“And poor De Beauvais, what is to become of him?” said I, eagerly.
“Have no fears on his account,” said he, with something like confusion in his manner. “She (that is, Madame Bonaparte) has kindly interested herself in his behalf, and he is to sail for Guadaloupe in a few days,—his own proposition and wish.”
“And does General Bonaparte know now that I was guiltless?” cried I, with enthusiasm.
“My dear young man,” said he, with a bland smile, “I very much fear that the general has little time at this moment to give the matter much of his attention. Great events have happened,—are happening while we speak. War is threatening on the side of Austria. Yes, it is true: the camp of Boulogne has received orders to break up; troops are once more on their march to the Rhine; all France is arming.”
“Oh, when shall I be free?”
“You are free!” cried he, clapping me gayly on the shoulder. “An amnesty against all untried prisoners for state of offences has been proclaimed. At such a moment of national joy—”
“What do you mean?”
“What! and have I not told you my great news? The Senate have presented to Bonaparte an address, praying his acceptance of the throne of France; or, in their very words, to make his authority eternal.”
“And he?” said I, breathless with impatience to know the result.
“He,” continued the general, “has replied as became him, desiring them to state clearly their views,—by what steps they propose to consolidate the acquired liberties of the nation. And while avowing that no higher honor or dignity can await him than such as he has already received at the hands of the people, 'Yet,' added he, 'when the hour arrives that I can see such to be the will of France,—when one voice proclaims it from Alsace to the Ocean, from Lisle to the Pyrenees,—then shall I be ready to accept the throne of France.'”