me to do?

'It is the bitterest moment of my life, sire,' said I, 'and yet I must
be true to the promise which I have given. If I have to be a beggar by
the roadside, I shall none the less marry Eugenie de Choiseul or no
one.'

The Empress had risen and had approached the window.

'Well, at least, before you make up your mind, Monsieur de Laval,' said
she, 'I should certainly take a look at this lady-in-waiting of mine,
whom you refuse with such indignation.'

With a quick rasping of rings she drew back the curtain of the second
window. A woman was standing in the recess. She took a step forward
into the room, and then--and then with a cry and a spring my arms were
round her, and hers round me, and I was standing like a man in a dream,
looking down into the sweet laughing eyes of my Eugenie. It was not
until I had kissed her and kissed her again upon her lips, her cheeks,
her hair, that I could persuade myself that she was indeed really there.

'Let us leave them,' said the voice of the Empress behind me. 'Come,
Napoleon. It makes me sad! It reminds me too much of the old days in
the Rue Chautereine.'

So there is an end of my little romance, for the Emperor's plans were,
as usual, carried out, and we were married upon the Thursday, as he had
said. That long and all-powerful arm had plucked her out from the
Kentish town, and had brought her across the Channel, in order to make
sure of my allegiance, and to strengthen the Court by the presence of a
de Choiseul. As to my cousin Sibylle, it shall be written some day how
she married the gallant Lieutenant Gerard many years afterwards, when he
had become the chief of a brigade, and one of the most noted cavalry
leaders in all the armies of France. Some day also I may tell how I
came back into my rightful inheritance of Grosbois, which is still
darkened to me by the thought of that terrible uncle of mine, and of
what happened that night when Toussac stood at bay in the library.
But enough of me and of my small fortunes. You have already heard more
of them, perhaps, than you care for.

As to the Emperor, some faint shadow of whom I have tried in these pages
to raise before you, you have heard from history how, despairing of
gaining command of the Channel, and fearing to attempt an invasion which
might be cut off from behind, he abandoned the camp of Boulogne.
You have heard also how, with this very army which was meant for
England, he struck down Austria and