The cause of the many attentions which were paid to me, and which, like a vain coxcomb, I had chosen to attribute to my own personal amiability, soon was apparent.  Having formed a good opinion of my gallantry from my conduct in various actions and forlorn hopes during the war, the Emperor was most anxious to attach me to his service.  The Grand Cross of St. Louis, the title of Count, the command of a crack cavalry regiment, the l4me Chevaux Marins, were the bribes that were actually offered to me; and must I say it?  Blanche, the lovely, the perfidious Blanche, was one of the agents employed to tempt me to commit this act of treason.

“Object to enter a foreign service!” she said, in reply to my refusal.  “It is you, Philip, who are in a foreign service.  The Irish nation is in exile, and in the territories of its French allies.  Irish traitors are not here; they march alone under the accursed flag of the Saxon, whom the great Napoleon would have swept from the face of the earth, but for the fatal valor of Irish mercenaries!  Accept this offer, and my heart, my hand, my all are yours.  Refuse it, Philip, and we part.”

“To wed the abominable Cambaceres!” I cried, stung with rage.  “To wear a duchess’s coronet, Blanche!  Ha, ha!  Mushrooms, instead of strawberry-leaves, should decorate the brows of the upstart French nobility.  I shall withdraw my parole.  I demand to be sent to prison—­to be exchanged—­to die—­anything rather than be a traitor, and the tool of a traitress!” Taking up my hat, I left the room in a fury; and flinging open the door tumbled over Cambaceres, who was listening at the key-hole, and must have overheard every word of our conversation.

We tumbled over each other, as Blanche was shrieking with laughter at our mutual discomfiture.  Her scorn only made me more mad; and, having spurs on, I began digging them into Cambaceres’ fat sides as we rolled on the carpet, until the Marshal howled with rage and anger.

“This insult must be avenged with blood!” roared the Duke of Illyria.

“I have already drawn it,” says I, “with my spurs.”

“Malheur et malediction!” roared the Marshal.

“Hadn’t you better settle your wig?” says I, offering it to him on the tip of my cane, “and we’ll arrange time and place when you have put your jasey in order.”  I shall never forget the look of revenge which he cast at me, as I was thus turning him into ridicule before his mistress.

“Lady Blanche,” I continued bitterly, “as you look to share the Duke’s coronet, hadn’t you better see to his wig?” and so saying, I cocked my hat, and walked out of the Marquis’s place, whistling “Garryowen.”