occasion it was said that the
"Red Man" went so 'far as to declare, that if his advice were neglected
Napoleon should lose the battle, see his artillery fall into the hands
of the enemy, and behold the Guard capitulate.

"_Mille tonnerres!_ what are you saying?" broke in the little man,
to the grim old soldier who was relating this. "You know nothing of
'L'Homme Rouge,'--not a word; how should you? But I served in the
Twenty-second of the Line, old Mongoton's corps; the 'Faubourg Devils,'
as they were called. _He_ knew him well; it was 'L'Homme Rouge' had
him shot for treason at Cairo. I was one of the company drawn for his
execution; and when he knelt down on the grass, he held up his hand this
way, and cried out,--

"'Voltigeurs of the Line, hear me! You have all known me many years; you
have seen whether I could face the enemy like a man; and you can tell
whether I cared for the heaviest charge that ever shook a square. You
know, also, whether I was true to our general. Well, it is "L'Homme
Rouge" who has brought me to this. And now: Carry arms!--all together!
Come, _mes enfants!_ try it again: Carry arms! (ay, that's better)
present arms! fire!'

"_Morbleu!_ the word was not well out when he was dead; and there,
through the smoke, as plain as I see you now, I saw the figure of a
little fellow, dressed in scarlet,--feather and boots all the same! He
was standing over the corpse, and threatening it with his hands. And
that," said he, in a solemn voice, "that was 'L'Homme Rouge!'"

This anecdote was conclusive. There was no gainsaying the assertions
of a man who had, with his own eyes, seen the celebrated "Red Man;"
and from that instant he enjoyed a decided monopoly of everything that
concerned his private history.

According to the sergeant-major's version,--and who could venture to
contradict him?--"L'Homme Rouge" was not the confidential adviser and
friendly counsellor of the Emperor; but, on the contrary, his evil
genius, perpetually employed in thwarting his plans and opposing his
views. Each seemed to have his hour of triumph alternately. Now it was
the Bed Man, now Napoleon, who stood in the ascendant. Fortune for a
long period had been constant to the Emperor, and victory crowned every
battle. This had, it seemed, greatly chagrined "L'Homme Bouge," who for
years past had not been seen nor heard of. The last tradition of him was
a story told by one of the sentinels on guard at the general's quarters
at Mo