From his action, Garraud might have seen a specter. He started so violently that he dropped the lantern. Then, "My God! St. Just, is it really you?" he said, "I thought you dead. And what brings you here?"
St. Just told him of his errand from the dead Empress, and then went on to speak about the plot he had overheard, and how he had dealt with the conspirators.
"Heavens! what a narrow escape," cried Garraud. "We must alarm the guard at once, and seek for the others. There must be more in this affair than the three you have disposed of. You seem to be continually in adventures, my friend."
They walked away together, and, ten minutes later, a dozen Polish lancers were trotting quickly down the road by which the Emperor was expected, carrying a message from St. Just, confirmed by Garraud.
Then the two reunited friends made their way to the Palace, as the tumbledown building the Emperor occupied was called, where there was as much ceremony as had been observed at the Tuileries and Fontainebleau in the olden days.
Two hours later, St. Just was summoned to the Emperor's presence, being ushered in by General Bertrand.
The apartment was poorly furnished; the contrast to Fontainebleau struck St. Just with amazement. A few gilt chairs from the Tuileries were scattered about the room, serving merely to emphasize its bareness; in the center was a long trestle table, on which was spread a large map of the island; a small writing table stood in one corner, and along the side of a wall an old chintz-covered sofa. These completed all the furniture.
The Emperor at the moment of St. Just's entrance was standing before the fire-place, pressing down the blazing logs in it with his foot, a trick of his.
He was wearing a very old uniform of the Guards, his only decoration being the cross of the Legion of Honor; his boots were dirty, and, altogether, there was a general appearance of slovenliness about him. He was even paler than when St. Just had last seen him, and he looked anxious and dissatisfied. He had grown stouter, too. He was wearing his cocked hat, but it was pushed off from his brow, and was balanced on the back of his head. But, despite the deterioration in his appearance, there was still an air of majesty, and he had not lost his commanding mien.
As it had ever been with him in Napoleon's presence, St. Just felt awed, and, when the Emperor turned round, he knelt at his feet and kissed his hand.