"I have asked Mr. Monroe to undertake this delicate mission, and he has to-day consented, and is here arranging his plans and discussing with me and with Mr. Madison the points involved. He will not be able to set out for some weeks, but we hope now that he can sail by the eighth of March, reaching Paris somewhere near the twelfth of April. Mr. Livingston naturally knows nothing of this, and the favor I have to ask of you is that, immediately upon your arrival in Paris, you call upon him and deliver to him a note which I shall give you, and also explain fully to him all that I have said to you, all that you have heard at dinner this evening, and particularly repeat to him as much as you can hold in memory of the debate you listened to in the Senate to-day."

The President paused for a moment, and then, with a smile of rare sweetness, he added:

"Is the ardent young friend of Hamilton willing to put the President under such a load of obligations?"

For a moment I hardly knew what response to make. Not that I dreamed of denying his request: I was only too proud and happy that he should have made it. But that he should have reposed such a confidence in me, when he knew me scarcely at all, seemed incomprehensible. I made but a stammering reply.

"Your Excellency," I said, "I fear I have given you but a poor idea of my discretion, but since you trust me in spite of my blunder, I am very proud to be of service to you."

It took but a minute for the President to give me his note to Mr. Livingston, and a few further instructions, and then he bade me God-speed with a warmth and cordiality I had never expected and certainly never deserved at his hands.

There was but little sleep for me that night. As Fatima clattered into the stony courtyard of my inn, I called loudly for Bandy Jim; and when the poor old man came stumbling out of some inner retreat, half blinded with sleep, I begged him to look after Fatima himself, and see that she was well rubbed down and ready for an early morning start, and that I was called and breakfast ready by six.

In my own room I spent not much time in packing my saddle-bags, but it took me a good half-hour to write a brief note to mademoiselle, explaining why I was compelled to cancel my engagement with her for the next day, and bidding her good-by in such fashion that, without seeming presumptuous, she might read between the lines how much of my heart I had put into it.

I had said nothing in my note about going to Paris. I very much desired to keep that for a surprise when I might some day meet her there. And, lest she should hear it from others, I wrote also a note to Meriwether Lewis, asking him to say nothing about it to any one, and to request the President to keep my secret for me.

Then, putting a bright new gold piece with the two notes to be delivered by the trusty hands of Bandy Jim in the morning, I lay down to get a brief sleep, if possible—but, sleeping or waking, to dream of Paris and the Comtesse de Baloit.



CHAPTER XIX

CHECK TO THE ABBE!

"When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war."

I had been in Paris three weeks, and they had been weeks of unalloyed delight. The life and gaiety of the brilliant capital, the streets lined with handsome houses and thronged with gay equipages, richly dressed people, soldiers wearing the tricolored cockade, students, artists, workmen, blanchisseuses, and nursery-maids in picturesque costumes tending prettily dressed children, made a moving panorama I never tired of. Even the great palaces and the wonderful works of art scarcely interested me as did this shifting kaleidoscopic picture, and I looked back at life in my native town on the banks of the Delaware as belonging to another world, incomparably tame and dull by comparison.

Every morning I accompanied my uncle, Monsieur Barbe Marbois, to the Treasury office, and left him at the door, to roam around the streets and watch the life of the town. I was at home again in time for midday dejeuner, and then on Fatima's back (for I had brought Fatima with me; no persuasion of friends could induce me to leave her behind, since she had twice rescued mademoiselle and so become my most trusted friend)—on Fatima's back I dashed out the Avenue to the beautiful Wood of Boulogne, sometimes racing with the young bloods to whom my uncle had introduced me, sometimes checking my horse to a gentle canter beside a coachful of Faubourg St. Germain beauties, exchanging merry compliments with the brilliant and witty mothers while I looked at the pretty daughters, who, for aught I knew, were as stupid as their mothers were brilliant, since they never opened their mouths. And so back to my aunt's in time to make a careful toilet for the four-o'clock dinner, when there were sure to be guests, more or less distinguished, but always interesting.

I had delivered my message and my note from the President to Mr. Livingston on the day of my arrival, and it seemed to me that it did not please him overmuch that an envoy extraordinaire should be sent to attend to his affairs; but he said nothing, and received me most graciously, both as a messenger from the President and because I was the son of his old friend.

Several times since my arrival at my uncle's house, both Mr. Livingston and his son the colonel had been guests there, and always the talk had turned on what most interested me, the purchase of New Orleans and the Floridas. At one of these dinners, Monsieur Talleyrand, the Minister of Foreign Relations, was also guest, and while there was but little reference to Louisiana at table, I was, with no intention on my part, a listener later to a most interesting conversation between Monsieur Talleyrand and Mr. Livingston that was no doubt intended to be strictly private.

Thinking that it was very likely the three gentlemen—- the Minister of Foreign Relations, my uncle the Secretary of the Treasury, and the United States minister—might have matters of importance to discuss where my absence would be more desirable than my presence, I left the salon immediately after dinner, and went out into the garden, taking with me a Philadelphia paper that had arrived by that morning's express and that I had not yet seen. I took my paper into the little summer-house at the farther end of the garden, and was soon engrossed reading the debates in Congress. I found there had been another of great interest on the same Louisiana subject, and so deeply immersed was I in my paper that I did not notice that any one had entered the garden until the sound of voices quite close to me roused me. A small table with several garden-chairs surrounding it stood under a spreading horse-chestnut tree, and there we often took our morning coffee, if the weather was fine, or smoked our evening cigars. At this table Monsieur Talleyrand and Mr. Livingston had seated themselves, and how long they had been talking I did not know, so absorbed was I in my paper, when Mr. Livingston's voice, a little raised above its usual even tenor, roused me.

I sprang to my feet, realizing that I must seem like an eavesdropper, should any one discover me there, even though I had not heard a word. Mr. Livingston was facing the door of the summer-house, and as he saw me he nodded pleasantly to me to come forward.

"Here, Citizen Minister," he said to Mr. Talleyrand, "is a young man whose father would like to train him for the profession of diplomacy. Perhaps he could not begin his apprenticeship better than by being present at our interview, and, if you have no objections, I will ask him to remain. He can act as secretary and take notes for the future reference of us both, if you like."

I rather thought Mr. Talleyrand did not quite like, though he assented to Mr. Livingston's proposal, but with such cold politeness as made me exceedingly uncomfortable, and I would have been very glad to make my escape to the house. But, for some reason, Mr. Livingston seemed to especially desire me to remain, and I saw no help for it but to sit down at a respectful distance, take my memorandum-book out of my pocket, and prepare, ostensibly at least, to take notes.

I was much concerned, also, at what Mr. Livingston had said about my father desiring to train me for diplomacy. He had never said anything to me about it, and I determined on the instant I would never be a diplomat. "The life of a soldier for me!" I said to myself, and then suddenly realized that Mr. Livingston was talking, and it behooved me to listen carefully if I was to play the secretary.

Mr. Livingston was saying:

"Be assured, sir, that even were it possible that the government of the United States could be insensible to the sufferings of the Western people, they would find it as easy to prevent the Mississippi from rolling its waters into the ocean as to control the impulse of the people to do themselves justice. Sir, I will venture to say that were a fleet to shut up the mouths of the Chesapeake, the Delaware, and the Hudson, it would create less sensation in the United States than the denial of the right of deposit at New Orleans has done."

I liked the ring in Mr. Livingston's voice, and his words sounded very stirring to me; but I could not see that they made any impression on the impassive countenance of Monsieur Talleyrand. He was reclining in his garden-chair, and I could see that as Mr. Livingston spoke he was regarding him intently through half-shut eyes. His tones were of the sweetest and blandest as he replied:

"The First Consul, Mr. Livingston, has asked me to say to you that he proposes to send General Bernadotte as envoy to the United States to acquire such information as he may deem necessary, previous to his taking any measure relative to the situation in which the acquisition of Louisiana will place France with respect to the United States. I hope, moreover, that this measure on the part of the First Consul will prove satisfactory both to you and to your government."

Now I cannot but think that Mr. Talleyrand is too astute a man to have thought for an instant that this would prove satisfactory, and so, I have no doubt, he was quite prepared for Mr. Livingston's indignant outburst:

"Satisfactory, sir! If, sir, the question related to the forming of a new treaty, I should find no objection to this measure. On the contrary, I should readily acquiesce in it as that which would be best calculated to render the treaty mutually advantageous. But, sir, it is not a new treaty for which we now press, but the recognition of an old one, by which the United States have acquired rights that no change in the circumstances of the country obliges them to relinquish, and which they never will relinquish but with their political existence!"

It was hard for me to sit still under such ringing sentences. I wanted to clap my hands and cry "Bravo!" For a moment all the glories of Paris turned dull and insipid; I would have given them all to be in Kentucky on Fatima's back, marching down the river to capture New Orleans.

