FOR LOVE OF A
BEDOUIN MAID

BY LE VOLEUR,

AUTHOR OF "BY ORDER OF THE BROTHERHOOD" AND
"A DEVIL IN ANGEL'S FORM."

CHICAGO AND NEW YORK:
RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS.

Copyright, 1897, by Rand, McNally & Co.

CONTENTS

[INTRODUCTION]
[1ST EPOCH—GENERAL BUONAPARTE]
[EPOCH II—THE CONSUL BUONAPARTE]
[EPOCH III—THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON]
[EPOCH IV—CAPTIVE, BUT EMPEROR STILL]

INTRODUCTION.

"That will do; place the cigars upon the table and then you can go."

The speaker was Lord Throgmorten, a man of about thirty-six years of age, rather stout, with reddish hair and whiskers and cold, steel-gray eyes. He had just returned from a yachting cruise, upon which he had started upon his succession to the title about eighteen months before.

The scene was his lordship's chambers in the Albany, and the time the night of the 22nd of July, 1893.

Besides the speaker and the well-trained servant, who, in obedience to the order just given, occupied himself in fetching the silver cigar box from its accustomed place upon the sideboard, lighting the wax taper which stood by its side and placing them in front of his master, there were present two other persons. The man on his host's right near the fireplace, wearing spectacles and with the careworn look upon his features, was Mr. Percival Phelps, who had been his lordship's guest upon their recent cruise. He was a genial, dapper little man with inordinate vanity, and a slight stammer, when excited; with no income to speak of, save his stipend as a permanent clerk in the —— Office, a position that, his host said, "suited him down to the ground."

The man facing him, and looking towards the window, though younger than either of the other two, was already coming into prominent notice and making a fair income as sub-editor of that popular paper "The Telescope."

When the servant had left the room, the young man proceeded to address his host in measured tones.

"Since I received your letter, I have been on tenter hooks to hear the story of this wonderful discovery. You wrote me only a bare line from Southampton on the 12th to say that you had had a pleasant trip, during which you had chanced on a most extraordinary find; and that you particularly wanted me to dine with you to-night and hear about it. Well, now the man's gone, you can fire off your intelligence. What is it: coins, fossils, bones, or buried treasure?" And the editor, refilling his glass with port, which he knew by experience was particularly good, settled himself in his chair in a less constrained attitude, and prepared to listen to his host's narration.

Lord Throgmorten's reply was to rise from the table and with Mr. Phelps' aid, to bring from the further end of the room a box—covered with a cloth—whose weight, judging from the efforts required to lift it, was considerable.

"There," said his lordship, reseating himself, "that is the discovery, and that," pointing to Mr. Phelps who, like his host, panting from his exertions, had resumed his seat, "is the discoverer."

"The s-s-story first. Tell the story," said that gentleman, stammering in his excitement, while Lord Throgmorten prepared to remove the cover. The latter acceded to the suggestion, and began as follows, addressing his remarks to the editor, while Phelps sat by, giving confirmatory nods by way of emphasis, when occasion seemed to call for it.

"You are aware that, last February twelvemonth, Phelps and myself started for Australia in my steam yacht the Osprey, for the purpose of visiting my property out there. With our voyage out my story has nothing to do; it was only when we had turned our nose homewards and on the 17th June that our adventure began. On that night we were sailing—not steaming, mind, because there was a fair wind and we wished to save our coal.

"This was the position of affairs at midnight when Phelps and I retired to our cabins. At five a.m. I was roused from my sleep by a commotion on deck and the cry of 'Land Ahead,' followed by the order 'Hard a port.' I dashed on deck, on my way jostling against Phelps, who, like myself, had been awakened by the disturbance. On reaching it, we saw, rising out of the mist on our port beam, the rocky coast of an island; we made for the side and gazed over. To our horror, it seemed that we were almost grazing the rocks of a reef over which the sea was breaking. Slowly, ah! how slowly it seemed to us—all anxiously watching the line of surf which marked the treacherous rocks beneath—we passed them. A few minutes later we were hove to in deep water, the danger past; though, to this moment, it is a marvel to me how we escaped the rocks. I hailed Captain Soames, who was on the bridge, and asked him to lay down our position as well as his dead reckoning would permit, and, so soon as he had done so, to join me in the saloon with the chart.

"Then Phelps and I went below, where, presently, the skipper came to us. He unrolled the chart and placed his finger on a small cross, which we were able to distinguish by the light of the lamp. 'That, gentlemen,' he said, 'is our exact position marked upon a chart corrected to the most recent survey, and bought new, as your honors are doubtless aware, for the purposes of this trip. I beg your honors to notice that, by that chart, we ought to be in deep water hundreds of miles from any land. I trust, therefore, that you will exonerate me from blame for having so nearly run the ship aground.'

"Both Phelps and I assured him that we felt that our recent danger arose from no fault in navigation, but was an accident which no one could possibly have foreseen.

"Still the fact stared us in the face. The chart marked deep water, and yet we had, as nearly as possible, been wrecked upon an island that, according to the hydrographers, had no existence. When the truth dawned upon us, at first we both sat speechless, the skipper alone standing and looking from one to the other of us, as puzzled as ourselves. For fully half a minute we stared at one another, the unspoken question simmering in our brain, 'Whence comes this island?' the lamplight shining upon our faces, and the dawning sunlight playing through the open port hole and making ever shifting shadow patterns upon the cabin floor.

"Even now I can see myself with my eyes fixed upon the skipper's finger, which still rested upon the chart, and observing every stain and wrinkle upon it, though my brain was busy with the island.

"Phelps was the first to break the silence. 'Volcanic,' he exclaimed, and shut up.

"'Impossible,' I said, his voice rousing me from my reverie. 'There has been no eruption for ever so long of sufficient magnitude to cast up such an island.'

"Captain Soames's contribution to the discussion was the most practical of the three. 'Beg pardon, gentlemen, for interrupting your conversation, but would it not be better to go on shore and see for yourselves? Mr. Phelps here is a man of science, and they tell me he can say a powerful deal about what rock and stones are made of, by just looking at them.'

"I jumped to my feet exclaiming, 'The very thing. We will go on shore the moment they have got a boat ready. Stay,' I resumed, when the skipper, who had saluted, was about to leave, 'when you have made all ship-shape on deck, overhaul her below to see whether we have sustained any damage, so that, if necessary, we may make all speed to the nearest port to refit.'

"While the boat was being made ready, we had our breakfast; and, when we went on deck, the sun was shining brightly and a stiffish breeze was blowing, and the mist, which had before almost enshrouded the island, was gone, so that the latter could now be plainly seen. So far as one could judge from the deck, the island, seen through a telescope, was about a mile broad by three miles long, and, except for an excrescence in the center, entirely flat. Just abreast of the yacht, was a little inlet that seemed to offer a suitable landing place. We had taken our places in the boat and were about to shove off when the skipper called out to us to ask us to make our stay as short as possible, for that, should a heavy gale get up, he feared the anchor would not hold and we might be driven ashore. We, therefore, promised to make what haste we could, then shoved off, and began to pull towards the inlet. Before us was this barren rock, not a sign of life upon it, not even a bird; behind us the yacht rolling lazily upon an unending expanse of water. Short as was the distance between the ship and the shore, the journey was unutterably tedious owing to the terrific heat. But, in due course, we stepped ashore.

"Naturally the first thing we did was to make our way to the foot of the small hillock in about the center of the island. Here was a small group of rocks and on these we decided to rest ourselves; and very soon, overcome by our walk and the heat of the sun, I closed my eyes and went off to sleep. How long my sleep lasted, I cannot say, but I was roused by the sound of Phelps's voice.

