‘That is her son, Eugene de Beauharnais,’ said my companion.

‘Her son!’ I exclaimed, for he seemed to me to be the older of the two.

De Caulaincourt smiled at my surprise.

’You know she married Beauharnais when she was very young—­in fact she was hardly sixteen.  She has been sitting in her boudoir while her son has been baking in Egypt and Syria, so that they have pretty well bridged over the gap between them.  Do you see the tall, handsome, clean-shaven man who has just kissed Josephine’s hand.  That is Talma the famous actor.  He once helped Napoleon at a critical moment of his career, and the Emperor has never forgotten the debt which the Consul contracted.  That is really the secret of Talleyrand’s power.  He lent Napoleon a hundred thousand francs before he set out for Egypt, and now, however much he distrusts him, the Emperor cannot forget that old kindness.  I have never known him to abandon a friend or to forgive an enemy.  If you have once served him well you may do what you like afterwards.  There is one of his coachmen who is drunk from morning to night.  But he gained the cross at Marengo, and so he is safe.’

De Caulaincourt had moved on to speak with some lady, and I was again left to my own thoughts, which turned upon this extraordinary man, who presented himself at one moment as a hero and at another as a spoiled child, with his nobler and his worse side alternating so rapidly that I had no sooner made up my mind about him than some new revelation would destroy my views and drive me to some fresh conclusion.  That he was necessary to France was evident, and that in serving him one was serving one’s country.  But was it an honour or a penance to serve him?  Was he worthy merely of obedience, or might love and esteem be added to it?  These were the questions which we found it difficult to answer—­and some of us will never have answered them up to the end of time.

The company had now lost all appearance of formality, and even the soldiers seemed to be at their ease.  Many had gone into the side rooms, where they had formed tables for whist and for vingt-et-un.  For my own part I was quite entertained by watching the people, the beautiful women, the handsome men, the bearers of names which had been heard of in no previous generation, but which now rung round the world.  Immediately in front of me were Ney, Lannes, and Murat chatting together and laughing with the freedom of the camp.  Of the three, two were destined to be executed in cold blood, and the third to die upon the battle-field, but no coming shadow ever cast a gloom upon their cheery, full-blooded lives.

A small, silent, middle-aged man, who looked unhappy and ill at ease, had been leaning against the wall beside me.  Seeing that he was as great a stranger as myself, I addressed some observation to him, to which he replied with great good-will, but in the most execrable French.