But Mr. Livingston had not finished. Mr. Talleyrand made a slight movement as if to speak, but, with uplifted hand to prevent him, Mr. Livingston hurried on:

"In what situation, sir, are we now placed? An armament is about sailing for New Orleans. That port has been shut by the order of Spain. The French commandant will find it shut. Will he think himself authorized to open it? If not, it must remain shut until the envoy of France shall have arrived in America, made the necessary inquiries, and transmitted the result of those inquiries to the First Consul. In the meantime all the produce of five States is left to rot upon their hands. There is only one season in which the navigation of the Mississippi is practicable. This season must necessarily pass before the envoy of France can arrive and make his report. Is it supposable, sir, that the people of the United States will tranquilly await the progress of negotiations, when the ruin of themselves and their families will be attendant on the delay? I can never bring myself to believe that the First Consul will, by deferring for a moment the recognition of a right that admits of no discussion, break all those ties which bind the United States to France, obliterate the sense of past obligations, change every political relation that it has been, and still is, the earnest wish of the United States to preserve, and force them to connect their interests with a rival power! And this, too, for an object of no real moment in itself. Louisiana is, and ever must be, from physical causes, a miserable country in the hands of an European power."

Mr. Talleyrand's eyes had not moved from Mr. Livingston's face during this long speech, but at his last words I saw a sudden spark leap into them.

"You no doubt think, sir," he said in his low, even tones, "that Louisiana would be a much better country in the hands of the United States. Would your government like to buy it from us?"

"You know, sir, and have known for some time," replied Mr. Livingston, "that we are ready to make an offer for New Orleans and the Floridas as soon as you are ready to listen to it."

"But would you not rather have the whole of Louisiana? The rest of it, without New Orleans, would be of little value to us. What would you give for the whole?"

Mr. Livingston looked bewildered for an instant; it was almost more than he could take in at once. But after a moment's thought he replied:

"It is a subject, sir, I have not considered; but I suppose we shall not object to twenty million francs, provided our citizens are paid."

"That is much too low an offer, my dear sir," responded Talleyrand, "but I see the idea is new to you. I would be glad if you would reflect upon it, and tell me to-morrow the result of your reflections."

"Mr. Monroe will be in town in a day or two." (My heart gave so great a thump when Mr. Livingston said that, I feared they might hear it—for would not the Comtesse de Baloit be with him?) "And I would like to delay any further offer until I shall have the pleasure of introducing him."

Mr. Talleyrand shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"As you will, Monsieur; but do not give Mr. Monroe reason to think that I speak with authority. The idea struck me that you might like the whole of the colony quite as well as part of it."

I thought this would have put an end to the conversation; but I soon saw that Mr. Livingston had another card to play, and that he evidently did not believe the minister was speaking entirely on his own authority.

"Monsieur Talleyrand," he said, "I have this morning received a notice from my home government that Mr. Ross's resolution authorizing the President to seize New Orleans was lost by four votes. Another was offered by Mr. Breckinridge of Kentucky, which was unanimously adopted. Mr. Breckinridge's resolution was to the effect that the President of the United States be authorized to require of the executives of the several States, to arm and equip, and hold in readiness to march at a moment's notice, eighty thousand militia; that money be appropriated for paying and subsisting such troops; and also that money be appropriated for erecting on the Western border one or more arsenals, as the President may judge proper. Monsieur Talleyrand, this means but one thing: that the United States is ready to act at once if France does not recognize our right of deposit; and I beg you will use your influence with the First Consul, that he will not send General Bernadotte until this question is determined."

Mr. Talleyrand, with another shrug of his shoulders, seemed to disclaim any influence with the First Consul, though he said:

"If you will make me an offer for the whole of Louisiana that I can convey to him, I have no doubt it will carry great weight."

"I must decline to do so, Monsieur, as I am expecting Mr. Monroe in a day or two."

Suddenly Mr. Livingston changed his tone. It was no longer one of mild argument, but as of one who called another to account. I was astonished that he dared so address the powerful Minister of Foreign Relations.

"I have long been endeavoring to bring you to some point, Monsieur, but, unfortunately, without effect. I wish merely to have the negotiation opened by any proposition on your part. It was with that view I sent you a note a few days ago, to which, as yet, I have received no answer."

The great man sounded to me surprisingly meek as he replied:

"I would have answered your note earlier, Mr. Livingston, but I have been waiting, hoping I could give you some more satisfactory reply. I will delay no longer. I will answer it; but it will have to be evasively, for Louisiana is not ours."

I caught a glimpse of Mr. Livingston's countenance; a more sardonic smile I have never seen—a smile which said as plainly as words, "You are lying." He spoke with frigid courtesy:

"It seems strange that I should be better informed than the Minister of Foreign Relations," he said, "but I have seen the treaty. Moreover, I know that the Consul has appointed officers to govern the colony, and he has himself told me that General Victor was to take possession. And, what seems to me most convincing proof—why does the First Consul send General Bernadotte to the United States to treat in relation to Louisiana, if Louisiana does not belong to France?"

I thought that would have floored even Talleyrand; but not at all. With another shrug of his shoulders, and putting together his finger-tips in a manner that gave him a most indifferent air, he only persisted in saying that they had it in contemplation, but had not yet secured it. I wondered what Mr. Livingston would say next, but I need not have feared for him. Quick as thought, and all smiles and amiability, he responded to the minister:

"I am very well pleased to understand this from you, Monsieur, because, if so, we will not commit ourselves with you by taking it from Spain, to whom, by your account, it still belongs. And as we have just cause of complaint against Spain, if Mr. Monroe concurs in my opinion, we will negotiate no further on the subject with you, but advise our government to take possession."

For the first time Mr. Talleyrand seemed moved. He sprang to his feet and spoke quickly:

"I beg you will take no such measures at present, Mr. Livingston. I will answer your note, though I must still say, as I have said before, it will have to be evasively."

Mr. Livingston, who had also risen to his feet, bowed formally.

"I shall be glad to receive any communication from you, Citizen Minister, but we are not disposed to trifle. The times are critical, and though I do not know what instructions Mr. Monroe may bring, I am perfectly satisfied they will require a precise and prompt notice. I am very fearful, from the little progress I have made, my government will consider me as a very indolent negotiator."

Mr. Talleyrand laughed, a high, rasping laugh, but evidently intended to be of great good humor.

"I will give you a certificate, Mr. Livingston, and you can send it home to your government, that you are the most importunate negotiator I have ever met with."

Their conference seemed to be ended; they turned and walked toward the house, leaving me to ponder with wonder and amaze at what I had listened to, and with keen admiration for the part Mr. Livingston had taken in the matter. I had always been led to believe that no man could hold his own against the shrewd and unfathomable Abbe; but, if I mistook not, this time Mr. Livingston had not only held his own, but got much the better of him.

Suddenly a thought flashed into my mind. What did Talleyrand mean by repeating over and over, and in such significant phrase, that his answer must be "evasive"? Could it be possible that he was intimating that a consideration would be necessary to make it more decided? I believed that he had so intimated, and that Mr. Livingston had understood him, and had repelled the intimation with scorn.

Then again there flashed into my mind the two million dollars that had been voted the President to use "as he thought best" in adjusting this matter. Was it intended to use in buying up "such creatures," I said scornfully to myself, "as Talleyrand"? Vague insinuations in those speeches in Congress I had listened to now seemed to me as clear as day.

Hot with indignation and shame,—my indignation for Talleyrand, my shame that my country could stoop to such measures,—I rushed into the house to my uncle. He had been entertaining Colonel Livingston while the other two were holding their conference; but all three gentlemen were gone now, and I found him sitting quietly in his library, reading. I had flung the door wide as I entered, and I stopped on the threshold.

"Monsieur, what does it mean?" I cried. "Does Monsieur Talleyrand want Mr. Livingston to offer him a bribe? And were the two millions of dollars given to Mr. Jefferson for such base purposes?"

My uncle looked up, startled and amazed beyond measure. He did not at all take in my meaning, but he was very sensible of my rudeness. My uncle was ever the most amiable of men and the most tolerant, but for correctness of deportment and elegance of manner he was a stickler, and so flagrant a breach of both was intolerable to him.

"I think you forget yourself, sir," he said coldly; and that was all he said, but his words cut like tempered steel in quivering flesh. A great wave of mortification rushed in a crimson flood to the very roots of my hair.

"I am most truly sorry, sir, to have been so rude," I stammered, "and I beg you will not think that we do not know good manners in America. I fear I am ever slow to think and headlong to act, and it has often brought me to grief."

My uncle, who, as I said, was all amiability, forgave me at once, and invited me most cordially to enter his library. I was loath to intrude after my great rudeness, but he would not let me off.

"Come in, come in," he said, "and I will answer your question by another. What has led you to think that Mr. Talleyrand desires a bribe from Mr. Livingston? Has any one been saying so to you?"