"When I opened my eyes, I saw him hammering away at a small piece of rock as vigorously as if his whole life depended on it. I got up and walked towards him. 'What on earth are you hammering at now?' I asked.

"'Look,' he said, 'I started to break a piece of this rock off as a souvenir of our adventure, and this is what I found.'

"At first sight, it appeared to be a rock about two feet square and nine inches deep, buried partially in the soil; but, on examining it more closely, I found the cause of his excitement. The piece that he had broken off disclosed an iron corner.

"'There is something underneath,' said Phelps; 'the rock is only a deposit upon it.'

"An examination of the exposed portion proved the correctness of his remark.

"'I am going to get that out, whatever it is, if I work till dark,' he continued.

"At first I laughed at his enthusiasm, but it ended in my helping him. Armed with a fragment of rock as heavy as a blacksmith's sledge-hammer, I poised it above my head and, bidding Phelps stand away in case he should be struck by any fragments, I brought it down with all my might, upon the top of the rock. My improvised hammer split into bits with the force of the blow, but it cracked the rocky deposit sufficiently to enable us with a little trouble to remove it in pieces; and this is what was underneath."

Lord Throgmorten interrupted his narration to rise from his seat and withdraw the cover from the top of the box which stood upon the table in front of him. It was made of some dark wood, probably oak, heavily bound with iron at the corners and edges, the ironwork being of an ornamental character, but now almost covered with marine incrustation.

After examining the box from the outside, the editor asked his lordship to resume his narrative.

Lord Throgmorten went on. "Having got thus far in our exhumation of the box, the question was what next to do. Our first thought was to break the box to pieces and carry its contents to the boat, but here a doubt of what the box might hold prevented us. Phelps surmised that it was treasure.

"Our utmost efforts to move it proving useless we went back to the boat and told them to row to the yacht and get from the ship's carpenter tools for the purpose. In about half an hour they returned, bringing the carpenter with them. With his assistance, the box was raised from its rocky bed and conveyed to the yacht and placed in my cabin. On our return, the skipper told us that, so far as could be ascertained, we had sustained no damage; further, that his observation at noon had shown him that he had only an error of four miles to correct in the position he had marked upon the chart. This was satisfactory; so, there being nothing to detain us, we told him to get under weigh at once, and went down to luncheon. When we returned to the deck, the island appeared a mere speck, and, shortly after, the breeze being much in our favor, that too vanished below the horizon.

"Later in the afternoon, we opened the box, and in it we found these papers." Suiting his action to his words, Lord Throgmorten lifted the lid of the box and drew therefrom some manuscript, and handed it to the editor. That gentleman took the papers; then, putting his eyeglass to his right eye, looked inquiringly at his host and said, "Pray why do you hand these to me?"

"During our voyage home," replied Lord Throgmorten, "Phelps and myself amused ourselves with examining the papers. We found in them a story so interesting that we thought it ought to be placed before the world. This we ask you to do."

"Before I can give you a reply, I must of course, take the MS. home and examine it."

To this both the gentlemen agreed; and, shortly afterwards, they separated.

What followed is best told in the two accompanying letters, which passed between Lord Throgmorten and the editor, in the early part of the present year; by his lordship's kind permission, they are here transcribed.

I.

To Lord Throgmorten,

The Albany,

Piccadilly, W.

Dear Algie,

I am now able to inform you that I have completed the task of compiling a story from the Manuscript which came into your possession in so extraordinary a manner. The events narrated in the MS. are highly interesting, as you remarked when you put the papers into my hands. In forwarding you the result of my labors, I leave you to apportion the merits and demerits between myself and the mysterious person who has vanished into the unknown whence the Manuscript also so marvelously came.

Yours etc.

The Editor.

II.

1. Y. Osprey,
   off Cape Town.

My dear Editor,

Many thanks for your letter and the accompanying parcel of MS. which came to hand by the mail quite safely last week. Both Phelps and myself render you our hearty thanks for the way in which you have performed your task, and trust that we shall be in England in time to witness the result. I shall, therefore, omit all news till we meet—except this. It will interest you to know that, on our voyage out here, we went out of our course, that we might revisit the unknown island from which we obtained the box with the MS. To our surprise, not a trace of it was to be discovered, though a reference to last year's log-book and a careful noting of our position told us that one day, at about 9:30 a.m., we passed within a quarter of a mile of where it had stood. Not a vestige of land could be seen, though a sharp look-out was kept throughout the search. When and how the island vanished is but a matter of conjecture; it is certain that it no longer exists, and, probably, has returned to the depths whence it came. Again renewing my thanks,

Believe me,

Sincerely yours,

Throgmorten.

GENERAL BUONAPARTE.

FOR LOVE OF A BEDOUIN MAID

1ST EPOCH.

GENERAL BUONAPARTE.

CHAPTER I.

The march of civilization has been so rapid that most people know something of the City of Paris.

It is not, however, with the modern city that this story will deal; not with the gay, ever moving throng of boulevardiers that crowd its thoroughfares at night under the glare of electric light, the welcome product of this ever inventive and luxurious nineteenth century; but with Paris at the close of the eighteenth century; Paris before the era of Baron Hausemann, ill-lighted, ill-paved and, at this moment, noiseless and, for the most part, asleep. For it was the night of December 6th, 1797. The rain was falling fast, dripping almost in sheets from the roofs of the houses that overhung the narrow, tortuous streets, now deep in mud. At long intervals, where they had not been extinguished by the wind, a few oil lamps were suspended from chains, the fitful light they gave serving only to render visible the gloom.

An unpleasant night to be abroad; so thought two foot passengers who were standing under one of the afore mentioned lamps opposite to the Palais de Luxembourg, at that time the residence of the Directors of the French Republic.

"Pest on it, the night grows worse and worse," said the shorter of the two, drawing his long cloak more closely round him and pulling his slouch hat further over his eyes, to prevent the driving rain, that the wind hurled along, from dashing into his face.

"It does indeed, Vipont," replied the taller and older man; "only the importance of our errand would have made me stir forth to-night. Half past ten, as I live," looking at his watch. "Come, let us be moving; see, someone is approaching the Palace gate."

A lantern flickered at the moment in the court-yard of the Palace, its light gradually growing brighter.

"The Officer of the Guard, most likely, going his rounds," remarked Vipont, following his companion, who, without heeding the remark, was already splashing across the space that intervened between them and the light.

Just when they arrived at the Palace gate, the officer reached the street.

Then one of the sentries at the gate pushed the new-comers aside, saying, the while he presented his bayonet at their chests, "Pass on, good folk, you cannot enter here. Pass on, whoever you may be."

Seeing that they paid no heed to his injunction, the man was about to enforce it, when the officer came up and asked their business.

"To see Mons. Barras, the President of the Directory," was the reply.

The officer, a tall, good-looking young man with coal-black hair and eyes, laughed somewhat contemptuously. "It is impossible," he said. "You cannot be admitted at this hour. Come to the Levee to-morrow."

The tall man, who appeared to be the leader, Vipont not yet having uttered a word, spoke again, and his voice was loud and masterful. "I enter where I please, Sir. If you were not a stranger in Paris, you would know that I am the Minister of Police."

At this announcement, the young man fell back a step; for, in those days, to offend the Minister of Police was a dangerous proceeding, he being, next to the chief of the State, the most powerful personage.

"Pardon, Sir," he said, "I am, as you rightly remarked, a stranger in Paris, being an officer under General Buonaparte, at present commanding the army in Italy. My name is St. Just."

