I do not exactly know what has happened on
this eighteenth of Brumaire in Saint Cloud, but one thing I know:
Buonaparte has taken the helm."
"Jaques," answered the nobleman, "I do not wish to hurt your
feelings, but I cannot conceal my joy."
"Don't conceal it, sire! You have saved me from the scaffold, and I
have saved you; let us thank each other, and be quits."
"To think that this bloody drama is ended--that this madness...."
"Sire, don't speak so."
His eyes began to sparkle, but he quickly changed his tone. "Let us
eat our last meal together, but in love like fellow-men; let us talk
of the past, and then part in peace. This evening we are still
brothers, but to-morrow you are the lord and I am the servant."
"You are right. To-day I am an emigrant, tomorrow I am a count."
The old man brought out a cold fowl, a cheese, and a bottle of wine,
and both took their places at the table.
"This wine, sire, was bottled in '89. It has a history, and
therefore...."
"Have you no white wine? I do not like red."
"Is it the colour you dislike?"
"Yes, it looks like blood! You have lost a wife and four sons."
"Why should I weep for them? They fell on the field of honour."
"The scaffold!"
"I call the scaffold the field of honour! But you want white wine!
Good! You shall have it.
Pages:
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347