unsellor Erman!"

"Here I am," he replied, turning around, as well as all the rest.

A low murmur of horror pervaded the assembly; their faces turned pale,
and their brows were clouded. The moment so much feared had apparently
come--Erman could not escape, or conceal himself; for he who had called
out his name was none other than Duroc, the emperor's grand marshal, who
had evidently been sent by his master. Those who hitherto had been so
anxious to leave the hall, and thronged so eagerly round the courageous
old man, now stood still, and the grand marshal walked through the
opened ranks directly toward him. Every one seemed to hold his breath to
listen, and even to stop the pulsations of his heart, to hear the order
for Erman's arrest.

The grand marshal now stood before Erman, who had seen him coming, and
advanced a step to meet him. Duroc bowed, and said in a loud voice, "His
majesty the emperor has ordered me to invite Counsellor Erman, of the
supreme consistorial court, to dine with him to-morrow at noon. His
majesty desires me to tell you that he is anxious to make the
acquaintance of a man who is so faithful and courageous a servant of the
royal family, and endowed with sufficient magnanimity and boldness to
defend the absent and accused. His majesty has instructed me to assure
you that, far from disapproving your conduct, he highly esteems and
admires it, for the emperor knows how to appreciate every thing that is
high-minded and noble."

CHAPTER XI.

NAPOLEON AND TALLEYRAND.

Napoleon was rapidly pacing his cabinet. His face was pale and gloomy;
his lips firmly compressed, as they always were when he was angry, and
his eyes flashed with rage. He held two papers in his hand: one of them
was in writing, the other contained printed matter; and, whenever his
eyes glanced at them, he clinched his small hand, adorned with diamonds,
and crumpled the papers.

The emperor's anger, which filled with trembling and dismay every one
who had to approach him in such moments, had no effect, however, on the
man who stood in the middle of the room supporting one of his hands on
the table covered with maps and papers, and with the other playing with
the lace frill protruding from his velvet waistcoat. His small,
twinkling eyes followed calmly and coldly every motion Napoleon made.
Whenever his anger seemed to increase, a scarcely perceptible,
contemptuous smile played on the lips of this man, and a flash of
hatred