s a guardsman's gaiters, his eyes
projecting, the veins swollen upon his forehead, and every hair of his
moustache bristling like those of an angry cat. He was too angry to
speak, and could only shake his hands at the ceiling and make a gurgling
in his throat. 'Parricide! Viper!' those were the words that I could
catch as he stamped up and down the room.

Of course it was evident to me that he had been subjected to the same
infamous proposals as I had, and that he had received them in the same
spirit. His lips were sealed to me, as mine were to him, by the promise
which we had taken, but I contented myself with muttering 'Atrocious!
Unspeakable!'--so that he might know that I was in agreement with him.

Well, we were still there, he striding furiously up and down, and I
seated in the corner, when suddenly a most extraordinary uproar broke
out in the room which we had just quitted. There was a snarling,
worrying growl, like that of a fierce dog which has got his grip. Then
came a crash and a voice calling for help. In we rushed, the two of us,
and, my faith, we were none too soon.

Old Tremeau and Berthier were rolling together upon the floor, with the
table upon the top of them. The Captain had one of his great, skinny
yellow hands upon the Marshal's throat, and already his face was
lead-coloured, and his eyes were starting from their sockets. As to
Tremeau, he was beside himself, with foam upon the corners of his lips,
and such a frantic expression upon him that I am convinced, had we not
loosened his iron grip, finger by finger, that it would never have
relaxed while the Marshal lived. His nails were white with the power of
his grasp.

'I have been tempted by the devil!' he cried, as he staggered to his
feet. 'Yes, I have been tempted by the devil!'

As to Berthier, he could only lean against the wall, and pant for a
couple of minutes, putting his hands up to his throat and rolling his
head about. Then, with an angry gesture, he turned to the heavy blue
curtain which hung behind his chair.

The curtain was torn to one side and the Emperor stepped out into the
room. We sprang to the salute, we three old soldiers, but it was all
like a scene in a dream to us, and our eyes were as far out as
Berthier's had been. Napoleon was dressed in his green-coated chasseur
uniform, and he held his little, silver-headed switch in his hand. He
looked at us each in turn, with a smile upon his face--that frightful
smile in which