on of the last review held by Napoleon before the invasion of
Russia.

"Everything was in contrasts in this exceptional man. Passion lives
on contrast. Hence you need not ask whether he exerted over women the
irresistible influences to which our nature yields"--and the general
looked at the Princesse de Cadignan--"as vitreous matter is moulded
under the pipe of the glass-blower; still, by a singular fatality--an
observer might perhaps explain the phenomenon--the Colonel was not a
lady-killer, or was indifferent to such successes.

"To give you an idea of his violence, I will tell you in a few words
what I once saw him do in a paroxysm of fury. We were dragging our guns
up a very narrow road, bordered by a somewhat high slope on one side,
and by thickets on the other. When we were half-way up we met another
regiment of artillery, its colonel marching at the head. This colonel
wanted to make the captain who was at the head of our foremost battery
back down again. The captain, of course, refused; but the colonel of the
other regiment signed to his foremost battery to advance, and in spite
of the care the driver took to keep among the scrub, the wheel of the
first gun struck our captain's right leg and broke it, throwing him over
on the near side of his horse. All this was the work of a moment. Our
Colonel, who was but a little way off, guessed that there was a quarrel;
he galloped up, riding among the guns at the risk of falling with his
horse's four feet in the air, and reached the spot, face to face with
the other colonel, at the very moment when the captain fell, calling out
'Help!' No, our Italian colonel was no longer human! Foam like the froth
of champagne rose to his lips; he roared inarticulately like a lion.
Incapable of uttering a word, or even a cry, he made a terrific signal
to his antagonist, pointing to the wood and drawing his sword. The
two colonels went aside. In two seconds we saw our Colonel's opponent
stretched on the ground, his skull split in two. The soldiers of his
regiment backed--yes, by heaven, and pretty quickly too.

"The captain, who had been so nearly crushed, and who lay yelping in
the puddle where the gun carriage had thrown him, had an Italian wife,
a beautiful Sicilian of Messina, who was not indifferent to our Colonel.
This circumstance had aggravated his rage. He was pledged to protect
the husband, bound to defend him as he would have defended the woman
herself.

"Now, in the hovel