“Do you not remember your brother’s jockey, Prial?”

“Yes,” said I, “but he was established by my brother as a hairdresser.”

“He is the very same person,” replied the jeweller.  “He has fought very bravely, and is now a colonel of dragoons, a great favourite with Bonaparte, and will be a general at the first promotion.”

As the colonel did not seem to desire a renewal of acquaintance with me,
I did not intrude myself upon him.

During the supper the military gentlemen were encouraged by the bridegroom, and the bottle went round very freely; and the more they drank, the greater and more violent became their political discussions.  Liebeau vociferated in favour of republican and revolutionary measures, and avowed his approbation of requisitions, confiscations, and the guillotine; while Frial inclined to the regular and organized despotism of one, to secret trial, and still more secret executions; defending arbitrary imprisonments, exiles, and transportations.  This displeased Madame Liebeau, who exclaimed: 

“Since the colonel is so fond of an Imperial Government, he can have no objection to remain a faithful subject whenever my husband, Liebeau, becomes, an Antoine the First, Emperor of the French.”

Frial smiled with contempt.

“You seem to think it improbable,” said Liebeau.  “I, Antoine Liebeau, I have more prospect of being an Emperor than Napoleon Bonaparte had ten years ago, when he was only a colonel, and was arrested as a terrorist.  And am I not a Frenchman?  And is he not a foreigner?  Come, shake hands with me; as soon as I am Emperor, depend upon it you shall be a general, and a grand officer of the Legion of Honour.”

“Ah! my jewel,” interrupted Madame Liebeau, “how happy will France then be.  You are such a friend of peace.  We will then have no wars, no contributions; all the English milords may then come here and spend their money, nobody cares about where or how.  Will you not, then, my sweet love, make all the gentlemen here your chamberlains, and permit me to accept all the ladies of the company for my Maids of Honour or ladies-in-waiting?”

“Softly, softly,” cried Frial, who now began to be as intoxicated and as ambitious as the general; “whenever Napoleon dies, I have more hope, more:  claim, and more right than you to the throne.  I am in actual service; and had not Bonaparte been the same, he might have still remained upon the half-pay, obscure and despised.  Were not most of the Field-marshals and generals under him now, above him ten years ago?  May I not, ten years hence, if I am satisfied with you, General Liebeau, make you also a Field-marshal, or my Minister of War; and you, Madame Liebeau, a lady of my wife’s wardrobe, as soon as I am married?  I, too, have my plans and my views, and perhaps one day you will recollect this conversation, and not be sorry for my acquaintance.”

“What! you a colonel, an Emperor, before me, who have so long been a general?” howled Liebeau, who was no longer able to speak.  “I would sooner knock your brains out with this bottle than suffer such a precedence; and my wife a lady of your wardrobe! she who has possessed from her birth the soul of an Empress!  No, sir! never will I take the oath to you, nor suffer anybody else to take it.”