Then was I in greater confusion than before. I did not know whether Mr. Livingston would desire me to say anything about the interview to which I had been accidentally made a party, and I had intended to say nothing to any one until I had had a chance to find out his wishes; and now, in my indignation, I had entirely forgot my resolution and betrayed myself. There was no way out but to make a clean breast of my part in it.

So I told my uncle how I had been caught in the summer-house, and been invited to become a listener to secrets of state. My uncle threw back his head and laughed long and loud. But when he had calmed down a little, he looked at me keenly.

"So you think Mr. Talleyrand wanted a bribe from Mr. Livingston? Would you mind telling me what he said that led you to think so?"

Now was I greatly embarrassed, for I had fully resolved that not one iota of information of which I had become the possessor so innocently should pass my lips without Mr. Livingston's sanction. My uncle noticed my embarrassment, and spoke quickly:

"Never mind, my boy. It is no doubt just as well that you should not tell me what you feel you have no right to repeat; but it would make no real difference. I see that you are trustworthy, and I do not mind telling you that the First Consul is of somewhat the same opinion. He does not altogether trust the Minister of Foreign Relations, and it is more than likely the negotiations will be taken out of his hands and put into mine. It is more than likely also that it was because Mr. Livingston does not trust him that he desired to have you present as a witness. Now you see how I trust you. These are matters of grave import, my boy, and if you had been eager to tell me all you had heard I would have been loath indeed to confide in you, as I have just done."

I glowed with pleasure at my uncle's words, and thanked him most earnestly for his confidence, which I told him was not misplaced. And then, fearing I was intruding too long upon his hours of privacy (for they were few indeed, and greatly prized, I knew), I bowed myself out of his library, and dashed for a ride on Fatima down the crowded avenue. For it was upon Fatima's back I could ever think best, and I had much to think over: the amazing conversation I had listened to; my uncle's confidence to me; and last of all, and which set my pulses throbbing and the blood tingling to my finger-tips—Mr. Monroe would be in Paris in a day or two!



CHAPTER XX

BONAPARTE GIVES ENGLAND A RIVAL

"Great let me call him, for he conquered me."

The next morning was Easter, and, dressed in a new suit of puce-colored ferrandine, with fresh ruffles of finest lace, and a new plume in my hat, I walked decorously beside my aunt through the thronged streets, every one dressed in his best and every one going the same way—to the Church of the Madeleine, to see the First Consul attend service. The sun was shining, birds were singing, the air was soft and warm and filled with the mingled perfume of flowers and incense, borne out through the open doors of all the churches.

The world was happy, and so was I. I was greatly excited, too, for I was to behold, for the first time, the man who held in his hand the destinies of nations, and before whose terrible word even our own proud republic trembled.

I had been three weeks in Paris and had not seen him. It seemed to be my ill fortune never to be on the streets when he made one of his dashing progresses through them, and though there had been several levees my wardrobe had not been in condition to attend them. At least, so my aunt thought. I think I would have been willing to don once more the old plum-colored velvets for the sake of seeing the great Bonaparte, but Madame Marbois thought otherwise.

"Nobody is such a stickler for forms and ceremonies, or such a lover of magnificence, as the First Consul," said she, "and if you want to make a good impression upon him, or do credit to your family at home and to your uncle and to me, you must wait for your new costumes."

So she had me to the tailor's, and more suits were ordered than I thought I could wear in a lifetime. When they came home and my man Caesar (my own colored boy whom I had brought with me from home) had laid them all out for me in my room, I thought them well worth waiting for. There were suits for church and suits for dinner, suits for riding and for walking, and, most resplendent of all, two court costumes. One especially of white satin with much gold lace and bullion quite took my breath away. Now I have always had a weakness for fine clothes that I secretly deprecated, for I feared it was a womanish weakness quite unbefitting a soldier of fortune, which was the career I had laid out for myself and was quite determined upon. Yet I have never found that my liking for fine clothes has made me less ready to draw my sword to help the innocent or weak, and so I hope it may not be a sign in me of any lack of true manliness.

Be this as it may, I was walking joyously beside my aunt that beautiful Easter morning, and part of the joy in my heart was for the beautiful puce-colored ferrandine that sat so well and had an air of distinction I was sure no other clothes of mine had ever had, for these were made in Paris.

I have no very distinct recollection of the services; indeed, I hardly paid enough attention to them to follow them decorously, for I was consumed with an eager desire for but one event—the entrance of the First Consul.

A subdued murmur (almost, it seemed to me, like suppressed "Vive le rois") announced to me that he was just entering the door, and as I sat by the aisle down which he was coming, and far to the front, by turning in my seat and stretching my neck shamelessly I had time to see him well.

Could this little fellow, who might easily have stood under my arm stretched level with my shoulder, could he be the hero of Marengo! the Dictator of France who held all Europe trembling in his grasp! I think that I had heretofore had an unconscious feeling that greatness of stature meant greatness of heart and mind and courage, and I had gloried in my inches. Now I was almost ashamed of them, for this little man coming rapidly down the aisle with a firm, quick step seemed to breathe power from the chiseled curve of the nostril, from the haughty curl of the beautiful lips, but most of all from the imperial flash of the dark eyes under level brows. If his face had not been so full of power, yes, and of arrogance, it would have been almost too beautiful for a man's face, framed in silky brown hair thinning at the temples, but curling in one dark lock above the broad white brow.

But if it humbled me to see so much greatness in such small stature, it comforted me not a little to observe that the great man was no despiser of dress. He might have been molded into his small-clothes and waistcoat of white doeskin, so exactly did they fit every line and curve of his perfect figure. His dark-blue military coat of finest cloth was set off by heavy epaulets of gold and by a broad azure ribbon crossing his breast and bearing the jeweled insignia of the Legion of Honor. The crimson sword-sash which bore his sword sheathed in a scabbard of gold flashing with jewels, completed in his own dress the tricolor of France. He wore high military boots, I think to carry out the military effect of his epaulets and sword, for it was in the character of soldier, the hero of many battles, the winner of glory for France, that the people idolized him.

To the right and the left, his eagle glance took in the whole great congregation, and as he passed it fell on me. His glances were never idle ones; I knew he had seen me, and my pulses quivered and fluttered like a young maiden's. From that moment I was as much his slave as any soldier of La Vendee, and had he not himself disillusioned me most bitterly, I should still have been regarding him as the hero of my dreams, sans peur et sans reproche, the greatest man and greatest soldier of all time. I still believe the latter title belongs to him, but not the first, for a great man must be a good man too, like our Washington, and that Bonaparte was not.

It is no wonder, then, that I was quite beside myself with excitement when at dejeuner my uncle said to me:

"Would you like to ride out to St. Cloud with me this afternoon? The First Consul has summoned me to a conference with him, if I mistake not, on the subject you heard discussed yesterday."

"Oh, thank you, sir. And shall I be present at the conference?" I spoke quickly and foolishly, for I was greatly excited.

My uncle laughed.

"Well, hardly, my boy, unless you find a way, as you did yesterday, of compelling the First Consul to invite you to be present."

I liked not to be laughed at, but I knew it was but my uncle's teasing fashion, and all the way out through the beautiful Boulogne woods, the birds singing, the sun shining, the soft spring airs blowing, the alders and willows pale pink and yellow in the distance, the great buds of the horse-chestnuts just bursting into leaf and everywhere the vivid green of the fresh turf; my heart beating high with happy excitement to be in beautiful Paris and on my way to historic St. Cloud, where dwelt the most wonderful man of the world; and Fatima prancing and curveting under me, her dainty hoofs scarce touching the earth as she danced along the green allees of St. Cloud's beautiful park, sharing my happy excitement (though only, I suppose, for a horse's natural joy in trees and grass and sunshine)—all that swift and beautiful ride, galloping beside my uncle's coach, his words rang in my ears, and I longed with all my heart to be present at that conference: not so much to hear what was said as to see the great Bonaparte saying it.

I parted from my uncle at one of the great fountains, he riding up in his coach to the palace doors, and Fatima and I starting off on an exploring tour around the park. He would not hear to my waiting for him, for he said he might be detained for hours, and indeed it was possible the Consul would keep him all night at St. Cloud, as sometimes happened, to call upon at any hour of the night when some new suggestion occurred to him.

Riding fast, as was my custom when alone with Fatima, it did not take us long to exhaust the beauties of the park, and my eyes began to turn longingly toward the palace. Somewhere within its stately walls I supposed the conference was going on. Verily, there were some compensations in diplomacy when it gave a man like my uncle a chance to hold close converse with a man like the First Consul. (And in that I do not intend to speak slightingly of my Uncle Francois, for he was ever in my regard the most admirable of men. Only, it seemed to me then that to be able to talk familiarly with the great Bonaparte was a privilege above the deserts of ordinary mortals.)

