'You don't happen to understand English?' he asked. 'I've never met one living soul in this country who did.'

'Oh yes, I understand it very well, for I have lived most of my life over yonder. But surely you are not English, sir? I understood that every Englishman in France was under lock and key ever since the breach of the treaty of Amiens.'

'No, I am not English,' he answered, 'I am an American. My name is Robert Fulton, and I have to come to these receptions because it is the only way in which I can keep myself in the memory of the Emperor, who is examining some inventions of mine which will make great changes in naval warfare.'

Having nothing else to do I asked this curious American what his inventions might be, and his replies very soon convinced me that I had to do with a madman. He had some idea of making a ship go against the wind and against the current by means of coal or wood which was to be burned inside of her. There was some other nonsense about floating barrels full of gunpowder which would blow a ship to pieces if she struck against them. I listened to him at the time with an indulgent smile, but now looking back from the point of vantage of my old age I can see that not all the warriors and statesmen in that room--no, not even the Emperor himself--have had as great an effect upon the history of the world as that silent American who looked so drab and so commonplace among the gold-slashed uniforms and the Oriental dresses.

But suddenly our conversation was interrupted by a hush in the room-- such a cold, uncomfortable hush as comes over a roomful of happy, romping children when a grave-faced elder comes amongst them.

The chatting and the laughter died away. The sound of the rustling cards and of the clicking counters had ceased in the other rooms.

Everyone, men and women, had risen to their feet with a constrained expectant expression upon their faces. And there in the doorway were the pale face and the green coat with the red cordon across the white waistcoat.

There was no saying how he might behave upon these occasions.

Sometimes he was capable of being the merriest and most talkative of the company, but this was rather in his consular than in his imperial days.

On the other hand he might be absolutely ferocious, with an insulting observation for everyone with whom he came in contact. As a rule he was between these two extremes, silent, morose, ill at ease, shooting out curt little remarks which made everyone uncomfortable. There was always a sigh of relief when he would pa.s.s from one room into the next.

On this occasion he seemed to have not wholly recovered from the storm of the afternoon, and he looked about him with a brooding eye and a lowering brow. It chanced that I was not very far from the door, and that his glance fell upon me.

'Come here, Monsieur de Laval,' said he. He laid his hand upon my shoulder and turned to a big, gaunt man who had accompanied him into the room. 'Look here, Cambaceres, you simpleton,' said he. 'You always said that the old families would never come back, and that they would settle in England as the Huguenots have done. You see that, as usual, you have miscalculated, for here is the heir of the de Lavals come to offer his services. Monsieur de Laval, you are now my aide-de-camp, and I beg you to keep with me wherever I go.'

This was promotion indeed, and yet I had sense enough to know that it was not for my own sweet sake that the Emperor had done it, but in order to encourage others to follow me. My conscience approved what I had done, for no sordid motive and nothing but the love of my country had prompted me; but now, as I walked round behind Napoleon, I felt humiliated and ashamed, like a prisoner led behind the car of his captor.

And soon there was something else to make me ashamed, and that was the conduct of him whose servant I had become. His manners were outrageous.

As he had himself said, it was his nature to be always first, and this being so he resented those courtesies and gallantries by which men are accustomed to disguise from women the fact that they are the weaker s.e.x.

The Emperor, unlike Louis XIV., felt that even a temporary and conventional att.i.tude of humility towards a woman was too great a condescension from his own absolute supremacy. Chivalry was among those conditions of society which he refused to accept.

To the soldiers he was amiable enough, with a nod and a joke for each of them. To his sisters also he said a few words, though rather in the tone of a drill sergeant to a pair of recruits. It was only when the Empress had joined him that his ill-humour came to a head.

'I wish you would not wear those wisps of pink about your head, Josephine,' said he, pettishly. 'All that women have to think about is how to dress themselves, and yet they cannot even do that with moderation or taste. If I see you again in such a thing I will thrust it in the fire as I did your shawl the other day.'

'You are so hard to please, Napoleon. You like one day what you cannot abide the next. But I will certainly change it if it offends you,' said Josephine, with admirable patience.

The Emperor took a few steps between the people, who had formed a lane for us to pa.s.s through. Then he stopped and looked over his shoulder at the Empress.

'How often have I told you, Josephine, that I cannot tolerate fat women.'

'I always bear it in mind, Napoleon.'

'Then why is Madame de Chevreux present?'

'But surely, Napoleon, madame is not very fat.'

'She is fatter than she should be. I should prefer not to see her.

Who is this?' He had paused before a young lady in a blue dress, whose knees seemed to be giving way under her as the terrible Emperor transfixed her with his searching eyes.

'This is Mademoiselle de Bergerot.'

'How old are you?'

'Twenty-three, sire.'

'It is time that you were married. Every woman should be married at twenty-three. How is it that you are not married?'

The poor girl appeared to be incapable of answering, so the Empress gently remarked that it was to the young men that that question should be addressed.

'Oh, that is the difficulty, is it?' said the Emperor. 'We must look about and find a husband for you.' He turned, and to my horror I found his eyes fixed with a questioning gaze upon my face.

'We have to find you a wife also, Monsieur de Laval,' said he. 'Well, well, we shall see--we shall see. What is your name?' to a quiet refined man in black.

'I am Gretry, the musician.'

'Yes, yes, I remember you. I have seen you a hundred times, but I can never recall your name. Who are you?'

'I am Joseph de Chenier.'

'Of course. I have seen your tragedy. I have forgotten the name of it, but it was not good. You have written some other poetry, have you not?'

'Yes, sire. I had your permission to dedicate my last volume to you.'

'Very likely, but I have not had time to read it. It is a pity that we have no poets now in France, for the deeds of the last few years would have given a subject for a Homer or a Virgil. It seems that I can create kingdoms but not poets. Whom do you consider to be the greatest French writer?'

'Racine, sire.'

'Then you are a blockhead, for Corneille was infinitely greater. I have no ear for metre or trivialities of the kind, but I can sympathise with the spirit of poetry, and I am conscious that Corneille is far the greatest of poets. I would have made him my prime minister had he had the good fortune to live in my epoch. It is his intellect which I admire, his knowledge of the human heart, and his profound feeling.

Are you writing anything at present?'

'I am writing a tragedy upon Henry IV., sire.'

'It will not do, sir. It is too near the present day, and I will not have politics upon the stage. Write a play about Alexander. What is your name?'

He had pitched upon the same person whom he had already addressed.

'I am still Gretry, the musician,' said he meekly.

The Emperor flushed for an instant at the implied rebuke. He said nothing, however, but pa.s.sed on to where several ladies were standing together near the door of the card-room.

'Well, madame,' said he to the nearest of them, 'I hope you are behaving rather better. When last I heard from Paris your doings were furnishing the Quartier St. Germain with a good deal of amus.e.m.e.nt and gossip.'

'I beg that your Majesty will explain what you mean,' said she with spirit.

'They had coupled your name with that of Colonel Lasalle.'

'It is a foul calumny, sire.'

'Very possibly, but it is awkward when so many calumnies cl.u.s.ter round one person. You are certainly a most unfortunate lady in that respect.

You had a scandal once before with General Rapp's aide-de-camp. This must come to an end. What is your name?' he continued, turning to another.

'Mademoiselle de Perigord.'

'Your age?'