tuation was invited to his parties. He possessed every requisite
for being what is called in society an agreeable man, except the will to
be so. His manner was imposing rather than pleasing, and those who did
not know him well experienced in his presence an involuntary feeling of
awe. In the drawing-room, where Josephine did the honours with so much
grace and affability, all was gaiety and ease, and no one felt the
presence of a superior; but on Bonaparte's entrance all was changed, and
every eye was directed towards him, to read his humour in his
countenance, whether he intended to be silent or talkative, dull or
cheerful.

He often talked a great deal, and sometimes a little too much; but no one
could tell a story in a more agreeable and interesting way. His
conversation rarely turned on gay or humorous subjects, and never on
trivial matters. He was so fond of argument that in the warmth of
discussion it was easy to draw from him secrets which he was most anxious
to conceal. Sometimes, in a small circle, he would amuse himself by
relating stories of presentiments and apparitions. For this he always
chose the twilight of evening, and he would prepare his hearers for what
was coming by some solemn remark. On one occasion of this kind he said,
in a very grave tone of voice, "When death strikes a person whom we love,
and who is distant from us, a foreboding almost always denotes the event,
and the dying person appears to us at the moment of his dissolution."
He then immediately related the following anecdote: "A gentleman of the
Court of Louis XIV. was in the gallery of Versailles at the time that the
King was reading to his courtiers the bulletin of the battle of
Friedlingen gained by Villars. Suddenly the gentleman saw, at the
farther end of the gallery, the ghost of his son, who served under
Villars. He exclaimed, 'My son is no more!' and next moment the King
named him among the dead."

When travelling Bonaparte was particularly talkative. In the warmth of
his conversation, which was always characterised by original and
interesting idea, he sometimes dropped hints of his future views, or, at
least, he said things which were calculated to disclose what he wished to
conceal. I took the liberty of mentioning to him this indiscretion, and
far from being offended, he acknowledged his mistake, adding that he was
not aware he had gone so far. He frankly avowed this want of caution
when at St. Helena.

When in good humour h