While they are bearing Sir John Tanlay’s body to the Château des Noires-Fontaines; while Roland is hurrying in the same direction; while the peasant, despatched by him, is hastening to Bourg to notify Dr. Milliet of the catastrophe2 which necessitated3 his immediate4 presence at Madame de Montrevel’s home, let us jump over the distance which separates Bourg from Paris, and the time which elapsed between the 16th of October and the 7th of November; that is to say, between the 24th of Vendemiaire and the 16th Brumaire, and repair to that little house in the Rue5 de la Victoire rendered historically famous by the conspiracy6 of the 18th Brumaire, which issued from it fully7 armed.
It is the same house which stands there to-day on the right of the street at No. 60, apparently8 astonished to present to the eye, after so many successive changes of government, the consular9 fasces which may still be seen on the panels of its double oaken doors.
Let us follow the long, narrow alley10 of lindens that leads from the gate on the street to the door of the house; let us enter the antechamber, take the hall to the right, ascend11 the twenty steps that lead to a study hung with green paper, and furnished with curtains, easy chairs and couches of the same color. The walls are covered with geographical12 charts and plans of cities. Bookcases of maple13 are ranged on either side of the fireplace, which they inclose. The chairs, sofas, tables and desks are piled with books; there is scarcely any room on the chairs to sit down, or on the desks and tables to write.
In the midst of this encumbering14 mass of reports, letters, pamphlets and books, a man had cleared a space for himself where he was now seated, clutching his hair impatiently from time to time, as he endeavored to decipher a page of notes, compared to which the hieroglyphics15 on the obelisk16 of Luxor, would have been transparently17 intelligible18. Just as the secretary’s impatience19 was approaching desperation, the door opened and a young officer wearing an aide’s uniform entered.
The secretary raised his head, and a lively expression of satisfaction crossed his face.
“Oh! my dear Roland,” said he; “you here at last! I am delighted to see you, for three reasons. First, because I am wearying for you; second, because the general is impatient for your return, and keeps up a hullaballoo about it; and third, because you can help me to read this, with which I have been struggling for the last ten minutes. But first of all, kiss me.”
And the secretary and the aide-de-camp embraced each other.
“Well,” said the latter, “let us see this word that is troubling you so, my dear Bourrienne!”
“Ah! my dear fellow, what writing! I get a white hair for every page I decipher, and this is my third to-day! Here, read it if you can.”
Roland took the sheet from the secretary, and fixing his eyes on the spot indicated, read quite fluently: “Paragraph XI. The Nile, from Assouan to a distance of twelve miles north of Cairo, flows in a single stream”—“Well,” said he, interrupting himself, “that’s all plain sailing. What did you mean? The general, on the contrary, took pains when he wrote that.”
“Go on, go on,” said Bourrienne.
The young man resumed: “‘From that point, which is called’—ah! Ah!”
“There you are! Now what do you say to that?”
Roland repeated: “‘Which is called’—The devil! ‘Which is called—‘”
“Yes, ‘Which is called’—after that?”
“What will you give me, Bourrienne,” cried Roland, “if I guess it?”
“The first colonel’s commission I find signed in blank.”
“By my faith, no! I don’t want to leave the general; I’d rather have a good father than five hundred naughty children. I’ll give you the three words for nothing.”
“What! are there three words there?”
“They don’t look as if they were quite three, I admit. Now listen, and make obeisance20 to me: ‘From the point called Ventre della Vacca.’”
“Ha! Ventre de la Vache! Confound it! He’s illegible21 enough in French, but if he takes it into his head to go off in Italian, and that Corsican patois22 to boot! I thought I only ran the risk of going crazy, but then I should become stupid, too. Well, you’ve got it,” and he read the whole sentence consecutively23: “‘The Nile, from Assouan to a distance of twelve miles north of Cairo, flows in a single stream; from that point, which is called Ventre de la Vache, it forms the branches of the Rosetta and the Damietta.’ Thank you, Roland,” and he began to write the end of the paragraph, of which the first lines were already committed to paper.
“Tell me,” said Roland; “is he still got his hobby, the dear general, of colonizing24 Egypt?”
“Yes; and then, as a sort of offset25, a little governing in France; we will colonize26 from a distance.”
“Well, my dear Bourrienne, suppose you post me a little on matters in this country, so that I won’t seem to have just arrived from Timbuctoo.”
“In the first place, did you come back of your own accord, or were you recalled?”
“Recalled? I should think so!”
“By whom?”
“The general himself.”
“Special despatch1?”
“Written by himself; see!”
The young man drew a paper from his pocket containing two lines, not signed, in the same handwriting as that which Bourrienne had before him. These two lines said: “‘Start. Be in Paris 16th Brumaire. I need you.”
“Yes,” said Bourrienne, “I think it will be on the eighteenth.”
“What will be on the eighteenth?”
“On my word, Roland, you ask more than I know. That man, as you are aware, is not communicative. What will take place on the 18th Brumaire? I don’t know as yet; but I’ll answer for it that something will happen.”
“Oh! you must have a suspicion!”
“I think he means to make himself Director in place of Sièyes, or perhaps president in Gohier’s stead.”
“Good! How about the Constitution of the year III.?”
“The Constitution of the year III. What about that?”
“Why, yes, a man must be forty years old to be a Director; and the general lacks just ten of them.”
“The deuce! so much the worse for the Constitution. They must violate it.”
“It is rather young yet, Bourrienne; they don’t, as a rule, violate children of seven.”
“My dear fellow, in Barras’ hands everything grows old rapidly. The little girl of seven is already an old prostitute.”
Roland shook his head.
“Well, what is it?” asked Bourrienne.
“Why, I don’t believe the general will make himself a simple Director with four colleagues. Just imagine it—five kings of France! It wouldn’t be a Directory any longer, but a four-in-hand.”
“Anyway, up to the present, that is all he has allowed any one to perceive; but you know, my dear friend, if we want to know the general’s secrets we must guess them.”
“Faith! I’m too lazy to take the trouble, Bourrienne. Besides, I’m a regular Janissary—what is to be, will be. Why the devil should I bother to form an opinion and battle for it. It’s quite wearisome enough to have to live.” And the young man enforced his favorite aphorism27 with a long yawn; then he added: “Do you think there will be any sword play?”
“Probably.”
“Then there will be a chance of getting killed; that’s all I want. Where is the general?”
“With Madame Bonaparte. He went to her about fifteen minutes ago. Have you let him know you are here?”
“No, I wanted to see you first. But I hear his step now.”
Just then the door was opened abruptly28, and the same historical personage whom we saw playing a silent part incognito29 at Avignon appeared on the threshold, in the picturesque30 uniform of the general-in-chief of the army of Egypt, except that, being in his own house, he was bare-headed. Roland thought his eyes were more hollow and his skin more leaden than usual. But the moment he saw the young man, Bonaparte’s gloomy, or rather meditative31, eye emitted a flash of joy.
“Ah, here you are, Roland!” he said. “True as steel! Called, you come. Welcome, my dear fellow.” And he offered Roland his hand. Then he asked, with an imperceptible smile, “What were you doing with Bourrienne?”
“Waiting for you, general.”
“And in the meantime gossiping like tw............