The opening of all these letters, which he was not at other times in the habit of looking at, annoyed him extremely; but as I neither wished to carry the joke too far, nor to remain in the disagreeable position in which Joseph’s treachery had placed me, I determined to bring the matter to a conclusion.  After the third day, when the business of the night, which had been interrupted by little fits of ill-humour, was concluded, Bonaparte retired to bed.  Half an hour after I went to his chamber, to which I was admitted at all hours.  I had a candle in my hand, and, taking a chair, I sat down on the right side of the bed, and placed the candle on the table.  Both he and Josephine awoke.  “What is the matter?” he asked with surprise.  “General, I have come to tell you that I can no longer remain here, since I have lost your confidence.  You know how sincerely I am devoted to you; if you have, then, anything to reproach me with, let me at least know it, for my situation during the last three days lies been very painful.”—­“What has Bourrienne done?” inquired Josephine earnestly.—­“That does not concern you,” he replied.  Then turning to me he said, “Tis true, I have cause to complain of you.  I have been informed that you have spoken of important affairs in a very indiscreet manner.”—­“I can assure you that I spoke to none but your brother.  It was he who led me into the conversation, and he was too well versed in the business for me to tell him any secret.  He may have reported to you what he pleased, but could not I do the same by him?  I could accuse and betray him as he has accused and betrayed me.  When I spoke in confidence to your brother, could I regard him as an inquisitor?”—­“I must confess,” replied Bonaparte, “that after what I heard from Joseph I thought it right to put my confidence in quarantine.”—­“The quarantine has lasted three days, General; surely that is long enough.”—­“Well, Bourrienne, let us say no more about it.  Open my letters as usual; you will find the answers a good deal in arrear, which has much vexed me; and besides, I was always stumbling on some stupid nonsense or other!”

I fancy I still see and hear the amiable Josephine sitting up in bed and saying, in her gentle way, “What!  Bonaparte, is it possible you could suspect Bourrienne, who is so attached to you, and who is your only friend?  How could you suffer such a snare to be laid for him?  What! a dinner got up on purpose!  How I hate these odious police manoeuvres!” —­“Go to sleep,” said Bonaparte; “let women mind their gewgaws, and not interfere with politics.”  It was near two in the morning before I retired.

When, after a few hours’ sleep, I again saw the First Consul, he was more kind to me than ever, and I perceived that for the present every cloud had dispersed.’