Matters being thus explained to the satisfaction of both parties, St. Just, first instructing a sergeant to take his place for the remainder of the round, conducted the Police Minister and his companion across the courtyard. As they approached the palace, sounds of hammering, proceeding from the ground floor apartments on their left, fell on their ears. Both the newcomers paused and looked inquiringly at their guide, for shadows kept flitting to and fro across the curtained windows.

Noticing their surprise, St. Just replied to their unspoken question: "The noise comes from the Chamber of Audience, which carpenters are fitting up for the public reception of General Buonaparte on his return to Paris, which, they say, may be expected daily."

No reply was given by St. Just's companions, nor, indeed, was there opportunity, for, by this time, they had passed through the central doorway and into the entrance hall. Here all was bustle, but subdued, out of respect for the occupants of the palace—the directors. Threading his way through the throng of soldiers and workmen, and closely followed by his companions, the officer mounted a staircase; then, traversing a corridor, he opened a door, that gave admittance to the antechamber of the President's apartments. St. Just crossed the room, and, parting the arras, knocked at a door, on the further side of which voices could be heard in conversation.

Taking advantage of St. Just's absence, the Minister of police cast his eye round the apartment. It was long and narrow, apparently having been partitioned off from the room beyond. It was sparsely furnished in the style of the late Louis Seize, the most noticeable object being a large table in the center, on which were spread the remains of supper laid for one, as was evident by the solitary chair, which the late occupant had pushed back on leaving the table. At the further end, the table service had been removed to make room for a large map of the seat of war (Italy), Buonaparte's route being faintly traced upon it in pencil. By the hearth, in which burned a small fire of logs, whose tongues of flame threw dancing rays upon the floor, stood a small round table, on which were an oil lamp and a book. Vipont picked up the latter and, reading the title, Cæsar's Commentaries, chuckled softly. "This is indeed the age of education, when officers read Latin in their leisure moments," he said sneeringly.

The Minister, who had drawn aside the curtains of one of the windows, received this observation in silence, occupying himself in gazing into the courtyard below.

At this moment St. Just returned and announced, "Mons. le President will receive the Minister of Police."

Vipont and his companion passed into the inner room, and St. Just closed the door behind them. Then, taking up the book which had called forth the Police agent's contemptuous comment, he soon became absorbed in it.

CHAPTER II.

When they entered the apartments of the Directors of the Republic, the first thing that met the eyes of the Police Agents was a table laid, like that in the adjoining room, for supper. Those who had partaken of it were three in number. He who sat at the top of the table, facing the door, was Barras, the President of the Directory; the others were Co-Directors. He on the right with his back to the window curtains was Reubel, the man facing him La Reveillère. Now these three men had met together to discuss measures for propping up the power of the Directory, which, from various causes, one being the growing popularity of General Buonaparte, was on the wane. They feared what actually did happen later, though as yet few people had a suspicion of it; that General Buonaparte, in the plenitude of his power and popularity, might seek to oust them.

On the entry of the untimely visitors, Barras half rose from his chair, and, turning, addressed the Police Minister. "Sotin, you have brought news of importance?" Then he paused and glanced curiously at Vipont, who, abashed at the magnificence of his surroundings and the princely air and toilet of the speaker, shifted, uneasily, on his feet.

"Gentlemen," replied Sotin, "the President is right; nothing but the importance of my news would have brought me here at such an hour; I have it on the authority of my agent from Rastadt, on whom I can implicitly rely, and whom I here present to you," here he pointed to Vipont, "that it is the intention of General Buonaparte to quit Rastadt on November 15th and to arrive in Paris to-morrow night."

"Impossible," burst from the three directors in a breath, and rising to their feet, they crowded round Vipont and showered incessant questions on him, all speaking at one time.

So engrossed were they in questioning the agent, who, disconcerted at the novelty of his position, could only stammer his replies; that they failed to notice that the door was ajar, and that, without, hidden by the arras, was an unseen listener. St. Just, for he it was, had been attracted by the voices of the speakers. In their excitement and forgetful of the thinness of the wall that separated them from the antechamber, they had exclaimed, "Buonaparte in Paris to-morrow? Impossible!"

Anxious to hear more, St. Just had moved cautiously to the door, which, being imperfectly latched, had yielded at his touch. He had sprung back frightened, but, finding himself undiscovered, had crept forward again and now stood there listening.

"You say," continued Barras, who was the first to recover some measure of composure, "that Buonaparte is to leave Rastadt on the 15th November? How did you learn this?" addressing Vipont.

"By questioning indirectly the servants of the General," was Vipont's reply.

"If it is true," resumed Barras, turning to Sotin, "by what gate do you expect the general to arrive?"

"By the Porte St. Antoine," was the confident reply.

There was a dead silence for a moment; then Barras spoke again, and this time his voice was hoarse, as with emotion.

"It must be prevented; General Buonaparte must not enter Paris."

Again there was a moment's silence, followed by a sort of click. In his agitation at hearing these words, the unseen listener (St. Just) had touched the handle of his sword. Instantly he moved back noiselessly and stood within the window curtains out of sight. Those in the inner chamber started at the sound and, half drawing their swords, turned their eyes towards the door, with guilty fear.

Sotin was the first to speak. "See, the door in unlatched; perhaps the officer...." Then, seizing the door, he flung it open and peered forth. The lamp dimly burning left the outer room in gloom, but he crossed the floor and, going to the doorway opening on the corridor, looked up and down the passage. Nothing met his gaze, and all was silent, save for the distant murmuring of voices in the hall below. He drew back into the antechamber; then proceeded to one of the windows, the curtains of which he pulled aside. The light of the moon, for the night had cleared, streamed into the room, but no one was to be seen.

"Bah! it was my fancy," he muttered; then, shaking his head as though still doubtful of what had caused the noise, he returned to the inner room. "The wind, I suppose," he said, at the same time closing the door.

Once more St. Just breathed freely. "If he had moved this curtain," was his thought, "France might have lost her General."

Again he moved forward and placed his ear against the partition. The act was futile. Cautioned by their recent fright, the directors lowered their voices, so that only scraps of the conversation reached St. Just:—

"A band of men .... Kill post boys .... witnesses dangerous .... Above all .... Buonaparte .... Highwaymen ... common thing .... who's to know? ... Sad .... great loss ... Public funeral .... Minister of police .... Hand bills .... No success .... Make certain...."

At this point their further words became inaudible. Then the sound of a carriage entering the courtyard caught his ears, and he moved rapidly, but noiselessly, to the window, and looked out. Below him was a post chaise drawn by four horses. He stood for a moment wondering. Who on earth could have arrived at this unseasonable hour: Carnot, the Director? Augereau, his general?

The next instant he had left the window and passed through the doorway and downstairs. At the foot of the staircase the soldiers in the hall had been drawn up in line. Two or three servants, with torches in their hands, were standing on the steps, while a soldier was opening the carriage door. The postillions were covered with mud, the horses also, and reeking and steaming with sweat; and the whole appearance of the carriage showed it to have traveled far and fast. A slight, short man, with pale face and long, auburn hair, and with eyes, that, without appearing to do so, took in the whole scene at a glance, alighted from the carriage. His dress was plain and simple; white breeches thrust into top boots, and a long, dark blue coat with a high collar. Round his waist was a tricolored sash and, suspended from a belt beneath it, was a sword. He wore a cocked hat which, after he had returned the salute of the soldiers, he removed.

The moment the light from the torches fell upon his features, all was bustle and excitement.

"Vive le General!" was the cry, "Vive le Petit Corporal!"

