“Yes; but I have been thinking of him for a long time. Do you know where I shall defeat him?”
“The deuce! I do.”
“Where?”
“Wherever you meet him.”
Bonaparte laughed.
“Ninny!” he said, with loving familiarity. Then, stooping over the map, he said to Roland, “Come here.”
Roland stooped beside him. “There,” resumed Bonaparte; “that is where I shall fight him.”
“Near Alessandria?”
“Within eight or nine miles of it. He has all his supplies, hospitals, artillery and reserves in Alessandria; and he will not leave the neighborhood. I shall have to strike a great blow; that’s the only condition on which I can get peace. I shall cross the Alps”—he pointed to the great Saint-Bernard—“I shall fall upon Mélas when he least expects me, and rout him utterly.”
“Oh! trust you for that!”