themselves with bows and shot a cloud of arrows into the wings.  Now in the heat of action one of these arrows, launched with extraordinary vigour but uncertain aim by a charming young lady, one of the principal dancers, Mcllle.  Duvernay, stuck in the column which separated the Royal Box in the old Le Pelletier house from that of the Marquis du Hallay, only a few inches from my brother’s head.  There was an exclamation from all parts of the house, great confusion on the stage and many comments made.  But “all’s well that ends well.”  That happy time of youth and carelessness and hunting and theatre-going was not to last long.  Two of my brothers started for Africa—­Chartres (as we always called our eldest brother the Due d’Orleans) was to take over the command of a division in the column which, under the orders of Marshal Vallee, was to check the rising prestige of Abd el Kader for ever at the Mouzaia Pass.  My younger brother Aumale, was to have the opportunity during this expedition of breaking his first lance right brilliantly.  I saw them depart with envy, and to add to my annoyance I shortly fell ill of a violent attack of measles.  One day, as I lay in high fever, I saw my father appear followed by M. de Remusat, then Minister of the Interior.  This unusual visit filled me with astonishment, and my surprise increased when my father said, “Joinville, you are to go out to St. Helena and bring back Napoleon’s coffin.”  If I had not been in bed already I should have fallen down flat, and at the first blush I felt nowise flattered when I compared the warlike campaign my brothers were on with the undertaker’s job I was being sent to perform in the other hemisphere.  But I served my country and I had no right to discuss my orders.  And there were two sides to the question, besides.  Above Napoleon, the enemy of my house, the murderer of the Duc d’Enghien, who at his fall had left that dangerous game of chance wherein the ignorant herd is so often the dupe of the political croupier—­universal suffrage--as his legacy to ruined and dismembered France,—­there was the matchless warrior whose genius, even in defeat, had shed immortal glory on our arms.  To fetch his ashes from a foreign land was in a manner to wave the flag of vanquished France aloft once more—­that at least was what we hoped for—­and this view of the case reconciled me to my mission.  As soon as I was on my legs again I started for Toulon, provided with full orders and instructions, both royal and ministerial, and re-took command of the Belle-Poule, a command I was to hold in many seas, during three consecutive years.  I felt some regret at leaving Paris, but the delight at being back amongst the faithful and worthy fellows who made up my crew, my second family, soon made me forget what I had left behind me.  Presently a certain number of passengers came on board.  They formed what was called the St Helena Mission.  Almost all of them had been comrades of Napoleon in his greatness and in his misfortunes.