, I thought.
"It is as you say, Mademoiselle," he replied. "Officer, you need not
call the guard."
But I, suddenly relieved from the fear of death, stood there scarlet
with confusion, head drooping, and ready to sink through the floor
with shame, while I mentally anathematized my yellow curls and rosy
cheeks and blue eyes, and most of all my _domtiferous_ vanity that had
led me to array myself in shining white satin and glittering gold
lace, that I was sure made me look fairer and rosier and more than
ever like a big blond baby.