hi--who is not French; with Murat--lion-hearted and
feather-brained? And yet some day I shall have to make princes of them
because they are my sisters' husbands. When that time comes, what can I
make of you?"

"A marshal of France."

"And afterward?"

"Afterward? I should say that was enough."

"And then you would be one of twelve, and not a unity of your own."

"Let me be simply your friend. Let me always thresh out the truth with
you, and then I'll warrant I shall be out of the crowd."

"That may be enough for you, Roland, but it is not enough for me,"
persisted Bonaparte. Then, as Roland said nothing, he continued, "I have
no more sisters, Roland, it is true; but I have dreamed that you might
be something more to me than a brother." Then, as Roland still said
nothing, he went on: "I know a young girl, Roland, a charming child,
whom I love as a daughter. She is just seventeen. You are twenty-six,
and a brigadier-general _de facto_. Before the end of the campaign you
will be general of division. Well, Roland, when the campaign is over, we
will return together to Paris, and you shall marry her--"

"General," interrupted Roland, "I think I see Bourrienne looking for
you."

And in fact the First Consul's secretary was already within two feet of
the friends.

"Is that you, Bourrienne?" asked Bonaparte, somewhat impatiently.

"Yes, general, a courier from France."

"Ah!"

"And a letter from Madame Bonaparte."

"Good!" said the First Consul, rising eagerly, "give it to me." And he
almost snatched the letter from Bourrienne's hand.

"And for me?" asked Roland. "Nothing for me?"

"Nothing."

"That is strange," said the young man, pensively.

The moon had risen, and by its clear, beautiful light Bonaparte was
able to read his letters. Through the first two pages his face expressed
perfect serenity. Bonaparte adored his wife; the letters published
by Queen Hortense bear witness to that fact. Roland watched these
expressions of the soul on his general's face. But toward the close
of the letter Bonaparte's face clouded; he frowned and cast a furtive
glance at Roland.

"Ah!" exclaimed the young man, "it seems there is something about me in
the letter."

Bonaparte did not answer and continued to read. When he had finished,
he folded the letter and put it in the side pocket of his coat. Then,
turning to Bourrienne, he said: "Very well, we will return. I shall
probably have to despatch a courier. Go mend some