The groups separated, and a line was formed, the colonel placing himself in the first rank.

His Majesty commenced his tour of the room, welcoming the president of each delegation with a few flattering words.  Arrived before the delegation from Doubs, the Emperor, having addressed a few words to the brave marshal who was president, was about to pass on to the next, when his eyes fell upon an officer he had not yet seen.  He stopped in surprise, and addressed to the deputy his familiar inquiry, “Who are you?”

“Sire, I am Colonel Delelee, former aide-de-camp of General Moreau.”

These words were pronounced in a firm voice, which resounded in the midst of the profound silence which the presence of the sovereign imposed.

The Emperor stepped back, and fastened both eyes on the colonel.  The latter showed no emotion, but bowed slightly.

Marshal Moncey was pale as death.

The Emperor spoke.  “What do you come to ask here?”

“That which I have asked for many years, Sire:  that your Majesty will deign to tell me wherein I have been in fault, or restore to me my rank.”

Among those near enough to hear these questions and replies, few could breathe freely.  At last a smile half opened the firmly closed lips of the Emperor; he placed his finger on his mouth, and, approaching the colonel, said to him in a softened and almost friendly tone, “You have reason to complain a little of that, but let us say no more about it,” and continued his round.  He had gone ten steps from the group formed by the deputies of Bescancon, when he came back, and, stopping before the colonel, said, “Monsieur Minister of War, take the name of this officer, and be sure to remind me of him.  He is tired of doing nothing, and we will give him occupation.”

As soon as the audience was over, the struggle was, who should be most attentive to the colonel.  He was surrounded, congratulated, embraced, and pulled about.  Each of his old comrades wished to carry him off, and his hands were not enough to grasp all those extended to him.  General Savary, who that very evening had added to the fright of Marshal Moncey, by being astonished that any one could have the audacity to brave the Emperor, extended his arm over the shoulders of those who pressed around the colonel, and shaking his hand in the most cordial manner possible, “Delelee,” cried he, “do not forget that I expect you to-morrow to breakfast.”

Two days after this scene at court, Colonel Delelee received his appointment as chief of staff of the army of Portugal, commanded by the Duke d’Abrantes.  His preparations were soon made; and just before setting out he had a last interview with the Emperor, who said to him, “Colonel, I know that it is useless to urge you to make up for lost time.  In a little while I hope we shall both be satisfied with each other.”

On coming out from this last audience, the brave Delelee said there was nothing wanting to make him happy except a good opportunity to have himself cut to pieces for a man who knew so well how to close the wounds of a long disgrace.  Such was the sway that his Majesty exercised over the minds of men.