A strange feeling of anxiety,—the dread of something undefined, I knew not what, or whence coming,—was over me, and my nerves, long irritable from illness, became now jarringly sensitive, and banished all thought of sleep. Wild fancies and incoherent ideas crossed my mind, and made me restless and uneasy. I felt, too, as if the night were unusually close and sultry, and I opened my window to admit the air. Scarcely had I drawn the curtain aside, when my eye rested on a long line of light, that, issuing from a window on the ground-floor of the Palace, threw its bright gleam far across the courtyard.
It was in the same wing where the carriages drew up. It must be so; some officer of rank, wounded in a late battle, was brought there. “Poor fellow!” thought I; “what suffering may he be enduring amid all the peace-fulness and calm of this tranquil spot! Who can it be?” was the ever-recurring question to my mind; for my impression had already strengthened itself to a conviction.
The hours went on; the light shone steadily as at first, and the stillness was unbroken. Wearied with thinking, and half forgetful of my weakness, I tottered along the corridor, descended the grand stair, and passed out into the court. How refreshing did the night air feel! how sweet the fair odors of the spring, as, wafted by the motion of the jet d'eau, they were diffused around! The first steps of recovery from severe sickness have a strange thrill of youthfulness about them. Our senses seem once more to revel in the simple enjoyments of early days, and to feel that their greatest delight lies in the associations which gave pleasure to childhood. Weaned from the world's contentions, we seem to have been lifted for the time above the meaner cares and ambitions of life, and love to linger a little longer in that ideal state of happiness calm thoughts bestow; and thus the interval that brings back health to the body restores freshness to the heart, and purified in thought, we come forth hoping for better things, and striving for them with all the generous ardor of early years. How happy was I as I wandered in that garden! how full of gratitude to feel the current of health once more come back in all my veins,—the sense of enjoyment which flows from every object of the fair world restored to me, after so many dangers and escapes!
As I moved slowly through the terraced court, my eye was constantly attracted to the small and starlike light which glimmered through the darkness; and I turned to it at last, impelled by a feeling of undefinable sympathy. Following a narrow path, I drew near to a little garden, which once contained some rare flowers. They had been favorites of poor Josephine in times past; but the hour was over in which that gave them a claim to care and attention, and now they were wild grown and tangled, and almost concealed the narrow walk which led to the doorway.
I reached this at length; and as I stood, the faint moonlight, slanting beneath a cloud, fell upon a bright and glistening object almost at my feet. I stepped back, and looked fixedly at it. It was the figure of a man sleeping across the entrance of the porch. He was dressed in Mameluke fashion; but his gay trappings and rich costume were travel-stained and splashed. His unsheathed cimeter lay grasped in one hand, and a Turkish pistol seemed to have fallen from the other.
Even by the imperfect light I recognized Rustan, the favorite Mameluke of the Emperor, who always slept at the door of his tent and his chamber,—his chosen bodyguard. Napoleon must then be here; his equipage it was which arrived so hurriedly; his the light which burned through the stillness of the night. As these thoughts followed fast on one another, I almost trembled to think how nearly I had ventured on his presence, where none dared to approach unbidden. To retire quickly and noiselessly was now my care. But my first step entangled my foot; I stumbled. The noise awoke the sleeping Turk, and with a loud cry for the guard he sprang to his feet.
“La garde!” called he a second time, forgetting in his surprise that none was there. But then with a spring he seized me by the arm, and as his shining weapon gleamed above my head, demanded who I was, and for what purpose there.
The first words of my reply were scarcely uttered, when a small door was opened within the vestibule, and the Emperor appeared. Late as was the hour, he was dressed, and even wore his sword at his side.
“What means this? Who are you, sir?” was the quick, sharp question he addressed to me.
A few words—the fewest in which I could convey it—told my story, and expressed my sorrow, that in the sick man's fancy of a moonlight walk I should have disturbed his Majesty.