t, and
spun them English fashion. "C'est tout ce qui me reste pour mon voyage
de demain, messieurs," he said, smiling. One of them, M. Ferdinand
Barrot, saw that he was in earnest, and borrowed ten thousand francs,
which the President found on his dressing-table when retiring for the
night. Four and twenty hours after, Napoleon had not even his two
five-franc pieces: they and M. Barrot's loan had disappeared in
subscriptions to local charities. Among the papers found at the
Tuileries after the Emperor's flight, there were over two thousand
begging letters, all dated within a twelvemonth, and all marked with
their answer in the corner--that is, with the amount sent in reply. That
sum amounted to not less than sixty thousand francs. And be it
remembered that these were the petitions the Emperor had not entrusted
to his secretaries or ministers as coming within their domain. The words
of Marshal Vaillant, spoken many years before, "I cannot do much, but I
do what I can," are sufficiently explained.

On the day alluded to above, the marshal was seriously complaining of
the Emperor's extravagance. He did not hold with entertaining so many
sovereigns. "I do not say this," he added, "with regard to yours, for
her hospitality deserved such return as the Emperor gave her; but with
regard to the others who will come, you may be sure, if we last long
enough. Well, we'll see; perhaps you'll remember my words."

In fact, the old soldier was never much dazzled by the grandeur of those
entertainments, nor did he foster many illusions with regard to their
true value in cementing international friendships. The marshal was not
dazzled by anything; and though deferential enough to the members of the
emperor's family, he never scrupled to tell them his mind. The Emperor's
cousin (Plon-Plon) could tell some curious stories to that effect. The
marshal had a hatred of long-winded people, and especially of what
Carlyle calls wind-bags. Another of Louis-Napoleon's cousins came
decidedly under the latter description: I allude to the Prince de
Canino. In order to get rid as much as possible of wordy visitors,
Vaillant had hit upon the method of granting them their interviews at a
_very_, _very_ early hour in the morning; in the summer at 6.30 in the
morning, in the winter at 7.15. "People do not like getting out of bed
at that time, unless they have something serious to communicate," he
said; and would not relax his rule, even for the softer sex