The deputies of Besancon, upon their arrival at Paris, presented themselves to the different ministers.  The minister of police took the president of the deputation aside, and asked him the meaning of the presence among the deputies of a man publicly known to be in disgrace, and the sight of whom could not fail to be disagreeable to the chief of the Empire.

Marshal Moncey, on coming out from this private interview, pale and frightened, entered the room of Colonel Delelee: 

“My friend,” said he, “all is lost, for I have ascertained at the bureau that they are still hostile to you.  If the Emperor sees you among us, he will take it as an open avowal of disregard for his orders, and will be furious.”

“Ah, well, what have I to do with that?”

“But in order to avoid compromising the department, the deputation, and, indeed, in order to avoid compromising yourself, you would perhaps do well “—­the Marshal hesitated.  “I will do well?” demanded the Colonel.

“Perhaps to withdraw without making any display”—­

Here the colonel interrupted the president of the deputation:  “Marshal, permit me to decline this advice; I have not come so far to be discouraged, like a child, before the first obstacle.  I am weary of a disgrace which I have not deserved, and still more weary of enforced idleness.  Let the Emperor be irritated or pleased, he shall see me; let him order me to be shot, if he wishes.  I do not count worth having such a life as I have led for the last four years.  Nevertheless, I will be satisfied with whatever my colleagues, the deputies of Besancon, shall decide.”

These latter did not disapprove of the colonel’s resolution, and he accompanied them to the Tuileries on the day of the solemn reception of all the deputations of the Empire.  All the halls of the Tuileries were packed with a crowd in richly embroidered coats and brilliant uniforms.  The military household of the Emperor, his civil household, the generals present at Paris, the diplomatic corps, ministers and chiefs of the different administrations, the deputies of the departments with their prefects, and mayors decorated with tricolored scarfs, were all assembled in numerous groups, and conversed in a low tone while awaiting the arrival of his Majesty.

In one of these groups was seen a tall officer dressed in a very simple uniform, cut in the fashion of several years past.  He wore neither on his collar, nor even on his breast the decoration which no officer of his grade then lacked.  This was Colonel Delelee.  The president of the deputation of which he was a member appeared embarrassed and almost distressed.  Of the former comrades of the colonel, very few dared to recognize him, and the boldest gave him a distant nod which expressed at the same time anxiety and pity, while the more prudent did not even glance at him.

As for him, he remained unconcerned and resolute.

At last the folding doors were opened, and an usher cried “The Emperor, gentlemen.”