ple, but a handsome costume, and which well
became his well-formed figure. Beside him sat a large, powerfully-built
man, whose long black hair, descending in loose curls on his neck and
back, as well as the jet-black brilliancy of his eye and deep olive
complexion, bespoke a native of the South. Though his dress was like
Moreau's, there was a careless jauntiness in his air, and a reckless
"_abandon_" in his manner, that gave the costume a character totally
different. The very negligence of his scarf-knot was a type of himself;
and his thickly-uttered French, interspersed here and there with Italian
phrases, shewed that Murat cared little to cull his words. At his
left was a hard-featured, stern-looking man, in the uniform of the
Dragoons--this was Andreossy; and opposite, and leaning on a sofa,
was General Lannes. He was pale and sickly; he had risen from a bed of
illness to be present, and lay with half-closed lids, neither noticing
nor taking interest in what went on about him.

At the window stood Marmont, conversing with a slight but handsome
youth, in the uniform of the Chasseurs. Eugene Beauharnois was then but
twenty-two, but even at that early age displayed the soldier-like ardour
which so eminently distinguished him in after-life.

At length the door of the salon opened, and Buonaparte, dressed in the
style of the period, appeared; his cheeks were sunk and thin; his hair,
long, flat, and silky, hung straight down at either side of his pale
and handsome face, in which now one faint tinge of colour marked either
cheek. He saluted the rest with a warm shake of the hand, and then
stooping down, said to Murat:--

"But Bernadotte--where is he?"

"Yonder," said Murat, carelessly pointing to a group outside the
terrace, where a tall, fine-looking man, dressed in plain clothes, and
without any indication of the soldier in his costume, stood in the midst
of a knot of officers.

"Ha! General," said Napoleon, advancing towards him; "you are not in
uniform. How comes this?"

"I am not on service," was the cold reply.

"No, but you soon shall be," said Buonaparte, with an effort at
cordiality of manner.

"I do not anticipate it," rejoined Bernadotte, with an expression at
once firm and menacing.

Buonaparte drew him to one side gently, and while he placed his arm
within his, spoke to him with eagerness and energy for several minutes;
but a cold shake of the head, without one word in reply, was all that he
could o