I intended to remain at St. Cloud until toward evening, for if the conference should prove short I might still have the pleasure of my uncle's company on the homeward trip. But time began to hang heavily on my hands, and it occurred to me that I would ask the sentry, whom I had seen from a distance walking up and down in front of the main entrance, whether it were possible to gain admission to the palace. I thought it probable that it was not open to visitors, since the First Consul was occupying it, but it would do no harm to find out, and if by chance I should be admitted, I would at least have the pleasure of wandering through the rooms where he dwelt.

It was necessary first to dispose of Fatima, and a thicket of evergreen at one side of the palace caught my eye as affording a grateful shade from the warm afternoon sun (which so early in the season could be found only under evergreens) and a hiding-place from any prowling thief who might want to steal her, or from any troublesome guard who might come upon her and carry her off to the Consul's stables.

So into the thicket I rode, following a winding path that led toward the upper end near the palace, and at the very upper edge I found just what I wanted—a clump of bushes so thick set that they formed an almost impenetrable screen. They were lower than the other evergreens—not much higher than my horse's ears, but that was high enough. Into the midst of this clump I rode Fatima and dismounted.

"Stand here, Sweetheart," I said softly, "and budge not a step for any man but your master."

She rubbed her nose against my shoulder in token that she understood, and I whispered again in her ear:

"Not a whinny, not a sound, my Beauty," and left her, feeling sure no man could steal her and no guard could lead her away by guile or force, nor would she betray her presence there by any noise.

As I left the evergreens, intending to go around to the front of the building and speak to the sentry, I saw, coming down the path toward me, a young and pretty woman, who, I recognized by her dress, must be in service at the palace.

"I will inquire from her," I said to myself promptly, "for she will know as well as the sentry whether there is any admission, and she will no doubt have a much pleasanter way of saying either yes or no."

So, as she was about to pass me with a little curtsy and a pretty smile, I stopped her.

"Mademoiselle," I said, and doffed my hat, "is it permitted to see the palace to-day?"

"No, Monsieur," she answered, "unless one is invited or has business of importance with the First Consul."

Now I have ever had great faith in woman's wit, and especially a Frenchwoman's, and it suddenly struck me if this one should prove as quick-witted as most of her kind, she would know how to secure my admission into the palace; and if she should prove as kindly disposed as I believed the sight of gold and a pleasant word might make her, then was my success assured.

"Mademoiselle," I said, and my manner was as deferential as it might have been to her mistress. "I am not invited, and I have no business of importance with the First Consul; but I am from America, and it would please me greatly to see the rooms where the famous general lives. Cannot Mademoiselle think of a way?" and I slipped into her hand a louis d'or.

She curtsied again and smiled again, and then she answered:

"It is difficult, Monsieur, but I have a friend on guard in the upper corridor. If I can arrange with him to let us pass, I can show Monsieur the grand salon, the little salon, and the state dining-room. Would that please Monsieur?"

"Vastly," I answered, for though it might not be seeing all I would like to see, it would be doing something to while away the tedium of waiting, and there seemed a little of the spice of adventure about it that pleased my restless spirit.

"I will go and consult Gaston," said Mademoiselle Felice (for that, she told me, was her pretty name, and I took it as a felicitous omen), "and I will return in five minutes. If Monsieur will await me by the pines, he will not have to wait long."

Yet it seemed long. I am sure many five minutes had passed, and I had begun to think I would never see again either my gold piece or my pretty Felice, when she came tripping up in an entirely different direction from the one in which she had left me.

She had had trouble. Gaston had scruples. Suppose harm were intended his general? Women were easily deceived. Her "American" might be a British assassin in disguise. She had had to make herself responsible—she, Felice!—for my innocence and honor. She had also been obliged to show Gaston the piece of gold I had given her and to assure him there would be another for him if he were complaisant. I judged, also, that she had found it necessary to offer him a bribe quite as tangible as the gold piece but less mercenary, for her face was rosier and her eyes brighter and her hair a little more disheveled than when I had first seen her.

And now began a real adventure, for Felice assured me much caution would be necessary. How we both slipped out of the pine thicket, she some distance ahead, I strolling carelessly behind, how by almost insensible little signs she indicated to me when to advance and when to stay my steps; how she finally guided me through a narrow rear entrance and by dark corridors and winding staircases to the very corridor Gaston was guarding; and how I slipped another gold piece into Gaston's hand as we passed him, would be too long in the telling.

Gaston was doing sentry duty before two doors some twenty paces apart. One of them opened into a dark side corridor (where we had passed him and I had slipped the gold into his hand), and the other into the head of the main corridor. We had just entered the main corridor, and Felice was leading the way into the grand salon, when she turned quickly:

"Go back, Monsieur," she said in an excited whisper, "here comes an officer!"

I had caught sight of him, too, and I was the more ready to turn back quickly, because in my hasty glimpse the officer had looked to me very much like the Chevalier Le Moyne. I thought it was more than likely I was mistaken, but I did not wish to run any possible risk of being seen by him, and I hoped that in the semi-obscurity of that part of the corridor he had either not seen us at all or at least not recognized us.

We fled precipitately back through the dark side corridor, I with a keen feeling of elation (for a sense of risk or peril of any kind always sends my spirits to the highest point), but Felice, I believe, beginning to repent of her bargain.

"Monsieur," she whispered, "we will go back the way we came—" but what further she was about to say I know not, for at that moment a door opened at the farther end of the side corridor. It was a door we must pass in finding our way out, and through it now we heard much loud laughing and loud talking of men. Evidently a party at cards was breaking up, and through that open door some of the players were about to pass. Our retreat was cut off.

Felice clutched her hair in desperation.

"Ah, mon Dieu!" she moaned, "I will lose my place! I will lose my life!"

I had hardly time to think of my own plight, I was so sorry for her distress, and so remorseful to think I had brought her into such straits for the sake of a silly adventure.

But an idea struck Felice. We had come to a stand beside Gaston and the one of the two doors he was guarding which opened into the side corridor. He had himself stopped a moment in his pacing to and fro, perplexed by our dilemma.

"Quick, Gaston," Felice whispered eagerly, "let Monsieur into the dressing-room closet; it is the only place!"

Gaston seemed to demur, but Felice overruled him imperiously.

"You must, Gaston! And be quick! Would you have Monsieur Fouche throw us both into prison? I will be back for him in a few minutes, as soon as all is quiet."

Gaston hesitated no longer. He threw open the door before which we were standing, and together they hurried me into a room which I saw at once was a dressing-room belonging to a gentleman.

"You must be very still, Monsieur," whispered Felice; then she opened a door and thrust me into a dark closet, closing the door noiselessly behind me as she whispered, "I will return in a few minutes."

I was but as wax in her hands, for having led her into such distress and peril, I felt that I must submit to any means that would save her from disastrous results. Yet I liked not being shut up in a dark closet in a gentleman's dressing-room. I began, too, to think of my own peril, and for a full minute after finding myself in my hiding-place my knees did so shake beneath me, and my heart did so pound within me, I was as one deaf and unconscious to all surroundings.

But as my excitement began to calm itself I became aware that I had for some time been hearing several voices: one, which did most of the talking, high, rasping, vehement, passionate; the other two, making brief or monosyllabic replies, low-toned and restrained. I began to perceive, too, that I was not entirely in the dark. A faint light was coming through between slightly parted curtains which seemed to separate my closet from some other apartment than the dressing-room. I looked through this aperture, barely wide enough for the line of vision, not wide enough to betray me to any one in the room beyond, especially since I was in the dark and the Easter sun was flooding the richly furnished apartment.

Standing in an attitude of respect on either side of a low marble mantel bearing a wonderful golden clock stood two gentlemen. One of them was my uncle, Monsieur Marbois, and the other, whom I did not know, I learned later was Minister Decres. Gesticulating vehemently and speaking with great excitement, through the center of the room back and forth strode rapidly the First Consul!

I was overwhelmed at the sight. By what trick of fate had I been thrust into the very midst of this conference at which I had so longed to be present? My blood rushed through my veins at such tumultuous pace as carried my reason with it. No thought of listening to what was not intended for me to hear entered my mind, only a great joy that I was in the midst of some strange adventure such as I had read of in books, where wonderful things happen to the hero who hides behind an arras. And no more wonderful thing could happen to me than to be seeing and hearing the great Bonaparte!

And this is what he was saying:

"I know the full value of Louisiana, and I have been desirous of repairing the fault of the French negotiator who abandoned it in 1763. A few lines of a treaty have restored it to me, and I have scarcely recovered it when I must expect to lose it. But if it escapes from me," he stopped and turned suddenly to the two ministers, lifting a threatening hand, "it shall one day cost dearer to those who oblige me to strip myself of it than to those to whom I wish to deliver it."

I thought at first this threat was uttered against the United States, and so terrible did he look, so like an avenging fury, that I shuddered as I thought of my country the object of his vindictive wrath. But his next words enlightened me. He resumed his rapid stride and went on speaking with the same excitement:

"The English have successively taken from France Canada, Cape Breton, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, and India. They are engaged in exciting troubles in San Domingo. They shall not have the Mississippi, which they covet.

