There was a long wait, but after a while the door opened, and the same young aide ushered him into the Emperor’s cabinet; and just as Cartouche had known, he felt as easy as ever in his life as soon as he found himself alone with the Emperor.
The Emperor sat at a table, leaning his elbow upon it. His pale and classic face was luminous with a smile as he saw Cartouche; he had no more forgotten the first man across the bridge at Lodi than Cartouche had forgotten him.
“Well, my friend,” he said, smiling. “I was about to send for you, because I have found out some surprising things about your protegée, Mademoiselle Fifi; and besides, I see by the newspapers that she has drawn a prize of a hundred thousand francs in the lottery.”
“Yes, Sire,” replied Cartouche, “and I want to ask your Majesty what I am to do with Fifi’s hundred thousand francs.”
“Good God!” cried the Emperor, getting up and walking about the room with his hands behind his back, “I know no more what to do with a hundred thousand francs than you do; I never had a hundred thousand francs of my own in my life. I have a civil list of forty millions, which I disburse for the benefit of the state, but it is as much as I can do to keep myself and my wife in clothes. Women are expensive creatures, Cartouche.”
“True, your Majesty,” replied Cartouche, “and Fifi does not know what to do with money when she gets it—” Then, in a burst of confidence he told the Emperor about the thirty francs Fifi had saved up for a cloak and invested in a little black dog instead. The Emperor threw back his head and laughed heartily.
“This Fifi must be a character. Well, I shall ask Lebrun, the arch-treasurer, to give us his advice about Fifi’s hundred thousand francs. But suppose she will not trust you and me and the arch-treasurer with her money?”
“I don’t know about the arch-treasurer, your Majesty, but I am sure Fifi will trust you, Sire, and me. But what is to be done with Fifi herself, is puzzling me.”
“That can be easily settled, I think. You remember I told you, when I found her name was Chiaramonti, that I might have some surprising news about her. I was, this very morning, contemplating sending for you. Well, this young lady, whom you found crying in the market-place at Mantua, I have discovered is the granddaughter of Barnabas Gregory Chiaramonti, who was the first cousin and playmate, in his boyhood, of Gregory Barnabas Chiaramonti, now reigning over the Holy See as Pius the Seventh, and at present, sojourning as my guest at the palace of Fontainebleau.”
Everything reeled before Cartouche, and he had to hold on to the back of a chair to keep from falling.