ve no further intimacy with the writer than an
officer has with his comrade; but if I am to be the subject of espionage
to the police,--if my chance acquaintances in the world are to be matter
of charges against my fealty and honor,--if I, who have nothing but my
sword and my epaulette--"

When I had got thus far I saw the marshal's face turn deadly pale, while
the officer at the table made a hurried sign to me with his finger to be
silent. The door closed nearly at the same instant, and I turned my head
round, and there stood the Emperor. The figure is still before me;
he was standing still, his hands behind his back, and his low chapeau
deeply pressed upon his brows. His gray frock was open, and looked as if
disordered from haste.

"What is this?" said he, in that hissing tone he always assumed when in
moments of passion,--"what is this? Are we in the bureau of a minister?
or is it the _salle de police?_ Who are you, sir?"

It was not until the question had been repeated that I found courage to
reply. But he waited not for my answer, as, snatching the open letter
from my fingers, he resumed,--

"It is not thus, sir, you should come here. Your petition or memorial--
Ha! _parbleu!_ what is this?"

At the instant his eyes fell upon the writing, and as suddenly his face
grew almost livid. With the rapidity of lightning he seemed to peruse
the lines. Then waving his hand, he motioned towards the door, and
muttered,--"Wait without!"

Like one awaking from a dreadful dream, I stood, endeavoring to recall
my faculties, and assure myself how much there might be of reality in
my wandering fancies, when I perceived that a portion of the letter
remained between my fingers as the Emperor snatched it from my hand.

A half-finished sentence was all I could make out; but its tone made me
tremble for what the rest of the epistle might contain:--

"Surpassed themselves, of course, my dear Burke; and so has the Emperor
too. It remained for the campaign in Prussia to prove that one hundred
and eighty-five thousand prisoners can be taken from an army numbering
one hundred and fifty-four thousand men. As to Davoust, who really had
all the fighting, though he wrote no bulletin, all Paris feels--"

Such was the morsel I had saved; such a specimen of the insolence of the
entire.

The dreadful fact then broke suddenly upon me that this letter had been
written by Duchesne to effect my ruin; and as I stood stupefied with
terror, the