"Louisiana is nothing in comparison with their conquests in all parts of the globe, and yet the jealousy they feel at the restoration of this colony to the sovereignty of France acquaints me with their wish to take possession of it, and it is thus they will begin the war.

"They have twenty ships of war in the Gulf of Mexico; they sail over those seas as sovereigns! The conquest of Louisiana would be easy, if they only took the trouble to make a descent there. I have not a moment to lose in putting it out of their reach! I know not whether they are not already there. It is their usual course, and if I had been in their place, I would not have waited. I wish, if there is still time, to take away from them any idea that they may have of ever possessing that colony."



Once more he stopped and faced the two ministers, and gazed at them steadily for a moment, first one, then the other, before he uttered his next words. I know not whether he paused because he hesitated to utter them, or because he wished to make them more forcible. Then he said slowly and impressively, with no trace of the excitement that had characterized his former words:

"I think of ceding it to the United States."

If he had expected to create a sensation he was not disappointed; the irrepressible start of each, the glowing eyes, the eager desire to speak expressed in both countenances were abundant evidences of it, and I in my dark closet was far more excited than either: for here was more than my wildest dreams to be realized. But Bonaparte had not finished his speech; with a gesture restraining them from giving utterance to the words that were hurrying to their lips, he went on:

"You will say that I can scarcely cede it to them, for it is not yet in our possession. If, however, I leave the least time to our enemies, I shall transmit only an empty title to those republicans whose friendship I seek. They ask of me only one town in Louisiana; but I already consider the colony as entirely lost, and it appears to me that in the hands of this growing power it will be more useful to the policy of France, and even to its commerce, than if I should attempt to keep it. Citizen Minister," looking at my uncle, "what is your opinion?"

My uncle, who had been all eagerness to speak at first, seemed to hesitate now that the opportunity was given him.

"I believe, Citizen First Consul," he said slowly, "that we should not hesitate to make a sacrifice of that which is about slipping away from us. War with England is inevitable. Shall we be able with inferior naval forces to defend Louisiana against that power? At the time of the discovery of Louisiana the neighboring provinces were as feeble as herself. They are now powerful and Louisiana is still in her infancy. The country is scarcely at all inhabited; you have not fifty soldiers there. Where are your means of sending garrisons thither? Can we restore fortifications that are in ruins, and construct a long chain of forts upon a frontier of four hundred leagues? If England lets you undertake these things, it is because they will drain your resources, and she will feel a secret joy in seeing you exhaust yourself in efforts of which she alone will derive the profit. You will send out a squadron; but while it is crossing the oceans, the colony will fall, and the squadron will in its turn be in great danger. Louisiana is open to the English from the north by the Great Lakes, and if, to the south, they show themselves at the mouth of the Mississippi, New Orleans will immediately fall into their hands. This conquest would be still easier to the Americans: they can reach the Mississippi by several navigable rivers, and to be masters of the country it will be sufficient for them to enter it. The colony has existed for a century, and, in spite of efforts and sacrifices of every kind, the last account of its population and resources attests its weakness. If it becomes a French colony and acquires increased importance, there will be in its very prosperity a germ of independence which will not be long in developing itself. The more it nourishes the less chance shall we have of preserving it.

"The French have attempted to form colonies in several parts of the continent of North America. Their efforts have everywhere proved abortive. The English are patient and laborious; they do not fear the solitude and silence of newly settled countries. The Frenchman, lively and active, requires society; he is fond of conversing with neighbors. He willingly enters on the experiment of cultivating the soil, but at the first disappointment quits the spade and ax for the chase."

Bonaparte, as my uncle ceased talking, had thrown himself into a fauteuil and signed to the others to sit down. He had listened with keen attention to my uncle's long speech, but now he interrupted him abruptly and harshly.

"How does it happen that the French, who are incapable of succeeding in a continental colony, have always made great progress in the West Indies?"

"Because," replied Monsieur Marbois, "the slaves perform all the labors. The whites, who would soon be exhausted by the heat of the climate, have, however, the vigor of mind necessary to direct their operations."

"By whom is the land cultivated in Louisiana?" asked the First Consul.

"Slavery," answered my uncle, "has given Louisiana half her population. An inexcusable imprudence was committed in suddenly granting to the slaves of San Domingo a liberty for which they had not been prepared. The blacks and whites both have been victims of this great fault."

"I am undecided," said Bonaparte, "whether it would be better to maintain or abolish slavery in Louisiana."

"Of all the scourges that have afflicted the human race," responded my uncle, "slavery is the most detestable! But even humanity requires great precautions in the application of the remedy, and you cannot apply it if Louisiana should again become French. Governments still half resist emancipation: they tolerate in secret what they ostensibly condemn, and they themselves are embarrassed by their false position. The general sentiment of the world is in favor of emancipation; it is in vain that the colonists and planters wish to arrest a movement which public opinion approves. The occupation of Louisiana—a colony with slaves—will occasion us more expense than it will afford us profit."

As my uncle ceased speaking, Bonaparte turned to Minister Decres and with a motion of his hand indicated that he was ready to hear his opinion. The minister began eagerly:

"We are still at peace with England," said he; "the colony has just been ceded to us; it depends on the First Consul to preserve it. It would not be wise in him to abandon, for fear of a doubtful danger, the most important establishment that we can form out of France, and despoil ourselves of it for no other reason than the possibility of a war; it would be as well, if not better, that it should be taken from us by force of arms.

"You will not acknowledge, by a resignation of Louisiana, that England is sovereign mistress of the seas, that she is there invulnerable, and that no one can possess colonies except at her good pleasure! It does not become you to fear the kings of England! If they should seize Louisiana, as some would have you fear, Hanover would be immediately in your hands, as a certain pledge of its restoration. France, deprived of her navy and her colonies, is stripped of half her splendor and of a great part of her strength. Louisiana can indemnify us for all our losses. There does not exist on the globe a single port, a single city, susceptible of becoming as important as New Orleans, and the neighborhood of the American States already makes it one of the most commercial in the world. The Mississippi does not reach there until it has received twenty other rivers, most of which surpass in size the finest rivers of Europe.

"The navigation to the Indies, by doubling the Cape of Good Hope, has changed the course of European trade and ruined Venice and Genoa. What will be its direction if, at the Isthmus of Panama, a simple canal should be opened to connect the one ocean with the other? The revolution which navigation will then experience will be still more considerable, and the circumnavigation of the globe will become easier than the long voyages that are now made in going to and returning from India. Louisiana will be on this new route, and it will then be acknowledged that this possession is of inestimable value.

"Finally, France, after her long troubles, requires such a colony for her internal pacification; it will be for our country what a century ago were for England the settlements which the emigrants from the three kingdoms have raised to so high a degree of prosperity. It will be the asylum of our religious and political dissenters; it will cure a part of the maladies which the Revolution has caused, and be the supreme conciliator of all the parties into which we are divided. You will there find the remedies for which you search with so much solicitude!"

I thought this a very bold speech, and it was uttered with much fire and enthusiasm. I could not be sure how the Consul took it, for he said not a word through it all. When the minister had finished speaking he dismissed them both with a few words, but telling them he should expect them to remain all night.

As the door closed behind the two ministers, Bonaparte threw himself back in his chair, his arms folded across his breast, his head drooping forward, in an attitude of deep thought. It seemed to me more than likely that Minister Decres's words had touched his pride and his patriotism, and he was hesitating now at the thought of getting rid of France's last important colony.

He was interrupted in his reverie by an officer bringing in the despatches from London which had just arrived, and he sent word by the officer to have Minister Marbois sent to him immediately.

It was only a few moments until the return of my uncle, but in the interval I could see that Bonaparte was glancing through the despatches with such lightning rapidity that to me, for whom all reading is slow work, it seemed impossible he should have grasped their meaning. As Monsieur Marbois entered the apartment Bonaparte greeted him.

"Citizen Minister," he said, "the despatches from London have arrived. Have you seen them?"

"I was just reading them," replied my uncle, "when you sent for me."

"Did you see that England is preparing for war? That both naval and military preparations are going forward with extraordinary rapidity?"

"Yes," said the minister, "so I understand."

"Perhaps you saw, too, that in the American Congress Mr. Ross proposed that the President should raise fifty thousand troops and capture New Orleans?"

"Yes," repeated my uncle, "I saw it, and I regret greatly that any cause of difference should arise between our countries."

The Consul sprang to his feet and resumed his rapid striding up and down the room without uttering a word for full two minutes, but with a deep frown between his eyes, as I could see whenever he faced me in his hurried pacing to and fro.

Suddenly he stopped and turned to my uncle.