At these signs of recognition, a smile of pleasure flitted across the usually cold, impassive features; the next moment it died away, and, in a harsh, stern voice, he addressed St. Just who, with the others, had saluted him; "Officer of the Guard, conduct me to the President of the Directors."

At these words everybody present drew himself up into the stiffest of military attitudes; the soldiers presented arms, and, preceded by servants with torches, and escorted by St. Just, the newcomer entered the Palace.

Meanwhile, his arrival had been noted in the room above. Reubel from his seat by the window had, like St. Just, heard the approaching carriage. Nervously he peered from the window, which was sufficiently near the entrance of the palace for him to see the features of the person who had alighted. As one spell-bound, he gazed speechlessly upon the scene below. His companions, wondering at his silence, approached and joined him at the window. Even Sotin, at the sight of the figure, which he recognized at once, seemed perturbed; but only for an instant. Even while Buonaparte, escorted by St. Just, was disappearing through the doorway, he had made up his mind how to act. He turned to the others, and said rapidly:

"Mons. Vipont and myself will hide behind the curtain. Mons. Reubel had better remain seated where he is. When the visitor is preparing to depart, if President Barras will detain him in the hall, Mons. Vipont and I will dismiss the General's carriage, thus obliging him to walk home—which he will never reach. He will die on his way, as surely as if he were outside, instead of inside Paris."

"How?" asked Vipont.

"Cochon!" replied Sotin, "are there not footpads in the streets, and do they not commit murders nightly? Besides, shall we not be two to one? Hush, he is here."

Forthwith the two police agents glided behind the curtain. Hardly had they done so, when the door of the room beyond was opened, and footsteps were heard crossing the antechamber.

Dangerous as the movement was, Sotin's head was thrust out from the curtain long enough for him to whisper, "Messieurs, appear to be supping."

Even while he spoke, the door was opened, and St. Just entered and announced—

"General Buonaparte."

To all appearance, the General had broken in upon a friendly supper party. Barras, at the head of the table, was on his feet, a glass in his hand, as though about to toast the company. Reubel had pushed his chair far back, as if to give his legs more room, for he had crossed one knee over the other; La Reveillère, was peeling an orange and apparently awaiting Barras' toast, for a decanter, from which he had but that instant filled his glass, stood at his right hand.

"Gentlemen," exclaimed Barras, at the moment the General was announced, "I give you the conqueror of Italy!"

Then, when Buonaparte advanced into the room, Barras sprang forward to welcome him, his movement loosening his hold on the glass, which fell from his hand and smashed to pieces on the floor.

Reubel, either accidentally, or, perhaps, purposely, let fall the napkin from across his knees and stooped for it, so that he was prevented from rising simultaneously with his fellow directors to greet the General. As for La Reveillère, for one instant the thought crossed his mind to kill both the General and St. Just then and there—they were five to two—but it was as quickly put away; for, looking up, he encountered St. Just's gaze, sternly fixed upon him. Additionally, without, through the half open door, he saw the gleam of bayonets and instantly surmised the truth. Without his knowing or suspecting it, Buonaparte was guarded by two files of soldiers, who waited without in the antechamber, stern and motionless. Men who had fought under Buonaparte in Italy, and were in consequence devoted to him. They were, in fact, some of those whom Buonaparte had despatched under Augereau to guard the Directors in the recent revolt of the eighteenth Fructidor. Men, therefore (of whom St. Just was one), whom he knew that he could trust.

For his part, Buonaparte advanced not a step, but stood just inside the door of the apartment. Barras, on the contrary, rushed forward and effusively embraced him, shaking him by the hand and saying, "Welcome, General! welcome to France! You bring us glad tidings of glory upon glory!"

At this point St. Just left the room.

Buonaparte replied but coldly to Barras' fulsome greeting; then, merely nodding to the other two directors, he took a chair, seating himself with his back to the door, his face half turned away.

Barras and La Reveillère pressed him to sup. "Eat, General, eat; you must be hungry; you have journeyed far. Eat first, and let us have your news afterwards."

Buonaparte, thus invited, drew the nearest dish to him, and, as was his habit, began to eat rapidly, and, regardless of conventionality, passing from a conserve of prunes to meat, then back to a different kind of sweet, eating much in the aggregate and yet little of each dish, and hardly allowing one mouthful to be swallowed before taking the next. In fact, to put it shortly, he ate like a dog. Then, pouring himself out a tumblerful of wine, he swallowed it at a draught. Finally, he pushed the things from him and began to speak.

"Messieurs, the army has been again successful; the treaty of Campo Formio has been signed; liberty has been given to the people of nineteen different departments; French troops garrison Mentz, and the interests of France are secured by the congress of Rastadt." He paused for a moment; then resumed, in an heroic sort of manner, "Why should I declaim the glories of France? Why tell of the deeds her soldiers have achieved for her? Will they not proclaim themselves? Do not nineteen States speak for them? There," he concluded, throwing down a thick mass of papers roughly tied with scarlet tape, "There are the records."

There was a momentary silence; then the president, Barras, spoke. "I pray you, General, keep these papers in your possession till a few days shall have passed; for it is our intention to give you a fairer welcome than your present one, and to receive in a public and a more befitting manner, the man whom France desires to honor."

This he said for a double reason. Imprimis, should General Buonaparte's body be found in the gray light of the corning dawn, it could easily be arranged that to rifle his pockets should be the supposed object of the murder, and that the directors should in reality possess the papers about which a great outcry for their loss should be made. In the second place, should the plan fail, Buonaparte would be unlikely to suspect the members of the Directory of complicity in the attack on him, when they had but just expressed their satisfaction with him and had proposed to reward him for his services.

Buonaparte's reply to Barras' flattering remarks was merely to bow. Then he proceeded to discuss with them the attitude of England and the projected invasion of that country, and other matters affecting the welfare of France; matters, however, in no way concerning the actors in the present narrative.

Their business concluded, Buonaparte rose to his feet and, bowing coldly to the three directors, made his way towards the door. But, before he had reached it, Barras officiously sprang forward, saying, "Permit me, General, to accompany you to your carriage."

To this Buonaparte replied laconically, and almost rudely, "If you wish," and, opening the door, passed into the antechamber.

Motionless as statues, for two long hours the soldiers had stood, and now when the General—for it was to him more than to Barras that the honor was paid—passed between their lines, they presented arms. The scene was an impressive one, for every fifth soldier was holding aloft a torch, and, as the General moved down the room, the torch-bearers followed. Barras, who was almost as crafty as Satan himself, made St. Just, who was close to the top of the staircase, precede them, and engaged Buonaparte in conversation about his wife—whom Barras had met in former days—with the view of distracting his attention from those behind them, for he knew that his brother directors would follow with Sotin and Vipont, whom, of course, Buonaparte had not seen. They walked arm in arm, each with a director, Sotin with Reubel and Vipont with La Reveillère, their cloaks well wrapped around them. Meantime they discussed in subdued tones, so as not to reach Buonaparte's ears, incidents of the Italian campaign just told them by the General; their object being to make those present believe that they had accompanied Buonaparte. Thus, hoping to be mistaken for aides-de-camp, Sotin and Vipont crossed the ante-chamber and descended the staircase behind the others. At the foot of it, Barras persuaded the General to see for himself the alterations that were being made to prepare the Chamber of Audience for his reception. This gave Sotin and Vipont the opportunity of mingling with the crowd and subsequently gaining the doorway, whence they made their way to the General's carriage.

