“With a friend.”
“She knows no one in Paris.”
“I beg your pardon, Monsieur Roland; she knows citizen Bonaparte, First Consul, and his wife.”
“You are not going to lodge my mother at the Luxembourg. I warn you that that would embarrass her very much.”
“No; but I shall lodge her in the Rue de la Victoire.”
“Oh, general!”
“Come, come; that’s settled. Go, now, and get back as soon as possible.”
Roland took the First Consul’s hand, meaning to kiss it; but Bonaparte drew him quickly to him.
“Embrace me, my dear Roland,” he said, “and good luck to you.”
Two hours later Roland was rolling along in a post-chaise on the road to Orleans. The next day, at nine in the morning, he entered Nantes, after a journey of thirty-three hours.