"Irresolution and deliberation are no longer in season," he said slowly, and then added with sudden fire:

"I renounce Louisiana! It is not only New Orleans I will cede, it is the whole colony without reservation. I renounce it with the greatest regret! To attempt obstinately to retain it would be the greatest folly. I direct you to negotiate this affair with the envoys of the United States. Do not even await the arrival of Mr. Monroe; have an interview to-morrow with Mr. Livingston. But I require a great deal of money for this war with England, and I would not like to commence it with new contributions. I will be moderate, in consideration of the necessity in which I am of making a sale; but keep this to yourself. I want fifty millions, and for less than that sum I will not treat; I would rather make a desperate attempt to keep these fine countries. To-morrow you shall have full power."

I think my uncle was somewhat aghast at the suddenness of the decision to sell the whole country, though he had himself advised it, and still more at the great responsibility thrust upon him of conducting the negotiations in place of the Minister of Foreign Relations. Perhaps, too, now that the sale was fully determined upon, he was touched with regrets and misgivings. At any rate, he said, somewhat hesitatingly:

"You feel sure, Citizen Consul, that we have a right to cede the sovereignty of a people without consulting the people themselves? Have we a right to abandon what the Germans call the souls? Can they be the subject of a contract of sale or exchange?"

Now I really think from what I had seen of Bonaparte's reverie while the minister was out of the room, of his frowning cogitations in that rapid walk to and fro, and of the solemnity of his manner when he finally announced his determination to sell, that he had been troubled by the same misgivings. But none the less did his lip curl satirically as he listened to my uncle, and his eyes narrow and glow with a malevolent fire. He hardly waited for him to finish till he burst forth bitterly:

"You are giving me, in all its perfection, the ideology of the law of nature and nations! But I require money to make war on the richest nation of the world. Send your maxims to the London market! I am sure they will be greatly admired there; and yet no great attention is paid to them when the question is the occupation of the finest regions of Asia!"

I thought my uncle would have wilted under such bitter sarcasm, for never have I seen anything more malevolent than Bonaparte's whole aspect, and I trembled for him. But he seemed not greatly afraid of the great man's bluster, and persisted in his argument when it seemed to me the part of wisdom would have been to keep silence.

"But, Citizen Consul," he urged, "are you not afraid by ceding such great possessions to America you may make her in the course of two or three centuries too powerful for Europe—the mistress of the world?"

The Consul's lip curled again. He answered in a harsh voice:

"My foresight does not embrace such remote fears. I have no children; after me the deluge! Besides, we may hereafter expect rivalries among the members of the Union. The confederations that are called perpetual only last till one of the contracting parties finds it to his interest to break them."

The minister made no reply, though Bonaparte waited a moment as if expecting one. Then he went on:

"Mr. Monroe is on the point of arriving. To this minister, going a thousand leagues from his constituents, the President must have given secret instructions for the stipulation of the payments to be made, more extensive than the ostensible authorization of Congress. Neither this minister nor his colleague is prepared for a decision which goes infinitely beyond anything they are about to ask us. Begin by making the overture without any subterfuge. You will acquaint me, day by day, hour by hour, of your progress. The cabinet of London is informed of the measures adopted at Washington, but it can have no suspicion of those I am now taking. Observe the greatest secrecy, and recommend it to the American ministers: they have not a less interest than yourself in conforming to this counsel. You will correspond with Monsieur de Talleyrand, who alone knows my intentions. Keep him informed of the progress of this affair."

All this was uttered in a sharp clipping tone of voice, at times harsh and rasping, that carried with it an inconceivable effect of autocratic power. As he finished he made a gesture of dismissal, but as the minister was about to withdraw he called him back again.

"Monsieur Marbois," he said in a far gentler tone than he had used at all heretofore, "there will be a treaty drawn up between you and the American ministers, of course, and I would like to write one article of that treaty. If you will sit down a few moments I will not detain you long."

My uncle bowed and seated himself, and with marvelous rapidity Bonaparte's pen flew over the sheet before him. In scarcely more than a minute's time he looked up from his paper.

"This is the article, Monsieur Marbois, that I wish you to make it your business to see embodied somewhere in the treaty." And then he read slowly, in a firm, clear voice, with no longer any rasping tones:

"The inhabitants of the ceded territory shall be incorporated in the Union of the United States, and admitted as soon as possible, according to the principles of the Federal Constitution, to the enjoyment of all the rights, advantages, and immunities of citizens of the United States. And in the meantime they shall be maintained and protected in the free enjoyment of their liberty, property, and the religion which they profess."

The Consul rose to his feet as he finished reading and extended the paper toward my uncle.

"Citizen Minister," he said (and I almost thought there was a ring of sadness in his tone, but that I could not believe such an emotion possible to the imperious conqueror), "let the Louisianians know that we separate ourselves from them with regret; that we stipulate in their favor everything that they can desire; and let them hereafter, happy in their independence, recollect that they have been Frenchmen, and that France, in ceding them, has secured for them advantages which they could not have obtained from a European power, however paternal it might have been. Let them retain for us sentiments of affection; and may their common origin, descent, language, and customs perpetuate the friendship."

He finished speaking, and turned his back abruptly upon my uncle, who bowed silently and withdrew. I could not see the face of either, but I believe both were too deeply moved to utter another word. As my uncle left the room, Bonaparte threw himself once more into his deep-armed chair in the same attitude of reverie he had before maintained in the interval of the minister's absence—arms folded, chin sunk deep on his breast.

It seemed to me a long time that he sat thus, for I was growing every moment more anxious for my own safe escape from my hiding-place. Felice had promised to return for me in a few moments if the way was open, and I was sure it must have been more nearly hours than moments that I had been watching the foremost man of all the world decide the fate of a people and the future of my own proud nation. I had been so intensely interested that I had not noted the flight of time, but now that the First Consul sat wrapped in thought, I, too, began to think, to wonder, and to grow every moment more anxious. What had become of my little guide? Had she forsaken me and left me to my fate? And should she come for me now, would I be able, with my clumsy movements, to escape unheard, when the room was no longer ringing with the rasping tones of Bonaparte?

There was a deep-drawn sigh from the chair of the First Consul. He unfolded his arms, flung back his head, and sprang to his feet, once more pacing rapidly back and forth. Suddenly he stopped, lifted one hand as if calling on Heaven to witness, and exclaimed aloud:

"This accession of territory strengthens forever the power of the United States! I have just given to England a maritime rival that will sooner or later humble her pride!"

His hand dropped upon a bell which he rang violently. Instantly there was a little sound of scratching on the panel of a door leading into an apartment beyond.

"Enter!" said Bonaparte, and there glided silently into the room Rustan, the famous Mameluke attendant of whom I had heard much.

"I will dress for dinner, Rustan," said the First Consul; "call my valet and tell him to prepare my bath."



CHAPTER XXI

A TEMPEST IN A BATH-TUB

"The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole Can never be a mouse of any soul."

"Prepare my bath!" Did ever such simple words have so dire a sound? Now was all hope of escape cut off; for was not the Consul's bath in the very room into which the closet where I was hiding opened, and through which I had expected to make my exit as I had made my entrance? Now did I curse the folly that had led me into such a trap for the sake of a mere adventure.

Whereas a moment ago I had been congratulating myself on the spirit of enterprise and daring that had led me to be the witness of such great and stirring events, I now despised it all as a silly boyishness which had brought me into what seemed like to prove something more than a foolish scrape. Nor could I help reflecting that whether death or disgrace (which seemed to me far worse than death) awaited me, it would not affect me alone. My uncle's reputation, and honor also, might easily be involved in his nephew's downfall. And, most intolerable of all, what would the Comtesse de Baloit think when she should come to hear (as it was inevitable that she would) that I had been caught spying like any common eavesdropper?—found hid in the Consul's private closet, taken and done to death, as I had not the least doubt in the world I should be!

Yet it was not in me to wait idly for the worst to happen; I began at once to plan other means of escape than those I had been relying upon. If I could not make my exit through the dressing-room, why not through the other apartment, from which my closet was separated only by a curtain?

As far as I could judge, the apartment had three entrance-doors. One which was not within my range of vision was the one by which the ministers had withdrawn and through which my uncle had returned. This, no doubt, was the main entrance, and led into some public corridor, where detection by passers-by would be certain, to say nothing of the fact that the door was no doubt strongly guarded, and by a soldier who would not be so complacent as Gaston had been (having neither handled my gold nor tasted a maiden's kisses as reward for his complacency).

The second door led into the dressing-room, where even now I could hear the splashing of water and the vigorous preparations of the valet for the Consul's bath. That, of course, was not to be considered. The third one was the one through which I had seen Rustan glide; and at the thought of entering that room, and falling into the tender mercies of the mysterious Mameluke, I shuddered. A stealthy stiletto with poisoned point I had no doubt would make short work with me. And even could it be possible to seize a moment when Rustan was out of the room in attendance on his master, it was more than likely the room would prove a cul-de-sac and I would be more securely trapped than ever.