Meanwhile, St. Just had, by Barras' orders, accompanied General Buonaparte himself to the Hall of Audience. Here all was bustle and apparent confusion; carpenters armed with tools were rushing from one place to another. In one corner might be seen a group supporting a trophy of flags, whose battered appearance showed that they had recently arrived from the seat of war; they were now being placed at the back of a dais for the Directors, that other groups of men were erecting and decorating at the far end of the room. In other corners temporary seats were being fitted up for the accommodation of the Members of the Council of Five Hundred and for delegates from various public bodies, ambassadors, etc.

Barras dragged Buonaparte hither and thither by the arm, talking incessantly; St. Just, who, in his capacity of officer of the guard, stood in the doorway, followed the two figures with his eyes and meditated on the course he ought to pursue about the conversation he had overheard between Barras and his fellow-conspirators. Obviously, he ought to see the General privately before he left the Palace, and warn him that his life was in danger. He knew, by having been at the entrance of the palace on the general's arrival, that Buonaparte was alone, and he suspected that, if a chance were given, the police agents would carry out the instructions of Barras. Unfortunately, he could not get near Buonaparte, who was never for a moment left alone.

Then St. Just reflected that he could warn Buonaparte's postillions; but here again he was frustrated, as will appear forthwith.

The General, having finished the inspection, returned in company with Barms to the doorway, and thence, preceded by St. Just, he made his way to the entrance hall of the palace. Lounging by the fireplace were La Reveillère and Reubel, to all appearance engaged in an animated conversation; but St. Just quickly noted that Vipont and Sotin had disappeared.

Suddenly, without deigning to notice any one, Buonaparte strode to the entrance door and called for his carriage. But there was no sound of wheels in answer to his shouts; plainly the carriage was not there.

To explain its absence, it will be necessary to follow the movements of Sotin and Vipont. The moment Barras and Buonaparte turned aside to the Audience chamber, they, wrapped in their cloaks, passed rapidly and quietly through the doorway of the palace and made their way towards Buonaparte's post-chaise, which had been drawn into an angle of the building, with the postillions curled up inside and sleeping soundly, tired out by the distance they had traversed.

Sotin cautiously advanced and peeped into the vehicle; then, satisfied as to the personality of its occupants, threw open the door, at the same time loudly and authoritatively calling to Vipont, "Show a light, sergeant."

Vipont, taking his cue, advanced with one of the carriage lamps and, throwing the light into the carriage in such a manner that it shone upon the sleepers' faces, while those of himself and his companion were left in shadow, shook the nearest by his arm. The young postillion started up and rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"Awake," said Vipont, "Mons. le Capitaine de la Garde de Mons. le President du directoire would speak with you."

"Dépêchez-vous, Sergent; Mons. le General waits," added Sotin behind him.

Soon the boy became thoroughly awake, and, in turn roused his companion.

In a gruff voice Sotin then told them they might go whither they would, for that Mons. Buonaparte was detained; but they were to return to the palace at noon the next day for their hire and attendant expenses.

The postillions grumbled slightly at having been kept waiting two hours for nothing; but their discontent was considerably mollified by the "pourboire" Sotin gave them.

They went to the heads of their horses and turned them and the carriage round; then mounted, and were preparing to start, when Sotin told them to wait. Advancing to the door, he flung it open and, followed by Vipont, who had rapidly comprehended the manoeuvre, got in, telling the postillions to drive to the gate and, if challenged, to say, "General Buonaparte's carriage." Once outside, they were to turn to the right and drive out of sight of the palace; then to stop.

Acting on their orders, and assuming that they emanated from the General, who did not wish it to be known that he was still at the Luxembourg, they passed through the gates without challenge, the carriage being recognized as Buonaparte's. Arrived at a corner of the street about four hundred yards away, they drew up, when Sotin and Vipont alighted. Then the carriage drove on, the two police agents remaining where they were, till it had vanished out of sight. Then, crossing the road, they retraced their steps to the lamp near which they were introduced to the reader; continuing their way, they arrived at a doorway of a house at right angles to the palace gates. There they ensconced themselves and watched and waited.

Meanwhile General Buonaparte was standing on the steps of the palace, surrounded by the Directors, all fulsomely apologizing and tendering suggestions. Barras at once offered to have his own carriage made ready, but the General declined it.

"Say no more, gentlemen," he said, "there is a stand for public vehicles close by, and the short walk will do me good. I am stiff from sitting so long."

At this point, St. Just, fearing for Buonaparte's safety, said in a loud whisper to Barras, "Will it be wise for General Buonaparte to walk the streets of Paris unattended? There are many abroad at this hour who would do evil." And he fixed his eyes searchingly on the Director's face.

Barras bore the scrutiny well, but, if looks could kill, St. Just would have died that instant.

Unfortunately for St. Just, Buonaparte, overhearing what was said, took the sentence to imply that St. Just thought he, Buonaparte, was afraid of walking alone at such an hour. So he turned to Barras with the words, "Mons. le Directeur would do well to teach his soldiers silence in the presence of their superiors."

Completely reassured, Barras addressed St. Just with the order, "get to your duties; we have no further use for you."

With that, the party moved to the gate, through which they passed, leaving St. Just standing in the courtyard. For a moment or so he remained undecided; then turned on his heel and went back rapidly towards the door of the palace. Passing through the hall and taking care that those who were still loitering there, should note his presence, he turned down a passage to the left. Opening a door on the right of this, he entered a guard room, and, by the faint light which shone into it, he selected a pair of pistols and a long cloak, which he flung round him; then retraced his steps to the hall and thence to the doorway, through which he passed. Wheeling round to the right of the building, he unlocked a door in the wall, and was about to step forth into the street, when he heard voices and footsteps near him. Immediately he recognized the voice of Reubel, though the moaning of the wind prevented him from catching all that was said. "Gone.... the other two.... on the opposite side.... will catch him at the turn of the road in the...."

St. Just waited for no more, but wrenched the door open, and dashed down the road at the top of his speed. Luckily for him, but unluckily for the two men lying in wait, the rain had ceased and the wind had cleared the clouds, so that the moon now shone brightly overhead, illuminating the street; for all that, once or twice he stumbled and nearly fell, so badly were the roads repaired.

On and on he ran, but still saw no signs of those he sought. At last he came to a large square, and here he paused for breath, and to consider his next step. It was evident he had missed the two police agents whom he believed to be following General Buonaparte. Then doubts began to assail him. Was he following the right road? that most likely to be taken by the General to gain his own house, which was situated, as St. Just knew, in the Rue Chantereine (afterwards Rue de la Victoire). For a moment he stood thinking and panting; then, anxious to lose no time, he was about to retrace his steps, when he heard a faint sound, like the cry of some one in distress, proceeding from a narrow court on his left. Impulsively, half hoping, half fearing it might proceed from those he sought, he dashed into the court, fear for Buonaparte, and excitement making his breath come short and fast.

This was what had happened. Vipont or Sotin, one of the two, creeping behind Buonaparte, had flung his cloak over the General's head and dragged him by his superior strength away from the street and partly up the court. His companion was, at the time, a few yards behind, and the General's frantic struggles to release himself from the strange bondage had necessitated the exercise of all his assailant's force to retain him in his grasp and force him out of the main street. No attempt had yet been made to kill him. But, at the moment when St. Just ran up, the man was shortening his sword to plunge it into Buonaparte's back; St. Just raised his arm; the crack of a pistol shot rang out upon the night; and the would-be assassin staggered forward and dropped upon the footpath, with a bullet in him. But so nearly had he achieved his purpose, that his sword, when he fell, made a long gash in Buonaparte's cloak.

The other, who had been coming up to help, seeing his comrade fall, and, with that, the failure of their plot, did not hesitate a moment, but made a rush for the narrow court, knocking down St. Just, who attempted to bar his passage; and, plunging into the darkness, disappeared.

