e scowl that had brought his
soldiers to attention when he was beating the broom on the heaths of
Brittany in 1799. (See _Les Chouans_.)

"You shall be obeyed, Marechal," said Beau-Pied, with a military salute.

Still paying no heed to his brother, the old man came back into his
study, took a key out of his desk, and opened a little malachite box
mounted in steel, the gift of the Emperor Alexander.

By Napoleon's orders he had gone to restore to the Russian Emperor the
private property seized at the battle of Dresden, in exchange for which
Napoleon hoped to get back Vandamme. The Czar rewarded General Hulot
very handsomely, giving him this casket, and saying that he hoped one
day to show the same courtesy to the Emperor of the French; but he kept
Vandamme. The Imperial arms of Russia were displayed in gold on the lid
of the box, which was inlaid with gold.

The Marshal counted the bank-notes it contained; he had a hundred and
fifty-two thousand francs. He saw this with satisfaction. At the same
moment Madame Hulot came into the room in a state to touch the heart
of the sternest judge. She flew into Hector's arms, looking alternately
with a crazy eye at the Marshal and at the case of pistols.

"What have you to say against your brother? What has my husband done to
you?" said she, in such a voice that the Marshal heard her.

"He has disgraced us all!" replied the Republican veteran, who spoke
with a vehemence that reopened one of his old wounds. "He has robbed
the Government! He has cast odium on my name, he makes me wish I were
dead--he has killed me!--I have only strength enough left to make
restitution!

"I have been abased before the Conde of the Republic, the man I esteem
above all others, and to whom I unjustifiably gave the lie--the Prince
of Wissembourg!--Is that nothing? That is the score his country has
against him!"

He wiped away a tear.

"Now, as to his family," he went on. "He is robbing you of the bread I
had saved for you, the fruit of thirty years' economy, of the privations
of an old soldier! Here is what was intended for you," and he held up
the bank-notes. "He has killed his Uncle Fischer, a noble and worthy son
of Alsace who could not--as he can--endure the thought of a stain on his
peasant's honor.

"To crown all, God, in His adorable clemency, had allowed him to choose
an angel among women; he has had the unspeakable happiness of having
an Adeline for his wife! And he has deceived her, h