In the midst of these perplexing meditations I heard a heavy splash, followed by a vigorous sputtering, that assured me the First Consul was already in his bath. A moment later I heard a scratching at the door through which my uncle had departed. ('Tis the fashion, I have heard, at the Tuileries and St. Cloud, to scratch instead of knock.) Rustan answered it immediately, and led the gentleman who entered directly through the outer apartment to the dressing-room. This seemed a novel procedure to me, but I remembered that the French often received callers at the toilet, and perhaps it was nothing unusual for the First Consul to receive his friends in the bath.

I could hear all that went on in the dressing-room; even the slightest sound was as audible in my closet as if no door intervened. I was surprised at this until I discovered that just higher than my head a small panel, not more than three inches square, had been removed from the door of the closet, admitting a little light and a little air. It was through this opening that sounds were conveyed, and it was through it that I heard the Consul's voice a moment after the visitor was conducted through the outer apartment.

"Ah, my dear Lucien! Where were you last night, and where was my brother Joseph? Did you not intend to join me at the Theatre Francais? I expected you, and Talma showed great power in 'Hamlet.' I was surprised and disappointed not to see you both there."

I do not remember what answer his brother made, but Bonaparte replied with the greatest good humor:

"You might have seen, too, that the Parisians always like to see me. In fact, I scarcely flattered myself they would ever become so sympathetic when I had to shoot them down that October day in 1795."

I could scarcely believe it was the First Consul speaking, so unlike were his tones to any I had heard from him before,—playful, affectionate, almost tender,—and I said to myself, "Ah, this despot has a heart! He loves his brother."

I did not hear anything more that was said for a while, for I was revolving in my mind all possible modes of escape. I had just come to the conclusion that the only safe way was to remain quietly where I was until Bonaparte should have finished his bath and left his dressing-room (which I felt sure could not be long, since he had already been in the water for more than a quarter of an hour), when I heard again that peculiar little scratching sound on the dressing-room door, and Rustan entered, announcing to the Consul his brother Joseph.

"Let him come in," said the Consul; "I shall stay in the bath a quarter of an hour longer."

Black despair seized me. A quarter of an hour seemed to me interminable when I knew not at what moment the valet would fling open the closet door in his search for some article of dress, and discover me. There was nothing to do, however, but to make the best of it, hoping against hope that the great Bonaparte, who seemed inordinately fond of his bath, would some time be through with it and leave his dressing-room free for me to traverse it in safety. For I had made up my mind that I would wait no longer for Felice; the first minute that I could be quite sure that the dressing-room was vacant, I would open my closet door and escape, trusting to find Gaston still on guard at the outer dressing-room door.

It occurred to me that if I were only a little taller, and could look through that open panel just above my head, it would be well, for then I could assure myself that the room was empty before attempting my escape, and not stumble upon some lurking valet or Mameluke. Then I remembered what I had noticed on entering the closet, but had not thought of since, a low three-legged taboret, not more than five inches high, but quite high enough, were I once upon it, to enable me to look through the open panel. I stooped carefully down and felt around the floor of the closet in the dark. My hand struck against it. I picked it up and set it noiselessly directly under the small opening, and slowly and carefully, and absolutely without making a sound, I mounted upon it.

Just below me was the most remarkable group I had ever looked upon, or, I have no doubt, ever shall look upon. Respectfully standing near the bath were the two brothers Lucien and Joseph, and it was easy for me to decide at a glance which was Joseph and which Lucien, for I had heard much of both and knew their characteristics, though I knew not their faces. Joseph was the handsomer of the two, and looked more like his august brother, with the same fiery eye and mobile mouth, showing the same excitable temperament. Lucien had the calmer face that belongs to a scholar, though in some respects I thought it a stronger one than his brother Joseph's. In the marble bath lay Bonaparte, only his head and a little of his shoulders visible, for the water was frothy and opaque from quantities of cologne, whose sweet, pungent odor rose to my nostrils refreshingly. Bonaparte was in the act of speaking to Joseph:

"Well, brother, have you spoken to Lucien?"

"What about!" said Joseph.

"Of our plan as to Louisiana—don't you know?"

"Of your plan, you mean, my dear brother; you cannot have forgotten that—far from being mine—"

Bonaparte interrupted him with good-natured scorn.

"Well, well, preacher, I don't need to discuss that with you; you are so obstinate. I like better to talk about serious things with Lucien; for, although he sometimes takes it into his head to go against me, he knows how to give up to my idea when I think fit to change his."

Joseph's color rose quickly, and he spoke with some spirit:

"You are unjust enough to attribute to obstinacy what is the effect of wise reflection."

Lucien was evidently afraid of an outbreak, and he interposed quickly and laughingly:

"Then that means, brother Joseph, that I hold my ideas so lightly I can easily be reasoned out of them."

"Ah, my dear boy," said Bonaparte, with affectionate raillery, "fear not that any one will accuse thee of lightness. Thou art more likely to be named 'Iron-head.'"

For a few minutes the two brothers playfully called each other nicknames, going back to the days of their boyhood in Corsica, while Joseph stood by, looking bored and every moment growing more impatient. Finally he broke in quite brusquely:

"Well, you say nothing more about your famous plan!"

Bonaparte turned at once to Lucien.

"Well, Lucien, I have made up my mind to sell Louisiana to the Americans."

"Indeed!" said Lucien, in a tone of curiosity, but with so much coolness I suspected he was not hearing the announcement for the first time.

Bonaparte turned to Joseph with an air of triumph.

"Well, Joseph, you see Lucien does not utter loud cries about this thing. Yet he almost has a right to, seeing that Louisiana is, so to speak, his own conquest."

I knew what the Consul meant by that, for it was Lucien who had negotiated the San Ildefonso treaty which gave Louisiana to France. This speech of his brother's seemed to irritate Joseph still more, and he replied quite sharply:

"I assure you, if Lucien says nothing, he thinks none the less."

"Indeed!" said Bonaparte, his eyes beginning to flash and his lip to curl. "And why should he be diplomatic with me?"

It was evident that Lucien thought it time to come forward to support Joseph, but that he also wished to placate the rising wrath of the Consul. So he spoke very gently:

"I really think as my brother Joseph does on this matter, and I undertake to say that the Chambers will never assent."

Bonaparte's head shot up above the rim of the bath-tub, and he leveled a fiery glance at Lucien.

"You undertake to say! A pretty piece of business!" with an air and tone of withering contempt.

"Yes; and I undertake to say," cried Joseph, in a tone of triumph, "that it will be so. And that is what I told the First Consul before."

"And what did I say?" said the Consul, his tone rising with his wrath, and with his head still above the rim of the bath-tub, looking by turns quickly from one brother to the other, as if not to lose any change in the countenance of either.

"You declared," said Joseph, his voice also rising, "you would get along without the assent of the Chambers; did you not?"

"Exactly," said Bonaparte, concentrated irony in his tone. "That is what I took the liberty to say to Monsieur Joseph, and what I repeat here to Citizen Lucien, begging him to give me his opinion about it, derived from his paternal tenderness for that mighty diplomatic conquest of his, the treaty of San Ildefonso."

Now I thought this a very unkind thrust at Lucien, for I had heard his part in the treaty had been most creditable and that the First Consul had been much pleased with it. I could see that Lucien found it hard to brook, but he struggled for mastery with himself, and spoke still gently:

"My brother, my devotion is deep enough to sacrifice everything for you, except my duty. If I believed, for example, this sale of Louisiana would be fatal to me alone, I would consent to it to prove to you my devotion. But it is too unconstitutional."

Bonaparte broke into his sentence with a fit of rasping, sarcastic laughter, sinking back into the bath-tub almost in a convulsion of demoniacal mirth.

"Ha, ha, ha! You are drawing it fine. 'For example'!" His words struggled out in the intervals of his spasms of laughter. "Ha, ha, ha! 'For example'!"—catching his breath. "'Unconstitutional'! That's droll from you; a good joke—ha, ha!" As his laughter ceased an expression of ironical and contemptuous rage passed over his face.

"How have I touched your constitution?" he cried. "Answer!"

"I know well," said Lucien, still trying to control himself, "you have not done so; but you know well that to alienate any possession of the republic without the consent of the Chambers is unconstitutional."

That last word seemed to drive the Consul beside himself. Once more his head shot above the top of the bath-tub, and with blazing eyes he shook his fist at Lucien.

"Clear out!" he shouted. "'Constitution'! 'Unconstitutional'! 'Republic'! Great words—fine phrases! Do you think you are still at the Club of St. Maximin? We are past that, you had better believe! Parbleu! You phrase it nobly. 'Unconstitutional'! It becomes you well, Sir Knight of the Constitution, to talk that way to me. You hadn't the same respect for the Chambers on the eighteenth Brumaire."

Lucien, roused at last, broke in, in a tone as high as Bonaparte's:

"You well know, my dear brother, that your entry into the Five Hundred had no warmer opponent than I. No! I was not your accomplice, but the repairer of the evil which you had done to yourself!—and that at my own peril, and with some generosity on my part, because we did not then agree. Not to boast, I may add that no one in Europe, more than I, has disapproved the sacrilege against the national representation."