When St. Just came to himself, which he did quickly, though the breath had been knocked out of him, he found Buonaparte bending over him and binding with a scarf a slight wound in his head.

"It is nothing, sir," he said, staggering to his feet, and feeling somewhat giddy. Buonaparte had asked him whether he was seriously hurt. "One gets harder knocks on the battlefield and marches; on—"

"You are a soldier, I see," interrupted the General, "and surely we have met before. Is it not so?"

"We have, General," was the prompt reply, and St. Just straightened himself and saluted. "I was with you through most of the Italian campaign. In General Augereau's division. I accompanied the corps home, when you ordered him to Paris. Lieutenant St. Just, at your service, General."

"You have seen service then, young man," was Buonaparte's sharp answer. Then, looking searchingly in the other's face. "Did I not see you at the Luxembourg; but now?"

"You did, sir, as officer for the day of the Guard of the Directors."

"And how comes it that you were so opportunely present when I was in such peril?"

"From certain words I accidentally overheard, I feared there were designs against your life, and I followed you. It was I who escorted you to the Directors on your arrival. When I heard you say that you would walk alone, I tried to warn you; you may recollect it, Sir, and that I was dismissed to my duties by the President of the Directors."

"I remember. I remember also that the President's words were prompted by my own. Lieutenant St. Just, I owe you an apology; more, my life. You shall not find me ungenerous or ungrateful."

"To have saved the life of the most illustrious soldier of France, General, is its own reward."

Buonaparte loved flattery, though he affected to despise it. "Your reward shall not stop at that," he laughed, "Walk with me now; we can talk of this attack upon me, on our way. One moment, though," and he kicked Vipont's unconscious body carelessly with his foot. "What are we to do with this carrion?"

"I will care for him; Voilà!" And so saying, St. Just dragged Vipont to the nearest doorway and, covering him with his cloak, left him. The body of a wounded—even of a murdered man—was at that time a common sight in the early morning in the streets of Paris.

St. Just leaning on Buonaparte's arm, they quitted the narrow passage and made their way back to the main thoroughfare. Here they were lucky enough to find a passing coach. This Buonaparte hailed. Then he told St. Just to get in and accompany him to his house in the Rue Chantereine.

During the drive, St. Just placed the General in the possession of affairs (so far as he knew them) at the Directoire. Buonaparte listened intently to every word that fell from St. Just's lips, and, though the faintness of the light prevented St. Just from seeing much more than the outline of his companion's figure, he knew from the tone of the other's replies that every word he uttered was being carefully weighed. He had hardly finished his relation, before the carriage drew up at Buonaparte's house. A few moments later, St. Just found himself following his host into a room in which sat Buonaparte's wife. Josephine sprang to her feet with a cry of joy. "My husband!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. "I was beginning to think you were never coming. Bourrienne was here quite early in the evening and told me you would come to me immediately." Both Buonaparte and his wife were so taken up with one another that, for some moments, St. Just remained unnoticed. But presently Buonaparte remembered him and introduced him to his wife, to whom he made St. Just tell his story of the night's adventures.

When the young officer had finished, there was a momentary silence, during which Josephine and St. Just were thinking as was natural, one of the other, "how handsome he (she) is."

Josephine was the first to break the silence. Turning to St. Just with a smile, she said: "Sir, I thank you for your bravery and adroitness in delivering my husband from his peril. In return, if you have anything at heart that we can forward, I am sure I express both his sentiments and my own when I say that we will do so."

"Madame," St. Just replied, "I am content in that I have been the humble means of saving your husband's life; of preserving a husband for you, but also her greatest General for France. Permit me to say in answer to your kindness that all I ask is, to be near the General in his campaigns now and always, in order that, while my life lasts, I may devote it to him."

Buonaparte rose to his feet and, crossing to St. Just, held out his hand. "Sir," he said, "you have earned from me to-night, not only my gratitude, but also my esteem, which I do not lightly confer, or, when conferred, withdraw. You have spoken like a soldier, and your sentiments do you honor. Your request to accompany me in the next campaign is granted."

Then Madame Buonaparte advanced to him.

"Mons. St. Just," she said, in her gracious manner, "to offer money to a soldier were an insult; for bravery and a sense of duty are beyond all price. But you may, at least, accept this little gift, as a memento of this night, and also as my witness to my husband's promise; for," she continued laughingly, tapping Buonaparte on the shoulder, "men, when they rise to power, are apt to forget those not so fortunate."

With that, she handed to St. Just a golden chain formed of a hand holding a heart suspended to it by a chain.

Bowing deeply, St. Just kissed the hand that held it out to him, as though she were already an Empress, instead of but a General's wife.

The action, theatrical as it was, delighted her.

Then Buonaparte interposed. "Mons. St. Just," he said, "in return for what you have done for me, I promise to do you three services, even to the sparing of your life, should you do aught to forfeit it; the promise to begin from now, and to remain in force till the end of my life."

St. Just bowed and thanked the General. Then he rose to go. Buonaparte pressed him to remain for that night, at least, in his house, urging as one reason St. Just's wound. At this the young soldier laughed. He had made light of this wound, removed the bandage before arriving at the house—so soon in fact as the bleeding had ceased.

"No, I must return to——my duties," he replied; "though, if the Minister of Police recognizes me, it will be a case of an underground cell in the Temple and then—" he paused.

"What?" asked Buonaparte smiling.

"Death," replied St. Just. "It was partly the thought of that, that made me ask you to let me be with you on your next campaign."

"But," said Buonaparte, "that may not be for months."

"No, no, sir," rejoined St. Just, "scarcely that, since you are about to inspect the forces for the invasion of England, in accordance with the plans of the Directoire."

"I had not thought of that," said Buonaparte. "In any case be assured of my protection; I will watch over you."

"And yourself, General. See that you do that, for Barras will not be gratified at his failure."

"I will take care of myself; but my time of danger is not yet. To-day is the 6th, is it not?"

"The 7th, sir," replied St. Just, glancing at a clock whose hand pointed to the hour of three. "We did not leave the Luxembourg till after midnight."

"True," said Buonaparte, smiling; "and the Directoire are to receive me publicly on the 10th, is it not?"

"That is so," said St. Just.

"Bien, I myself will tell Barras of the adventure that befell me; and I will watch the effect of my intelligence upon him. Till then, adieu." St. Just shook hands, first with Josephine, then with the General and, bowing, left them.

A quarter to four sounded when he reached his bedroom in the Luxembourg, tired out and suffering considerably from his wound.

CHAPTER III.

Towards the end of April in the following year, a trooper rode into the courtyard of the palace. St. Just was standing at the main entrance. The man advanced to meet him and saluted.

"Lieutenant St. Just?" he said inquiringly.

"I am he," replied St. Just.

"I am instructed to deliver this, Lieutenant."

At the same time, he handed a packet to St. Just. Then, once more saluting, the man wheeled his charger round and trotted off.

With trembling hands and his mind strongly agitated, St. Just opened the despatch. His most ardent hopes were fulfilled. The document contained his formal discharge from his present duties and his appointment as aide-de-camp on General Buonaparte's staff. He was instructed to wait on the General at head-quarters for orders at three o'clock that afternoon.

To say that St. Just was overjoyed, would scarcely do justice to his feelings; he was mad with delight, and could scarce contain himself. By way of relief to his emotions, he indulged in a loud hurrah and threw his cap up into the air, for all the world as though he were only a common soldier. Then, recollecting where he was, and the extraordinary figure he must be cutting before his men, he replaced his cap on his head, straightened himself and made his way, as steadily as his exuberance would allow, into the palace, to hand over his command to the sub-lieutenant, preparatory to taking his departure.

