I cannot tell whether what followed was a portion of his premeditated conversation with me, or whether it was the result of the satisfaction he had derived from ascertaining my perfect conviction of the purity of his conduct with regard to Hortense, and being assured that I would express that conviction.  Be this as it may, as I was going out at the door he called me back, saying, “Oh!  I have forgotten something.”  I returned.  “Bourrienne,” said he, “do you still keep up your acquaintance with the Fauchers?”—­“Yes, General; I see them frequently.”—­“You are wrong.”—­ “Why should I not?  They are clever, well-educated men, and exceedingly pleasant company, especially Caesar.  I derive great pleasure from their society; and then they are almost the only persons whose friendship has continued faithful to me since I left you.  You know people do not care for those who can render them no service.”—­“Maret will not see the Fauchers.”—­“That may be, General; but it is nothing to me; and you must recollect that as it was through him I was introduced to them at the Tuileries, I think he ought to inform me of his reasons for dropping their acquaintance.”—­“I tell you again he has closed his door against them.  Do you the same; I advise you.”  As I did not seem disposed to follow this advice without some plausible reason, the First Consul added, “You must know, then, that I learn from Caesar all that passes in your house.  You do not speak very ill of me yourself, nor does any one venture to do so in your presence.  You play your rubber and go to bed.  But no sooner are you gone than your wife, who never liked me, and most of those who visit at your house, indulge in the most violent attacks upon me.  I receive a bulletin from Caesar Faucher every day when he visits at your house; this is the way in which he requites you for your kindness, and for the asylum you afforded his brother.—­[Constantine Rancher had been condemned in contumacy for the forgery of a public document.—­Bourrienne.]—­But enough; you see I know all—­farewell;” and he left me.

The grave having closed over these two brothers,—­[The Fauchers were twin brothers, distinguished in the war of the Revolution, and made brigadier-generals at the same time on the field of battle.  After the Cent Jours they refused to recognise the Bourbons, and were shot by sentence of court-martial at Bordeaux. (Bouillet)]—­I shall merely state that they wrote me a letter the evening preceding their execution, in which they begged me to forgive their conduct towards me.  The following is an extract from this letter: 

In our dungeon we hear our sentence of death being cried in the streets.  To-morrow we shall walk to the scaffold; but we will meet death with such calmness and courage as shall make our executioners blush.  We are sixty years old, therefore our lives will only be shortened by a brief apace.  During our lives we have shared in common, illness, grief, pleasure, danger, and good fortune.  We both entered the world on the same day, and on the same day we shall both depart from it.  As to you, sir....