Bonaparte's eyes blazed like diamonds.

"Go on—go on!" he thundered. "That's quite too fine a thing to cut short, Sir Orator of the Clubs! But at the same time take note of this: that I shall do just as I please; that I detest, without fearing, your friends the Jacobins!—not one of whom shall remain in France if, as I hope, things continue to remain in my hands; and that, in fine, I snap my fingers at you and your 'national representation.'"

"On my side," shouted Lucien, "I do not snap my fingers at you, Citizen Consul, but I well know what I think about you."

"What do you think about me, Citizen Lucien? Parbleu! I am curious to know. Out with it!"

"I think, Citizen Consul, that, having sworn to the constitution of the eighteenth Brumaire, as President of the Council of the Five Hundred, and seeing you despise it thus, if I were not your brother I would be your enemy!"

"My enemy!" screamed Bonaparte. "Try it once! That's rather strong!" And, shaking his fist at Lucien, as he had done once before, "Thou my enemy!" he screamed again, and then sank back in the water up to his neck, as if exhausted. In a moment he spoke again in a somewhat quieter tone:

"Cease this miserable caviling which you and Joseph are at work on night and day—ridiculous for him, and still less appropriate for you. It is not from you that I expect lessons in government. Enough! Forget all you have said about it! I shall contrive to dispense with you. A precious, well-disposed pair of brothers you are! Please call back the valet; I must get out of the bath-tub at once."

The valet had come in; Joseph and Lucien, thinking the matter was dropped, were turning toward the door; the valet was spreading open the sheet to wrap up his master, when the Consul suddenly returned to the charge, and thundered in a tone that made Lucien and Joseph start and turn back quickly, and the valet drop the sheet from his trembling hands:

"Well, sirs, think what you please about the sale of Louisiana! but you may both of you put on mourning over this thing—you, Lucien, over the sale of your province; you, Joseph, because I propose to dispense with the consent of all persons whatsoever. Do you hear?"

I fairly shivered in my hiding-place at such an outbreak on such a topic in the presence of a servant. Lucien shrank farther toward the door, but Joseph, who had held his peace through the quarrel of the two brothers, stung by the scornful words and manner, and especially by the contemptuous "Do you hear?" which was like a cutting snapper to the Consul's lashing wrath, rushed back, exclaiming:

"You will do well, my dear brother, not to lay your plan before the Chambers, for I swear to you I will put myself, if necessary, at the head of the opposition which will certainly be made."

There was no reply from Bonaparte but an outburst of loud and sardonic laughter.

Joseph flushed dark red, and, almost beside himself with rage, stooping over the figure that lay immersed in the bath, screamed out:

"Laugh! laugh! laugh, then! All the same, I shall do what I say, and, though I do not like to mount the tribune, this time you'll see me there!"

At these words, Bonaparte rose in the bath-tub so as to show half his body out of the water, opaque and frothy with cologne, and pale as his brother was red, he cried sternly:

"You will not need to play the orator, for I repeat to you that this debate will not take place, because the plan so unlucky as to be disapproved by you, conceived by me, negotiated by me, will be ratified and executed by me—by me alone; do you understand?—by me!" Then he sank back once more to his neck in the water. Joseph, whose self-control was all gone, his face aflame, roared:

"Well, general, on my side, I tell you that you and I and all the family, if you do what you say you will, may get ready to join shortly those poor innocent devils whom you so legally, so humanely,—above all, with so much justice,—have had transported to Cayenne!"

This was a terrible home thrust, and I could see Lucien draw hastily still farther back toward the door, and the valet literally cowered.

"You insolent fellow!" thundered Bonaparte. "I ought—" But I did not hear the rest of the sentence, for as he spoke he rose quickly from the water and plunged heavily back, so that the water dashed out in a flood on the floor. Lucien, who was back by the door, escaped a wetting; but Joseph received the splash full in his face, and his clothes were drenched. The valet ran to Joseph's assistance, but had no more than begun to sponge him off than he fell to the floor in a fainting fit. The quarrel was calmed at once, and the Bonapartes good-heartedly ran to the rescue. Joseph hurried to pick him up from the wet floor; Lucien rang the bell so hard that Rustan and another servant came running in, frightened; and the First Consul, his eyes and lips just visible above the rim of the bath-tub, called out sympathetically:

"Carry off the poor fellow, and take good care of him."

As for me, the excitement was too much for me also. I did not faint, but my stool, which was none of the steadiest on its three legs, suddenly tipped from the excess of my emotion, and, though I caught myself from falling entirely, I yet made what sounded to my horrified ears a deafening racket. In reality I suppose it was only a slight scuffling noise, but it was enough to catch the quick ears of the First Consul and Rustan.

"What was that?" I heard the First Consul say in a startled tone.

"I think, sir, it was some noise in the closet," I heard Rustan reply. "If Monsieur Joseph will assist in supporting your valet, I will investigate."

Now was my last hour come. But I was not going to die like a rat in a trap. I would rush out the door into the public corridor, and, if necessary, slay the guard and make one bold dash for safety. I drew my sword from its scabbard to have it in readiness in my hand for whatever might befall, pulled back the curtain, and came near running through the body my pretty Felice! She was coming to keep her promise to me and show me the way out. She did not seem to see my sword, but the moment she saw me she spoke in great excitement:

"Make haste, Monsieur; there is not a moment to lose. You can escape through the main corridor. But you must be quick, for the Consul may finish his bath at any minute, and his brothers retire here to await him while he dresses."

We were hurrying toward the door as she spoke, but I, feeling as if the Mameluke were close behind me, seized her hand and dragged her roughly into the corridor as I whispered:

"Yes, we must be quick, for Rustan is after us!"

With a half-suppressed scream she let go my hand, turned to Gaston, who was standing at the door motionless as a statue and, to all appearance, deaf and blind as one also, uttered the one word, "Rustan!" and fled swiftly down the dark side corridor, leaving me utterly bewildered. The western sun was flooding the cabinet of the First Consul when I went into my hiding-place, but the sun had set and twilight had fallen and the candles had been long lit when I stepped out into the corridor. The wax tapers set in sconces along the corridor lighted it but poorly, and I knew not which way to go.

"Run, Monsieur!" cried Gaston, in a terrified whisper, "straight down the corridor till you come to the grand staircase. And run as if the devil was after you, for he is!"

That was all I needed,—a word of direction,—and I was off. But scarcely had I gone a few feet when I heard a great noise and shouting behind me, and Gaston crying, "Stop thief!" I thought at first he was turning traitor, now that he had my gold piece with no chance of gaining another from me. But as I ran the faster, and the noise behind me did not seem to gain on me, as I feared it might, I concluded he was making a great outcry to cover his own part in my escape, and perhaps was hindering the pursuit more than helping it.

Yet when I came to the turn of the grand staircase I thought for a moment I had also come to the end of my days; for just as I felt sure I was distancing those behind me, there came running swiftly toward me from the other end of the dim corridor an officer with sword drawn, and I saw he would meet me exactly at the head of the grand staircase. The light from a tall taper fell on his face as he neared the staircase. It was the Chevalier Le Moyne!

I had but a moment to think. Should I stop to engage with him, I had no doubt I could unsword him as easily as he had unsworded me in the dance by Chouteau's Pond; but the delay would bring a score to his help, and I would be quickly overpowered, if not done to death at once. Neither did I like to turn my back on that drawn sword as I fled down the steps, feeling sure it would spit me through the shoulders, much as Narcisse spitted the wild fowl for roasting at Emigre's Retreat. But above all I did not wish the chevalier to see my face; for, even should I make good my escape, Paris would be no safe place for me should he recognize in the flying "thief" his hated St. Louis rival.

I pulled my hat low over my eyes, lifted my left arm before my face as if to shield it from his sword, rushed straight toward him, met him, as I thought I should, at the top of the staircase, and, with a quick twist of my foot (a school-boy's trick), sent him sprawling down the stairs. In three great bounds I had cleared the staircase and his prostrate body, and like a whirlwind I threw myself upon the sentry at its foot, who—half dazed by this sudden descent of the chevalier and myself, one rolling and bumping from step to step, the other leaping through the air like some great winged creature—was nevertheless in the act of raising his gun to fire at me. As I hurled my great weight full upon him, the gun flew from his hands, and his little dancing-master figure went pirouetting across the terrace into the darkness beyond, in a vain struggle to recover his balance. I sprang down the terrace after him, and disappeared in the friendly darkness.

It was time. Starting from the gloom in every direction, armed figures seemed to spring from the ground, while down the great staircase behind me clattered, shrieking and shouting in every key, a throng of officers and soldiers, led by a dark figure gliding swiftly and silently far in advance, and holding in his upraised hand something that glittered as it caught the rays from wax tapers. In the very act of springing down the first terrace, I saw the glittering dagger leave Rustan's hand, hurled straight at my head, and heard it fall far below me on the stone parapet of the last terrace.