Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the Empire

by Arthur Conan Doyle

'Good! You may retire.'

The lieutenant saluted, whisked round upon his heel, and clattered away, whilst the Emperor's blue eyes were turned upon me. I had often heard the phrase of eyes looking through you, but that piercing gaze did really give one the feeling that it penetrated to one's inmost thoughts. But the sternness had all melted out of it, and I read a great gentleness and kindness in their expression.

'You have come to serve me, Monsieur de Laval?'

'Yes, Sire.'

'You have been some time in making up your mind.'

'I was not my own master, Sire.'

'Your father was an aristocrat?'

'Yes, Sire.'

'And a supporter of the Bourbons?'

'Yes, Sire.'