se glorious individualities, M. de Fontanes was a
curiosity, half political, half literary. After the 18th Fructidor he
was proscribed with Suard and Laharpe; but, being perfectly hidden in a
friend's house, and never going out except at night, he managed to avoid
leaving France. Nevertheless, an accident, impossible to foresee, had
betrayed him. He was knocked down one night on the Place du Carrousel
by a runaway horse, and was recognized by a policeman, who ran to
his assistance. But Fouche, who was at once informed, not only of his
presence in France, but also of his actual hiding-place, pretended to
know nothing of him.

A few days after the 18th Brumaire, Maret, who became later the Duc
de Bassano, Laplace, who continued to be simply a man of science, and
Regnault de Saint-Jean-d'Angely, who died mad, spoke to the First Consul
of M. de Fontanes and of his presence in Paris,

"Present him to me," replied the First Consul simply.

M. de Fontanes was presented to Bonaparte, who, recognizing his supple
nature and the unctuous flattery of his eloquence, chose him to deliver
the eulogy on Washington, and perhaps something of his own at the same
time.

M. de Fontanes' address was too long to be reported here; all that we
shall say about it is, that it was precisely what Bonaparte desired.

That evening there was a grand reception at the Luxembourg. During the
ceremony a rumor was spread that the First Consul contemplated removing
to the Tuileries. Persons who were either bold or curious ventured on
a few words to Josephine. She, poor woman, who still saw before her the
tumbrel and the scaffold of Marie Antoinette, had an instinctive horror
of all that might connect her with royalty; she therefore hesitated to
reply and referred all questions to her husband.

Then another rumor began to be bruited about which served as a
counterpoise to the former. Murat, it was said, had asked the hand of
Mademoiselle Caroline Bonaparte in marriage. But this marriage was not
without its obstacles; Bonaparte had had a quarrel, lasting over a year,
with the man who aspired to the honor of becoming his brother-in-law.
The cause of this quarrel will seem rather strange to our readers.

Murat, the lion of the army; Murat, whose courage had become proverbial;
Murat, who might well have been taken by a sculptor as a model for
the god of war; Murat, on one occasion, when he must have slept ill or
breakfasted badly, had a moment of weakness