With a soldier's regard for punctuality, at the stroke of three he presented himself at General Buonaparte's quarters, and was almost immediately admitted to his presence. The General was standing with his back to St. Just in front of a temporary table supported on trestles, and bending over a large scale map of Egypt and the surrounding country. Other maps and documents were spread about. He had a pair of compasses in his hand, and with it he was taking off the distances between the various places he had marked out as his route. At St. Just's entrance he turned round.

"Ah! Lieutenant," he exclaimed. "You are glad then to go with me to Egypt?"

"So glad, General, and so grateful, that I scarce know how to express my thanks. I—"

"Do not try then," interrupted Buonaparte abruptly; "nor are any due. Your appointment on my staff has not been made from personal motives, but solely in the interests of France, who has need of those of her sons who are distinguished for bravery and promptitude of action. From the circumstances of our introduction, I believe you to possess both. Further, I have made inquiries of General Augereau concerning you, and his report is eminently favorable. Your appointment, therefore, is the consequence of your own merit. But, if you still think any thanks are due to me, let them be expressed by deeds; by obedience, fidelity, courage, coolness and promptness in emergency; in a word, by unswerving devotion to France—and to me."

He shot a piercing glance at St. Just, as though to emphasize his words; a glance so keen and stern that the young officer felt that he trembled under it. But he replied, "General, you shall have no cause to regret your confidence in me. To my country I have dedicated myself body and soul. She possesses my unshared allegiance. I have no father or mother, no brothers or sisters. France stands for all these to me. To make her respected—aye feared—among the nations; to add to her glory, so far as my humble efforts can avail, is my sole ambition. If she demand my life, it shall be willingly laid down."

"Your sentiments do you honor, sir," said Buonaparte. "See that you live up to them. Now go, and make your preparations for departure. Present yourself here at daybreak on the third day from this—the 3rd of May—when we shall march out of Paris. Your horses will be provided for you. Till then, farewell." The General waved his hand towards him in token of dismissal, and St. Just saluted and took his leave.

When the young officer left General Buonaparte, he strode onward with a rapid, springy step, treading on air, as the saying is. At last, he thought, he had his opportunity; his fortune was secured. He was resolute to earn distinction in the career he had adopted; and, with the sanguine exuberance of youth and strength, he already saw himself mounting with nimble steps the successive rungs of the military ladder—Captain, Major, Colonel, Brigadier, General of Division; until he had attained the summit and found himself in command of an army, smiting the enemies of France—perhaps even rivalling the great Captain under whom he was about to serve. Such was the mental vision that gradually unfolded itself to his excited gaze. At this moment he had the most unbounded enthusiasm for the successful general whose marvelous achievements were the theme of Europe; the most absolute devotion to him. Later events will show how far these sentiments were destined to be lasting; for the present they were paramount.

St. Just had few preparations to make; having no near relatives, and being heart whole, there were no painful leavetakings; only a farewell dinner to his friends and intimate brother officers, the payment of a few bills, the purchase of sundry necessary articles, and he was ready.

At daybreak, on the 3rd of May he reported himself at General Buonaparte's headquarters, and, a few hours later, Buonaparte began the march that the great General hoped and believed would result in the adding of the land of the Pharaohs to the possessions of France. The advance guard had already preceded the main body.

The movement of troops through their own country—except when that country is in the partial occupation of the enemy—is seldom fruitful of adventure, and, in the present instance, it was wholly uneventful. St. Just had the opportunity, to a limited degree, of improving his knowledge of Buonaparte, also of becoming acquainted with some of his entourage. To his annoyance, however, almost immediately on their quitting Paris, a feeling of weakness and lassitude began to overtake him, despite his most strenuous efforts to shake it off. Day by day it grew upon him, until, by the time the army had reached Toulon, which they made on the 8th of May, he felt so prostrated as to be almost unfit for duty.

But he fought hard against his weakness; for all that, it was only by the exercise of unflinching determination to conceal how ill he felt, that he was not left behind invalided. He managed to hold up until the 19th of May, when, with Buonaparte, he embarked on board the Admiral's ship, L'Orient. Then, he broke down altogether, and was carried below. The army surgeons pronounced him to be suffering from low fever, and feared the worst. The efforts he had made to hide the real state of his health had aggravated his condition, so that his vitality was at the lowest ebb.

For more than a fortnight he lay oscillating between life and death; then a change for the better set in, and, from that moment, he began rapidly to improve, so that, at the end of another fortnight, he was able to set foot on the quarter deck, and breathe the pure, fresh air of the Mediterranean. Oh! in the relief, after inhaling the stifling atmosphere below deck, to drink in deep draughts of the ozone laden breezes that swept over the broad expanse of water! His spirits revived, and, once more, he felt that he had it in him to emulate his chief.

Wafted by favorable breezes, the gallant fleet sped on its way, until, on the morning of the first of July, the Admiral's ship sighted, in the far distance, the domes and minarets of Alexandria.

So the fleet was headed for the land. After beating along the coast for several hours in the teeth of a rising gale, in search of a suitable landing place, Marabou was selected, and at one o'clock in the morning of the second of July the disembarkation was begun. The spot was three leagues to the west of Alexandria.

The landing was accomplished with great difficulty, caused, not only by the roughness of the sea, but also by the attacks of the Bedouin Arabs, great swarthy fellows, who appeared in swarms. They showed marvelous horsemanship, circling round the French and making repeated dashes upon the right flank, and picking off many stragglers.

At three in the morning the march upon Alexandria began. The divisions of Bon, Kleber, and Morand heading the advance.

At the moment when the order to march was given, Buonaparte, who was mounted on a white horse—one of the six given him in Italy—turned to Kleber, and, pointing upwards to the sky, where a few stars still lingered before the advent of the dawn, as though loth to have their brightness veiled, said, "See yonder stars scintillate in token of our coming success; foretelling glory out of the clouds of trouble."

"Yet," rejoined Kleber, "they must pale before the glory of the rising sun." And he pointed Eastward to where a faint light showed the approaching dawn.

When Buonaparte appeared, the whole army set up a tremendous shout; cheer after cheer went up and, amidst them, the march began that all hoped and believed would result in the conquest of Egypt, but which to thousands of the sons of France meant but their grave.

After some hours marching under a dropping fire of musketry from the Arabs hovering around, and under a blazing sun, they arrived within gunshot of Alexandria. There was only a show of opposition to the French advance, for what took place was more of a skirmish before the gates than a battle. A few shots were fired, and then the Arabs fled into the city, followed by the French, some scaling the walls, and others making their way through gaps where the walls had been broken down, and through the gates.

Soon after their entrance, Buonaparte, who was attended by St. Just and accompanied by an escort of guides, had a near escape of being killed. The party was going along a narrow street, that but just allowed two persons to ride abreast; it was bounded at the end by a tall house. Those within were watching the approach of Buonaparte and his escort, apparently with friendly interest, when, all of a sudden, the party being about a hundred yards from the house, a musket shot was fired from one of the windows, and a bullet carried away the plume of Buonaparte's hat.

Instantly St. Just, followed by a sergeant of the Guides, enraged at the murderous attempt, galloped to the house, threw himself from his horse, scaled a staircase and rushed forward.

