As the evening wore on, however, that last cry of "Long live the Emperor," became more and more infrequent. The people understood at last that Napoleon, whose return they had acclaimed with such hopefulness, preferred rather to abandon France to the woes which hung over her than to make an appeal to the spirit of Revolution. The Corsican ceased to be the idol of the people. Cursed be the name of Napoleon!
At his post, gun on shoulder, John Lebrenn paced up and down the length of the terrace of the Elysian Garden. He heard the cries of the crowd—"Down with the traitors"—"Down with the Bourbons"—"The Emperor, the Emperor!"—"War to the knife against the invaders!"
At that moment Napoleon, in a round hat and plain citizen's cloak, turned out of the alley which abutted on the terrace. The dethroned Emperor was walking, in a revery, his hands crossed behind his back. In the dark, and under the trees, he did not notice the sentry until close upon him. When he did, he stopped short, and, falling into his usual habit of questioning those whom he met, he said to Lebrenn, who presented arms:
"Have you been in the service?"
"Yes, Sire," replied John. The thought flashed through his mind that he had in the same words answered Louis Capet in his prison in the Temple; now he was calling Napoleon "Sire" on the day of his deposition.
"What campaigns were you in? Answer," commanded Napoleon.
"The campaign of 1794, in the Army of the Rhine and Moselle."
"Under the Republic! Have you served since?"
"No, Sire; I was married. I served the Republic."
"What is your profession?"