to the valet of the marechal du palais I was allowed to keep a small apartment for my own use, and thought to guard myself against unwelcome intruders by inscribing with chalk my high rank—­maitre de la maison—­in large letters upon the door.  At first the new-comers passed respectfully before my little cell, and durst scarcely venture to peep in at the door; but it was not long before French curiosity overleaped this written barrier.  For sometime this place served my people and several neighbours in the village as a protecting asylum at night.

The keys of the hay-loft and barns I was commanded to deliver to the emperor’s piqueur.—­I earnestly entreated him to be as sparing of our stores as possible, supporting this request with a bottle of wine,—­which, under the present circumstance, was no contemptible present.  He knew how to appreciate it, and immediately gave me a proof of his gratitude.  He took me aside, and whispered in my ear, “As long as the emperor is here you are safe; but the moment he is gone—­and nobody can tell how soon that may be—­you will be completely stripped by the guards; the officers themselves will then shew no mercy.  You had best endeavour to obtain a safeguard, for which you must apply to the duke of Vicenza.”

This advice was not thrown away upon me:  I immediately begged to speak with the grand ecuyer.  I explained my business as delicately as possible, and be with great good humour promised to comply with my request.  Determined to strike while the iron was hot, I soon, afterwards repeated my application in writing.

After the emperor’s arrival there was no such thing as a moment’s rest for me.  Gladly would I have exchanged my high function, which placed me upon an equal footing with the first officers of the French court, for a night’s tranquil slumber. M. maitre de la maison was every moment called for.  As for shaving, changing linen, brushing clothes—­that was quite out of the question.  His guests had remarked his good will, and they imagined that his ability was capable of keeping pace with it.  Luckily it never came into my head, whilst invested with my high dignity, to look into a glass, otherwise I should certainly not have known myself again, and Diogenes would have appeared a beau in comparison.  As to danger of life, or personal ill-treatment, I was under no apprehension; for who would have presumed to lay hands on so important a personage, who was every moment wanted, and whose place it would have been absolutely impossible to supply?—­I was much less concerned about all this than about the means of saving the property of my employer, as far as lay in my power.  The danger of having every thing destroyed was very great.