ts. They retired
to one of the salons of the presidency to consult together. But they had
scarcely begun their conference, when General Jube, the commandant of
the Luxembourg, received orders to join Bonaparte at the Tuileries with
the guard of the Directory. Their places were filled by Moreau and
a portion of the soldiers who had been electrified by Bonaparte.
Nevertheless the two Directors drew up a message for the Council of the
Five Hundred, in which they protested energetically against what had
been done. When this was finished Gohier handed it to his secretary, and
Moulins, half dead with exhaustion, returned to his apartments to take
some food.

It was then about four o'clock in the afternoon. An instant later
Gohier's secretary returned in great perturbation.

"Well," said Gohier, "why have you not gone?"

"Citizen president," replied the young man, "we are prisoners in the
palace."

"Prisoners? What do you mean?"

"The guard has been changed, and General Jube is no longer in command."

"Who has replaced him?"

"I think some one said General Moreau."

"Moreau? Impossible! And that coward, Barras, where is he?"

"He has started for his country-place at Grosbois."

"Ah! I must see Moulins!" cried Gohier, rushing to the door. But at the
entrance he found a sentry who barred the door. Gohier insisted.

"No one can pass," said the sentry.

"What! not pass?"

"No."

"But I am President Gohier!"

"No one can pass," said the sentry; "that is the order."

Gohier saw it would be useless to say more; force would be impossible.
He returned to his own rooms.

In the meantime, General Moreau had gone to see Moulins; he wished to
justify himself. Without listening to a word the ex-Director turned his
back on him, and, as Moreau insisted, he said: "General, go into the
ante-chamber. That is the place for jailers."

Moreau bowed his head, and understood for the first time into what a
fatal trap his honor had fallen.

At five o'clock, Bonaparte started to return to the Rue de la Victoire;
all the generals and superior officers in Paris accompanied him. The
blindest, those who had not understood the 13th Vendemiaire, those who
had not yet understood the return from Egypt, now saw, blazing over
the Tuileries, the star of his future, and as everybody could not be a
planet, each sought to become a satellite.

The shouts of "Vive Bonaparte!" which came from the lower part of the
Rue du Mont Blanc, and swept