But an idea struck Félice. We had come to a stand beside Gaston and the one of the two doors he was guarding which opened into the side corridor. He had himself stopped a moment in his pacing to and fro, perplexed by our dilemma.
"Quick, Gaston," Félice whispered eagerly, "let Monsieur into the dressing-room closet; it is the only place!"
Gaston seemed to demur, but Félice overruled him imperiously.
"You must, Gaston! And be quick! Would you have Monsieur Fouché throw us both into prison? I will be back for him in a few minutes, as soon as all is quiet."
Gaston hesitated no longer. He threw open the door before which we were standing, and together they hurried me into a room which I saw at once was a dressing-room belonging to a gentleman.
"You must be very still, Monsieur," whispered Félice; then she opened a door and thrust me into a dark closet, closing the door noiselessly behind me as she whispered, "I will return in a few minutes."
I was but as wax in her hands, for having led her into such distress and peril, I felt that I must submit to any means that would save her from disastrous results. Yet I liked not being shut up in a dark closet in a gentleman's dressing-room. I began, too, to think of my own peril, and for a full minute after finding myself in my hiding-place my knees did so shake beneath me, and my heart did so pound within me, I was as one deaf and unconscious to all surroundings.
But as my excitement began to calm itself I became aware that I had for some time been hearing several voices: one, which did most of the talking, high, rasping, vehement, passionate; the other two, making brief or monosyllabic replies, low-toned and restrained. I began to perceive, too, that I was not entirely in the dark. A faint light was coming through between slightly parted curtains which seemed to separate my closet from some other apartment than the dressing-room. I looked through this aperture, barely wide enough for the line of vision, not wide enough to betray me to any one in the room beyond, especially since I was in the dark and the Easter sun was flooding the richly furnished apartment.
Standing in an attitude of respect on either side of a low marble mantel bearing a wonderful golden clock stood two gentlemen. One of them was my uncle, Monsieur Marbois, and the other, whom I did not know, I learned later was Minister Decrés. Gesticulating vehemently and speaking with great excitement, through the center of the room back and forth strode rapidly the First Consul!
I was overwhelmed at the sight. By what trick of fate had I been thrust into the very midst of this conference at which I had so longed to be present? My blood rushed through my veins at such tumultuous pace as carried my reason with it. No thought of listening to what was not intended for me to hear entered my mind, only a great joy that I was in the midst of some strange adventure such as I had read of in books, where wonderful things happen to the hero who hides behind an arras. And no more wonderful thing could happen to me than to be seeing and hearing the great Bonaparte!