"It is granted; you have done quite right. Where is the letter?"
St. Just rose and handed it to him.
Buonaparte had just concluded reading it, when an aide-de-camp entered and, saluting, said, "A courier from Admiral Gantheaume, Sir."
"Admit him," was the answer.
In obedience, the aide-de-camp ushered in a young officer, in whom St. Just recognized his quondam acquaintance Garraud, now a smart looking Captain in St. Just's old troop.
Garraud advanced and, at Buonaparte's bidding, laid his despatches upon the table; then retiring, he took up his stand by St. Just and gazed intently at him. There was something about him that seemed familiar to him. All at once, the past came back to him, and, with a smile of pleasure, and, quite forgetful of his General's presence, he seized St. Just by the arm and exclaimed boisterously:
"Why, St. Just, my dear fellow, it's you I declare. How on earth did you get here, and in this strange garb, too? It was given out that you were dead."
"Silence, if you please, Sir," exclaimed Buonaparte. "Your congratulations may be deferred to a more fitting time. At present you will attend to me, important duties require your attention. The Englishman Smith (Sir Sidney), is he still on the coast?"
The color had mounted to Garraud's face at the reproof he had received, and he stammered in making his reply, "He—he is, Sir."
"How soon can you reach Alexandria, leaving at once?" Buonaparte went on.