The eye of the First Consul, clear, piercing, heart-reading, had been upon me through the whole of this recital; but I, feeling that I was keeping nothing back (save only Gaston and Félice), and being nerved up to meet whatever fate should befall, bore its scrutiny well. He was silent for a moment after I had finished speaking, and my heart sank steadily down, for life looked very bright to me and I began to be very sure I had forfeited it by my foolishness. Suddenly the Consul spoke, but it was not to me nor to the chevalier; he turned to Pelagie.
"Mademoiselle, that was a boyish escapade, certainly, and it was a very pretty boy that contrived it. What do you think would be suitable punishment for such a crime? You shall be the arbiter of his fate."
Mademoiselle gave me one fleeting glance, saucy merriment dancing in her eye; then she turned to Bonaparte, and, curtsying low, she said with pretty archness:
"Citizen First Consul, I know him well, and I know that only death could be a greater punishment to him than to be called a 'pretty boy'! Do you not think his crime is atoned for?"
Bonaparte's wonderful smile lighted his face and fell on mademoiselle with almost too great sweetness, I thought.
"It is as you say, Mademoiselle," he replied. "Officer, you need not call the guard."
But I, suddenly relieved from the fear of death, stood there scarlet with confusion, head drooping, and ready to sink through the floor with shame, while I mentally anathematized my yellow curls and rosy cheeks and blue eyes, and most of all my domtiferous vanity that had led me to array myself in shining white satin and glittering gold lace, that I was sure made me look fairer and rosier and more than ever like a big blond baby.