The colonel, without answering even by a word, crossed the large apartment, and with a swift jerk opened the door leading into the anteroom.  Then, after convincing himself that no one was near, he closed it, and made a tour of the spacious room, carefully examining every portiere, every article of furniture, and at last approached the baron, who had been watching him with a quiet, scornful smile.

“Now, my dear baron, speak,” he said, taking his seat in an armchair opposite to him.  “We are really alone and without listeners, so I am ready to hear you.  Do you bring news from our friends?  News from France, especially?”

“Yes, news from France.  I mean news from the Minister of Police, Fouche.  Do you know, my dear sir, that Fouche is very much dissatisfied with his beloved fellow conspirators; that he thinks they have not acted so resolutely and energetically as might have been expected from the brave generals and colonels of the French army?”

“Why should he be dissatisfied?” asked the colonel.  “What ought we to have done?  When and where could we have acted more energetically?”

“At Castle Ebersdorf, my dear colonel.  Surely you know that, after the battle of Aspern, when Napoleon left his exhausted and conquered army on the island of Lobau, and went to Castle Ebersdorf himself to enjoy a refreshing sleep after his first great defeat.”

“Yes, that sleep was really singular enough,” said Mariage thoughtfully.  “The emperor slept soundly twenty-two hours; slept so soundly, in so motionless a posture, breathing so softly, that he might have been believed to be dead, and did not even hear his drunken soldiers force their way into the castle garden, and, with furious shouts, plunder and destroy everything until our representations and entreaties forced them to retire.”

“Yes, the emperor fell into a deathlike slumber and would have been unable to resist or to defend himself had he been bound and gagged and quietly carried away.  Yet what did the generals and colonels who had assembled in the large reception-hall close beside the sleeping emperor’s private office?  What did the gentlemen who all belonged to the secret league which has existed in the French army four years, and whose object is to overthrow the hated tyrant and oppressor?  Did they avail themselves of the opportunity to attain this desired goal with a single bold stroke?  No, they stood whispering and irresolute, asking one another what should be done if Napoleon did not wake from his deathlike slumber—­who should then be his heir to the throne of France?  Whether they should make Bernadotte, the Prince of Ponte Corvo, or Eugene, the Viceroy of Italy, or the Count of Provence, who styles himself Louis XVIII., king of France, or again restore the great and glorious republic?  And since they could not agree upon these questions, they did nothing at all, but contented themselves with sending a secret envoy to Paris to ask Fouche what should be done, how they should act in such a case, and what counsel he had to give.”