Bouquet promised to observe Father Berton’s injunctions, but was far from keeping his promise.  As soon as he saw Bonaparte’s carriage drive up, he ran to the door and gallantly handed out Josephine.  Josephine, as she took his hand, said, “Bouquet,—­you have ruined yourself!” Bonaparte, indignant at what he considered an unwarrantable familiarity, gave way to one of his uncontrollable fits of passion, and as soon as he entered the room where the breakfast was laid, he seated himself, and then said to his wife in an imperious tone, “Josephine, sit there!” He then commenced breakfast, without telling Father Becton to sit down, although a third plate had been laid for him.  Father Becton stood behind his old pupil’s chair apparently confounded at his violence.  The scene produced such an effect on the old man that he became incapable of discharging his duties at Compiegne.  He retired to Rheims, and his intellect soon after became deranged.  I do not pretend to say whether this alienation of mind was caused by the occurrence I have just related, and the account of which I received from Josephine.  She was deeply afflicted at what had passed.  Father Berton died insane.  What I heard from Josephine was afterwards confirmed by the brother of Father Becton.  The fact is, that in proportion as Bonaparte acquired power he was the more annoyed at the familiarity of old companions; and, indeed, I must confess that their familiarity often appeared very ridiculous.

The First Consul’s visit to the northern coast took place towards the end of the year 1803, at which time the English attacked the Dutch settlements of Surinam, Demerara, and Essequibo, and a convention of neutrality was concluded between France, Spain, and Portugal.  Rapp accompanied the First Consul, who attentively inspected the preparations making for a descent on England, which it was never his intention to effect, as will be shortly shown.

On the First Consul’s return I learned from Rapp that I had been spoken of during the journey, and in the following way:—­Bonaparte, being at Boulogne, wanted some information which no one there could give, him.  Vexed at receiving no satisfactory answer to his inquiries he called Rapp, and said, “Do you know, Rapp, where Bourrienne is?”—­“General, he is in Paris.”—­” Write to him to come here immediately, and send off one of my couriers with the letter.”  The rumour of the First Consul’s sudden recollection of me spread like lightning, and the time required to write the letter and despatch the courier was more than sufficient for the efforts of those whom my return was calculated to alarm.  Artful representations soon checked these spontaneous symptoms of a return to former feelings and habits.  When Rapp carried to the First Consul the letter he had been directed to write the order was countermanded.  However, Rapp advised me not to leave Paris, or if I did, to mention the place where I might be found, so that Duroc might have it in his power to seize on any favourable circumstance without delay.  I was well aware of the friendship of both Rapp and Duroc, and they could as confidently rely on mine.