Roland’s first visit on arriving in Paris was to the First Consul1. He brought him the twofold news of the pacification2 of the Vendée, and the increasingly bitter insurrection in Brittany.
Bonaparte knew Roland; consequently the triple narrative3 of Thomas Millière’s murder, the execution of Bishop4 Audrein, and the fight at Grandchamp, produced a deep impression upon him. There was, moreover, in the young man’s manner a sombre despair in which he could not be mistaken.
Roland was miserable5 over this lost opportunity to get himself killed. An unknown power seemed to watch over him, carrying him safe and sound through dangers which resulted fatally to others. Sir John had found twelve judges and a death-warrant, where he had seen but a phantom6, invulnerable, it is true, but inoffensive.
He blamed himself bitterly for singling out Cadoudal in the fight, thus exposing himself to a pre-arranged plan of capture, instead of flinging himself into the fray8 and killing9 or being killed.
The First Consul watched him anxiously as he talked; the longing10 for death still lingered in his mind, a longing he hoped to cure by this return to his native land and the endearments11 of his family.
He praised and defended General Hatry, but, just and impartial12 as a soldier should be, he gave full credit to Cadoudal for the courage and generosity13 the royalist general had displayed.
Bonaparte listened gravely, almost sadly; ardent14 as he was for foreign war with its glorious halo, his soul revolted at the internecine15 strife16 which drained the life-blood of the nation and rent its bowels17. It was a case in which, to his thinking, negotiation18 should be substituted for war. But how negotiate with a man like Cadoudal?
Bonaparte was not unaware19 of his own personal seductions when he chose to exercise them. He resolved to see Cadoudal, and without saying anything on the subject to Roland, he intended to make use of him for the interview when the time came. In the meantime he wanted to see if Brune, in whose talent he had great confidence, would be more successful than his predecessors20.
He dismissed Roland, after telling him of his mother’s arrival and her installation in the little house in the Rue7 de la Victoire.
Roland sprang into a coach and was driven there at once. He found Madame de Montrevel as happy and as proud as a woman and a mother could be. Edouard had gone, the day before, to the Prytanée Français, and she herself was preparing to return to Amélie, whose health continued to give her much anxiety.
As for Sir John, he was not only out of danger, but almost well again. He was in Paris, had called upon Madame de Montrevel, and, finding that she had gone with Edouard to the Prytanée, he had left his card. It bore his address, Hôtel Mirabeau, Rue de Richelieu.
It was eleven o’clock, Sir John’s breakfast hour, and Roland had every chance of finding him at that hour. He got back into his carriage, and ordered the coachman to stop at the Hôtel Mirabeau.
He found Sir John sitting before an English breakfast, a thing rarely seen in those days, drinking large cups of tea and eating bloody21 chops.
As soon as the Englishman saw Roland he gave a cry of joy and ran to meet him. Roland himself had acquired a deep affection for that exceptional nature, where the noblest qualities of the heart seemed striving to hide themselves beneath national eccentricities22.
Sir John was pale and thin, but in other respects he was well. His wound had completely healed, and except for a slight oppression, which was diminishing daily and would soon disappear altogether, he had almost recovered his former health. He now welcomed Roland with a tenderness scarcely to be expected from that reserved nature, declaring that the joy he felt in seeing him again was all he wanted for his complete recovery.
He begged Roland to share the meal, telling him to order his own breakfast, a la Française. Roland accepted. Like all soldiers who had fought the hard wars of the Revolution, when bread was often lacking, Roland cared little for what he ate; he had acquired the habit of eating whatever was put before him as a precaution against the days when there might be nothing at all. Sir John’s attention in asking him to make a French breakfast was scarcely noticed by him at all.
But what Roland did notice was Sir John’s preoccupation of mind. It was evident that Sir John had something on his lips which he hesitated to utter. Roland thought he had better help him.
So, when breakfast was nearly over, Roland, with his usual frankness, which almost bordered upon brutality23 at times, leaned his elbows on the table, settled his chin in his hands, and said: “Well, my dear Sir John, you have something to say to your friend Roland that you don’t dare put into words.”
Sir John started, and, from pale as he was, turned crimson24.
“Confound it!” continued Roland, “it must be hard to get out; but, Sir John, if you have many things to ask me, I know but few that I have the right to refuse you. So, go on; I am listening.”
And Roland closed his eyes as if to concentrate all his attention on what Sir John was about to say. But the matter was evidently, from Sir John’s point of view, so extremely difficult to make known, that at the end of a dozen seconds, finding that Sir John was still silent, Roland opened his eyes.
The Englishman was pale again; but this time he was paler than before. Roland held out his hand to him.
“Why,” he said, “I see you want to make some compliment about the way you were treated at the Château des Noires-Fontaines.”
“Precisely, my friend; for the happiness or misery25 of my life will date from my sojourn26 at the château.”
Roland looked fixedly27 at Sir John. “The deuce!” he exclaimed, “can I be so fortunate—” Then he stopped, remembering that what he was about to say was most unconventional from the social point of view.
“Oh!” exclaimed Sir Jo............