"Silence, mademoiselle. By the laws of war I could have you shot. It would be a fine example. No Frenchman, however high in rank and station, no Frenchwoman, however young or beautiful, can fight against me and France with impunity. Have you anything to say why I should not mete out to you this well-deserved punishment?"
"Nothing," said the young woman with proud disdain. "The revolution has taken the lives of many of my people. I am not better than they. You are the very spirit of the revolution incarnate, Sire, and——"
"Your Majesty," interposed General Maurice.
"Well, sir?" said Napoleon.
General Maurice, a famous light horseman, otherwise known as the Count de Vivonne, was an old friend and a devoted follower of the Emperor. He had interfered before on occasion between Napoleon and his victims. He knew the Emperor thoroughly and loved him. He realized that it was his time to interpose, or someone's, and he had intuition enough to suspect that his interposition would be most welcome, that indeed Napoleon was playing, as he sometimes loved to do, a little comedy. With a wave of his hand the general checked Marteau, whom he knew slightly, who had sprung forward to protest to the Emperor at the words of the woman he loved.
"Allow me a word, Sire," asked the General with that exquisite mixture of courtesy, deference and resolution which characterized his intercourse with the Emperor.
"I am always glad to hear from you, my good Maurice," said the Emperor familiarly. "What have you to say?"
"This young woman is no traitor to you or to France, Sire, however strange her position."
"How do you make that out?" asked the Emperor, the flickering of a smile playing about his lips.
"It was her hand that struck up the Russian's pistol so that the bullet went there," the General of cavalry pointed upward a moment and then his hand fell until his index finger was trained upon the Emperor's heart, "instead of there," he added meaningly.