ably called them the murderers of Louis XVI.; as for the
royalists, that was another thing; one might almost have thought he
foresaw the Restoration. He had about him two men who had voted the
death of the king, Fouche and Cambaceres.

He dismissed Fouche, and, if he kept Cambaceres, it was because he
wanted the services of that eminent legist; but he could not endure him,
and he would often catch his colleague, the Second Consul, by the ear,
and say: "My poor Cambaceres, I'm so sorry for you; but your goose is
cooked. If ever the Bourbons get back they will hang you."

One day Cambaceres lost his temper, and with a twist of his head he
pulled his ear from the living pincers that held it.

"Come," he said, "have done with your foolish joking."

Whenever Bonaparte escaped any danger, a childish habit, a Corsican
habit, reappeared; he always made a rapid sign of the cross on his
breast with the thumb.

Whenever he met with any annoyance, or was haunted with a disagreeable
thought, he hummed--what air? An air of his own that was no air at all,
and which nobody ever noticed, he sang so false. Then, still singing, he
would sit down before his writing desk, tilting in his chair, tipping it
back till he almost fell over, and mutilating, as we have said, its arms
with a penknife, which served no other purpose, inasmuch as he never
mended a pen himself. His secretaries were charged with that duty, and
they mended them in the best manner possible, mindful of the fact that
they would have to copy that terrific writing, which, as we know, was
not absolutely illegible.

The effect produced on Bonaparte by the ringing of bells is known. It
was the only music he understood, and it went straight to his heart. If
he was seated when the vibrations began he would hold up his hand for
silence, and lean toward the sound. If he was walking, he would
stop, bend his head, and listen. As long as the bell rang he remained
motionless; when the sound died away in space, he resumed his work,
saying to those who asked him to explain this singular liking for the
iron voice: "It reminds me of my first years at Brienne; I was happy
then!"

At the period of which we are writing, his greatest personal interest
was the purchase he had made of the domain of Malmaison. He went there
every night like a schoolboy off for his holiday, and spent Sunday and
often Monday there. There, work was neglected for walking expeditions,
during which he personally