“Bonaparte return!”—­“Yes.”—­“Upon my word, the best thing I could do would be to set off as speedily as I could, and that is certainly what I should do.  I am thoroughly convinced that he would never pardon me for the part I have taken in the Restoration, and I candidly confess that I should not hesitate a moment to save my life by leaving France.”—­“Well, you are wrong, for I am convinced that if you would range yourself among the number of his friends you might have whatever you wished—­titles, honours, riches.  Of this I could give you assurance.”—­“All this, I must tell you, does not tempt me.  I love France as dearly, as you do, and I am convinced that she can never be happy under Bonaparte.  If he should return I will go and live abroad.”

This is only part of a conversation which lasted a considerable time, and, as is often the case after a long discussion, my friend retained his opinion, and I mine.  However, this second warning, this hypothesis of the return of Bonaparte, made me reflect, and I soon received another hint which gave additional weight to the preceding ones.  An individual with whom I was well acquainted, and whom I knew from his principles and connections to be entirely devoted to the royal cause, communicated to me some extraordinary circumstances which he said alarmed him.  Among other things he said, “The day before yesterday I met Charles de Labedoyere, who, you know, is my intimate friend.  I remarked that he had an air of agitation and abstraction.  I invited him to come and dine with me, but he declined, alleging as an excuse that we should not be alone.  He then asked me to go and dine with him yesterday, as he wanted to talk with me.  I accepted his invitation, and we conversed a long time on political affair’s and the situation of France.  You know my sentiments are quite the reverse of his, so we disputed and wrangled, though we are still very good friends.  But what alarms me is, that at parting Charles pressed my hand, saying, ’Adieu; to-morrow I set off for Grenoble.  In a month you will hear something of Charles de Labedoyere.’”

These three successive communications appeared to me very extraordinary.  The two first were made to me by persons interested in the event, and the third by one who dreaded it.  They all presented a striking coincidence with the intrigues at Plombieres a few months before.  In the month of January I determined to mention the business to M. de Blacas, who then engrossed all credit and all power, and through whose medium alone anything could reach the sovereign.  I need scarcely add that my intention was merely to mention to him the facts without naming the individuals from whom I obtained them.  After all, however, M. de Blacas did not receive me, and I only had the honour of speaking to his secretary, who, if the fact deserve to be recorded, was an abbe named Fleuriel.  This personage, who was an extraordinary specimen of impertinence and self-conceit, would have been an admirable study for a comic poet.  He had all the dignity belonging to the great secretary of a great Minister, and, with an air of indifference, he told me that the Count was not there; but M. de Blacas was there, and I knew it.