To her, as soon as an opportunity came, I gave the news of her brother’s end, and his last message.  She was terribly affected; and the love we bore in common to the dead, and her own wonderful beauty, aroused in me a passion that was not the less fervent because I felt it was almost hopeless.  I did not dare to ask her love, but I had her friendship without asking.  She it was who warned me of the dangerous intrigues of De Beauvais and his associates.  She it was who, when I fell a victim to their intrigues, laboured with General d’Auvergne, who had befriended me while I was at college, to restore me to liberty.

I had heard that De Beauvais and his fellow royalists were plotting in a chateau near Versailles, and that a scheme was afoot to capture them.  In hot haste I rode to the chateau, hoping secretly to warn my friend.  He did indeed escape, but it was my lot to be caught with the conspirators.  For the second time in my short life I saw the inside of a prison; I was in danger of the guillotine; despair had almost overpowered me, when I learnt that my friends had prevailed—­my sword was returned to me.  I became again an officer of the army of him who was now emperor, and I set forth determined to wipe out on the battlefield the doubts that still clung to my loyalty.  Marie de Meudon was wedded, by the emperor’s wish, to the gallant and beloved soldier on whose staff I proudly served—­General d’Auvergne.

In four vast columns of march, the mighty army poured into the heart of Germany.  But not until we reached Mannheim did we learn the object of the war.  We were to destroy the Austro-Russian coalition, and the first blow was to be struck at Ulm.  When Ulm had capitulated, General d’Auvergne and his staff returned to Elchingen, and on the night when we reached the place I was on the point of lying down supperless in the open air, when I met an old acquaintance, Corporal Pioche, a giant cuirassier of the Guard, who had fought in all Bonaparte’s campaigns.

“Ah, mon lieutenant,” said he, “not supped yet, I’ll wager.  Come along with me; Mademoiselle Minette has opened her canteen!”

Presently we entered a large room, at one end of which sat a very pretty Parisian brunette, who bade me a gracious welcome.  The place was crowded with captains and corporals, lieutenants and sergeants, all hobnobbing, hand-shaking, and even kissing each other.  “Each man brings what he can find, drinks what he is able, and leaves the rest,” remarked Pioche, and invited me to take my share in the common stock.

All went well until I absent-mindedly called out, as if to a waiter, for bread.  There was a roar of laughter at my mistake, and a little dark-whiskered fellow stuck his sword into a loaf and handed it to me.  As I took the loaf, he disengaged his point, and scratched the back of my hand with it.  Obviously an insult was intended.

“Ah, an accident, morbleu!” said he, with an impertinent shrug.