His Majesty walked in advance of the persons who accompanied him, and took much pleasure in being first to call by their names the various localities he passed.  A peasant, seeing him thus some distance from his suite, cried out to him familiarly, “Oh, citizen, is the Emperor going to pass soon?”—­“Yes,” replied the Emperor, “have patience.”

The Emperor had inquired the evening before, of Madame Brienne, news of Mother Marguerite.  Thus was styled a good woman who dwelt in a cottage, in the midst of the forest, and on whom the, pupils of the military academy were accustomed to make frequent visits.  He had not forgotten her name, and learning, with as much joy as surprise, that she still lived, the Emperor, extended his morning ride, and galloping up to the door of the cottage, alighted from his horse, and entered the home of the good old peasant.  Her sight was impaired by age; and besides, the Emperor had changed so much since she had seen him that it would have been difficult even for the best eyes to recognize him.  “Good-day, Mother Marguerite,” said his Majesty, saluting the old woman; “so you are not curious to see the Emperor?”—­“Yes, indeed, my good sir; I am very curious to see him; so much so, that here is a little basket of fresh eggs that I am going to carry to Madame; and I shall then remain at the chateau, and endeavor to see the Emperor.  But the trouble is, I shall not be able to see him so well to-day as formerly, when he came with his comrades to drink milk at Mother Marguerite’s.  He was not Emperor then; but that was nothing, he made the others step around!  Indeed, you should have seen him!  The milk, the eggs, the brown bread, the broken dishes though he took care to have me paid for everything, and began by paying his own bill.”—­“What!  Mother Marguerite,” replied his Majesty, smiling, “you have not forgotten Bonaparte!”—­“Forgotten! my good sir; you think that any one would forget such a young man as he, who was wise, serious, and sometimes even sad, but always good to poor people?  I am only a poor peasant woman, but I could have predicted that this young man would make his way.  He has not done it very badly, has he?  Ah, no, indeed!”

During this short dialogue, the Emperor had at first turned his back to the door, and consequently to the light, which entered the cottage only by that means.  But, by degrees; the Emperor approached the good woman; and when he was quite near her, with the light shining full on his face from the door, he began to rub his hands and say, trying to recall the tone and manner of the days of his early youth, when he came to the peasant’s house, “Come, Mother Marguerite, some milk and fresh eggs; we are famishing.”  The good old woman seemed trying to revive her memories, and began to observe the Emperor with the closest attention.  “Oh, yes, Mother, you were so sure a while ago of knowing Bonaparte again.  Are we not old acquaintances, we two?” The peasant, while the Emperor was