He tore up the letters he had written to his mother, his sister, and General Bonaparte, mechanically burning the fragments with the utmost care. Then ringing for the chambermaid, he asked:
“When must my letters be in the post?”
“Half-past six,” replied she. “You have only a few minutes more.”
“Just wait then.”
And taking a pen he wrote:
My DEAR GENERAL—It is as I told you; I am living and he is
dead. You must admit that this seems like a wager. Devotion
to death.
Your Paladin
ROLAND.
Then he sealed the letter, addressed it to General Bonaparte, Rue de la Victoire, Paris, and handed it to the chambermaid, bidding her lose no time in posting it. Then only did he seem to notice Sir John, and held out his hand to him.
“You have just rendered me a great service, my lord,” he said. “One of those services which bind men for all eternity. I am already your friend; will you do me the honor to become mine?”
Sir John pressed the hand that Roland offered him.
“Oh!” said he, “I thank you heartily. I should never have dared ask this honor; but you offer it and I accept.”