“I cannot, sire.”

“Well, well, say no more about it.”

“And your Majesty is going to leave France?”

“I don’t know.  Obey your orders, marshal, and if you come across me again, have me arrested.  That’s another way of doing something for me.  Life is a heavy burden nowadays.  He who will relieve me of it will be welcome....  Good-bye, Brune.”

He held out his hand to the marshal, who tried to kiss it; but Murat opened his arms, the two old comrades held each other fast for a moment, with swelling hearts and eyes full of tears; then at last they parted.  Brune remounted his horse, Murat picked up his stick again, and the two men went away in opposite directions, one to meet his death by assassination at Avignon, the other to be shot at Pizzo.  Meanwhile, like Richard III, Napoleon was bartering his crown against a horse at Waterloo.

After the interview that has just been related, Murat took refuge with his nephew, who was called Bonafoux, and who was captain of a frigate; but this retreat could only be temporary, for the relationship would inevitably awake the suspicions of the authorities.  In consequence, Bonafoux set about finding a more secret place of refuge for his uncle.  He hit on one of his friends, an avocat, a man famed for his integrity, and that very evening Bonafoux went to see him.

After chatting on general subjects, he asked his friend if he had not a house at the seaside, and receiving an affirmative answer, he invited himself to breakfast there the next day; the proposal naturally enough was agreed to with pleasure.  The next day at the appointed hour Bonafoux arrived at Bonette, which was the name of the country house where M. Marouin’s wife and daughter were staying.  M. Marouin himself was kept by his work at Toulon.  After the ordinary greetings, Bonafoux stepped to the window, beckoning to Marouin to rejoin him.

“I thought,” he said uneasily, “that your house was by the sea.”

“We are hardly ten minutes’ walk from it.”

“But it is not in sight.”

“That hill prevents you from seeing it.”

“May we go for a stroll on the beach before breakfast is served?”

“By all means.  Well, your horse is still saddled.  I will order mine—­I will come back for you.”

Marouin went out.  Bonafoux remained at the window, absorbed in his thoughts.  The ladies of the house, occupied in preparations for the meal, did not observe, or did not appear to observe, his preoccupation.  In five minutes Marouin came back.  He was ready to start.  The avocat and his friend mounted their horses and rode quickly down to the sea.  On the beach the captain slackened his pace, and riding along the shore for about half an hour, he seemed to be examining the bearings of the coast with great attention.  Marouin followed without inquiring into his investigations, which seemed natural enough for a naval officer.