"He declines to give his name, Sir," was the reply. "He speaks French like a Frenchman and wears a ragged French uniform and a turban; but he looks like an Arab and says he is from the desert."
"Admit him," said Buonaparte shortly.
The officer withdrew and, in another minute, returned, followed by St. Just. The latter drew himself up, saluted and then removed his "haic" (his head-covering.)
Buonaparte made a movement with his hand for the officer to retire. Then he bent his gaze on the uncouth figure before him, scrutinizing him closely to see whether his features were familiar to him. Failing to recognize him, he said sharply.
"Your name, Sir? You have despatches. Where do you come from?" He drummed impatiently with his fingers on the table. With all his imperturbability, the answer he received surprised him.
"Henri St. Just, Captain in the regiment of Guides."
"What!" exclaimed Buonaparte. "St. Just? It was reported that you were dead by those who said they saw you shot."
He got up from his seat, and, coming up to the young officer, examined his features closely. The result satisfied him of St. Just's identity.
"You are indeed St. Just. Now, sit down and tell me all about it."
He resumed his seat, and St. Just also sat down, and, after detailing the circumstances with which the reader is acquainted, went on to say, "After my recovery and release, I started, with an escort furnished by the Sheik Ibrahim, from a place whose name I do not know, except that the people call it the Tombs of the Kings, with an answer from Ibrahim to your letter. It is for this reason, General, that I have ventured to present myself before you in this most unseemly garb and unkempt condition, for which I crave your pardon."