the minutes seemed like hours!  On the one hand there were the Bourbons, who would have shot Napoleon if he had fallen into their clutches; and on the other, the English, a dishonored race:  they covered themselves with shame by flinging a foe who asked for hospitality away on a desert rock, that is a stain which they will never wash away.  Whilst they were anxiously debating, some one or other among his suite presented a sailor to him, a Lieutenant Doret, who had a scheme for reaching America to lay before him.  As a matter of fact, a brig from the States and a merchant vessel were lying in the harbor.

“‘But how could you set about it, captain?’ the Emperor asked him.

“‘You will be on board the merchant vessel, Sire,’ the man answered.  ’I will run up the white flag and man the brig with a few devoted followers.  We will tackle the English vessel, set fire to her, and board her, and you will get clear away.’

“‘We will go with you!’ I cried to the captain.  But Napoleon looked at us and said, ‘Captain Doret, keep yourself for France.’

“It was the only time I ever saw Napoleon show any emotion.  With a wave of his hand to us he went in again.  I watched him go on board the English vessel, and then I went away.  It was all over with him, and he knew it.  There was a traitor in the harbor, who by means of signals gave warning to the Emperor’s enemies of his presence.  Then Napoleon fell back on a last resource; he did as he had been wont to do on the battlefield:  he went to his foes instead of letting them come to him.  Talk of troubles!  No words could ever make you understand the misery of those who loved him for his own sake.”

“But where is his snuff-box?” asked La Fosseuse.

“It is in a box at Grenoble,” the commandant replied.

“I will go over to see it, if you will let me.  To think that you have something in your possession that his fingers have touched! . . .  Had he a well-shaped hand?”

“Very.”

“Can it be true that he is dead?  Come, tell me the real truth?”

“Yes, my dear child, he is dead; there is no doubt about it.”

“I was such a little girl in 1815.  I was not tall enough to see anything but his hat, and even so I was nearly crushed to death in the crowd at Grenoble.”

“Your coffee and cream is very nice indeed,” said Genestas.  “Well, Adrien, how do you like this country?  Will you come here to see mademoiselle?”

The boy made no answer; he seemed afraid to look at La Fosseuse.  Benassis never took his eyes off Adrien; he appeared to be reading the lad’s very soul.

“Of course he will come to see her,” said Benassis.  “But let us go home again, I have a pretty long round to make, and I shall want a horse.  I daresay you and Jacquotte will manage to get on together whilst I am away.”

“Will you not come with us?” said Genestas to La Fosseuse.

“Willingly,” she answered; “I have a lot of things to take over for Mme. Jacquotte.”