‘Very good,’ said Berthier, ringing a bell for the lackey.  ’You will show the Chief of Brigade Gerard into the salon.’

The footman led me into an inner room, where he desired me to be seated.  For my own part, my only desire was to get away, and I could not understand why they should wish to detain me.  When one has had no change of uniform during a whole winter’s campaign, one does not feel at home in a palace.

I had been there about a quarter of an hour when the footman opened the door again, and in came Colonel Despienne.  Good heavens, what a sight he was!  His face was as white as a guardsman’s gaiters, his eyes projecting, the veins swollen upon his forehead, and every hair of his moustache bristling like those of an angry cat.  He was too angry to speak, and could only shake his hands at the ceiling and make a gurgling in his throat.  ‘Parricide!  Viper!’ those were the words that I could catch as he stamped up and down the room.

Of course it was evident to me that he had been subjected to the same infamous proposals as I had, and that he had received them in the same spirit.  His lips were sealed to me, as mine were to him, by the promise which we had taken, but I contented myself with muttering ’Atrocious!  Unspeakable!’—­so that he might know that I was in agreement with him.

Well, we were still there, he striding furiously up and down, and I seated in the corner, when suddenly a most extraordinary uproar broke out in the room which we had just quitted.  There was a snarling, worrying growl, like that of a fierce dog which has got his grip.  Then came a crash and a voice calling for help.  In we rushed, the two of us, and, my faith, we were none too soon.

Old Tremeau and Berthier were rolling together upon the floor, with the table upon the top of them.  The Captain had one of his great, skinny yellow hands upon the Marshal’s throat, and already his face was lead-coloured, and his eyes were starting from their sockets.  As to Tremeau, he was beside himself, with foam upon the corners of his lips, and such a frantic expression upon him that I am convinced, had we not loosened his iron grip, finger by finger, that it would never have relaxed while the Marshal lived.  His nails were white with the power of his grasp.

‘I have been tempted by the devil!’ he cried, as he staggered to his feet.  ‘Yes, I have been tempted by the devil!’

As to Berthier, he could only lean against the wall, and pant for a couple of minutes, putting his hands up to his throat and rolling his head about.  Then, with an angry gesture, he turned to the heavy blue curtain which hung behind his chair.

The curtain was torn to one side and the Emperor stepped out into the room.  We sprang to the salute, we three old soldiers, but it was all like a scene in a dream to us, and our eyes were as far out as Berthier’s had been.  Napoleon was dressed in his green-coated chasseur uniform, and he held his little, silver-headed switch in his hand.  He looked at us each in turn, with a smile upon his face—­that frightful smile in which neither eyes nor brow joined—­and each in turn had, I believe, a pringling on his skin, for that was the effect which the Emperor’s gaze had upon most of us.  Then he walked across to Berthier and put his hand upon his shoulder.