‘Come, come, Tiernay—this is too early to be sick of life!’ said he, and the kind tone touched me so that I burst into tears. They were bitter tears, too; for while my heart was relieved by this gush of feeling, I was ashamed at my own weakness. ‘Come, I say,’ continued he, ‘this memoir of yours might have done you much mischief—happily it has not done so. Give me the permission to throw it in the fire, and, instead of it, address a respectful petition to the head of the state, setting forth your services, and stating the casualty by which you were implicated in Royalism. I will take care that it meets his eye, and, if possible, will support its prayer. Above all, ask for reinstalment in your grade, and a return to the service. It may be, perhaps, that you can mention some superior officer who would vouch for your future conduct.’
‘Except Colonel Mahon——’
‘Not the Colonel Mahon who commanded the 13th Cuirassiers?’
‘The same.’
‘That name would little serve you,’ said he coldly: ‘he has been placed en retraite some time back; and if your character can call no other witness than him, your case is not too favourable.’ He saw that the speech had disconcerted me, and soon added, ‘Never mind—keep to the memoir; state your case, and your apology, and leave the rest to Fortune. When can you let me have it?’
‘By to-morrow—to-night, if necessary.’
‘To-morrow will do well, and so good-bye. I will order them to supply you with writing materials’; and slapping me good-naturedly on the shoulder, he cried, ‘Courage, my lad!’ and departed.
Before I lay down to sleep that night, I completed my ‘memoir,’ the great difficulty of which I found to consist in giving it that dry brevity which I knew Bonaparte would require. In this, however, I believe I succeeded at last, making the entire document not to occupy one sheet of paper. The officer had left his card of address, which I found was inscribed Monsieur Bourrienne, Rue Lafitte, a name that subsequently was to be well known to the world.
I directed my manuscript to his care, and lay down with a lighter heart than I had known for many a day. I will not weary my reader with the tormenting vacillations of hope and fear which followed. Day after day went over, and no answer came to me. I addressed two notes, respectful, but urgent, begging for some information as to my demand—none came. A month passed thus, when, one morning, the governor of the Temple entered my room, with an open letter in his hand.
‘This is an order for your liberation, Monsieur de Tiernay,’ said he; ‘you are free.’