Two shots were fired at him by a woman who tried to bar his progress, one passing over his left shoulder and lodging in the arm of the guide behind him. Smarting with the wound, before St. Just could interpose, he cut her down. The other shot went through the metal ornament of St. Just's sabre-tache, and, striking on a button of his tunic, made him think for a moment that he was wounded. The shock made him stagger, and gave others of the Guides, who had followed, the opportunity of rushing past. Their blood was up and they were intent on revenging themselves for the shots fired on their officer and their comrade, and were in no mood to grant quarter. So that, when St. Just came up to them, he had the greatest difficulty in saving the life of a young Arab, who had been knocked down with the butt of a musket and was on the point of being sabered.

At some risk, St. Just interposed his own person, at the same time striking up the sword raised to slay the young man, who was then taken prisoner and bound.

Meantime the other persons in the house, recognizing the futility of attempting a stand, took to their heels with speed, and succeeded in making their escape from the back of the building.

So soon as, after a thorough search, St. Just had satisfied himself that the house was empty, he returned to General Buonaparte with their prisoner.

Buonaparte questioned the young fellow through an interpreter. At first he maintained a sullen silence, but, after a time, when he was reminded that his life had been spared, and was assured that the French had come solely to deliver the people from the tyranny of their rulers, and would reward and protect those who chose to give them information, his reserve and fear began to melt away and he became communicative.

He maintained that it was not he who had fired the shot at General Buonaparte nor, indeed, any shot. It appeared that the house belonged to one Islam Bey, the leader of a corps of Mamelukes. Gaining confidence, the lad went on to warn General Buonaparte against Islam Bey, saying that this Sheik had sworn by the beard of the Prophet to take his life before six months had passed.

In the end, the General not only gave the lad his liberty, but appointed him to be his body servant, and afterwards, took him to Paris. The young fellow became a great favorite with everybody. His name was Ali.

Buonaparte stayed six days in Alexandria, issuing conciliatory edicts to the people and holding many conferences with the chief Sheiks of the city, many of whom had submitted to him. This was on account of the good conduct of the French troops. A few men of the first detachment, doubtless, began to plunder; but, the moment it was discovered such severe punishment was meted out as effectually to check it for the remainder of the French occupation.

On the evening of the third day after the French entry, St. Just received orders to take a detachment of five Guides and a native who knew the track to be traversed, and to start at day-break and make all speed to Damanhour, with despatches for General Dessaix, who was proceeding thither with an advance guard of nearly five thousand men.

CHAPTER IV.

At early dawn, therefore, on the morning of the fourth day after Buonaparte's arrival in Alexandria, St. Just and his escort saddled and set out. They were accompanied by some Arabs belonging to a friendly tribe, whose chief was in the city and had offered his services to General Buonaparte. The force was small and both men and horses were picked so that they might ride fast and overtake Dessaix, who was already well on his way to Damanhour. At the last moment they were joined by a young subaltern of infantry in charge of a foraging party sent out in requisition of stores. The stores were to be carried by mules and it was the young subaltern's duty to convoy them and their drivers. St. Just found the young officer, whose name, he ascertained, was Garraud, a pleasant companion; and his men, who were infantry, fraternized with St. Just's troopers, the whole party for the first few miles marching along gayly, whistling and singing and chattering, as French soldiers will; but their chief topic of conversation was the shot that had been fired at the General on his entry into Alexandria. Garraud and his men had not yet been in Alexandria; so he asked St. Just for a full account of the affair; and St. Just gave it him.

As the sun rose higher in the heavens, conversation began to flag, both between the two officers and the men; for, although the march had begun in excellent spirits, the heat of the sun, which would shortly be at its zenith, made talking a fatigue, and movement alone sufficiently exhausting.

The Arabs only, mounted on their trusty ships of the desert, as they are wont to call their camels, seemed to be unconscious of the heat, as well as indifferent to two other evils the French severely felt, namely flies and thirst; to say nothing of the sand, which made marching horribly arduous. "Not good, honest ordinary sand," as an old veteran of Italy exclaimed, "but sand that penetrated through one's shoes and clothes, and made walking painful and tedious."

There was silence now for the most part among them all. It had lasted longer than usual, when St. Just, at last, broke it by inquiring in French of their chief guide how far they were to proceed before they halted. The old man turned his grizzly head round and gazed backwards, as though mentally measuring the distance they had already traversed; then up to the sky, as if seeking inspiration from this source. Finally he said briefly, "A league to the water, then three to the village, where my Masters sleep."

And so they plodded on.

At last, after crawling along in the boiling sun for two hours, they reached one of the stopping places indicated by their guide. There was a small pool of brackish water and there were a number of rocks standing out of the sand nine feet or more, behind which they could shelter themselves from the sun. Here St. Just called a halt. The men dismounted and tethered their horses; then gave them food and water. Afterwards they attended to their own wants and ate and drank. Referring to the water, one of the veterans, with the recollection of the luxuries of sunny Italy before his mind, remarked that one must march through the desert under a burning sun for hours before one would drink from such a hole as that before them; a pool that, in ordinary circumstances, one would not even put one's feet into.

Their inner man refreshed, they rested for a short time, and the Arabs and a few of the French began to smoke. St. Just was among these, for he had picked up this, at that time, uncommon habit from some Gipsies he had come across in Italy.

After an hour's repose, early in the afternoon the little company resumed its march; it was but a repetition of the morning's tramp; more heat, more flies, more sand, with thirst that seemed intensified, rather than appeased, by drinking the tepid, brackish water from the soldiers' water bottles.

By way of contrast, when the sun set, cold cutting winds sprang up that pierced them through.

It was late and quite dark when the party came in sight of the so-called village—a collection of mud-huts—which was to form their resting place for the night.

The advance guard under Dessaix had recently passed through the place, for everywhere there were signs of the presence of the French; but of inhabitants there were none. Worse still, half the huts were dismantled. Many portions of them had been torn away for fire-wood; but one was found after a careful search, large enough to shelter the whole party, with some crowding.

One man was posted as a sentry outside, and relieved every two hours. His duties were not only to give notice of the approach of enemies, but also to keep an eye on the Arab guides, who remained outside and who St. Just felt were not to be trusted.

The night passed without adventure or alarm, and the rest of the men in the hut was unbroken, so that they rose in the early morn in excellent spirits and with bodies refreshed. While the sky was still clothed in its gray mantle, and the sun had scarce given signs of his approach, St. Just and his escort recommenced their march, leaving the young subaltern, Garraud, and his convoy party to make their further way alone.

On the afternoon of the same day, they overtook General Dessaix at Beda. It was fortunate they had started so early as they did; for, otherwise, they would have been overwhelmed in a terrific sandstorm, which spent itself behind them and which they escaped by only one hour.

On handing in his despatches to Dessaix, St. Just received from him a sorry report of his command. Short as had been their stay in the country, the men were always murmuring; the heat, the sand, the flies, the scarcity and badness of the water had made them so discontented that the General had the utmost difficulty in keeping them in hand. They were mutinous, unruly, continually complaining of their lost luxuries. Even the officers complained. After a few days' rest, St. Just set out to return to Buonaparte, who, with the main body of the army, was to have left Alexandria on the 6th. Being anxious to join them with all speed, St. Just decided to travel all night. After marching for some hours and when darkness was setting in, St. Just, to his alarm, was informed by an Arab scout he had sent ahead, but who now rode back, that a large body of desert horsemen was advancing in their direction somewhat to the right of them. This was most unwelcome news. To wheel round and make an effort to escape, St. Just felt would be useless. Their only chance seemed to be to halt and wait until the enemy were close upon them; then to make a dash for it and try to cut their way through, and thus, aided by the darkness, to get clear away.

With this view, St. Just drew up his men as close together as they could stand. This mode of formation surprised the Arab guides, it being the custom of their countrymen to fight in a crescent-shaped wedge, a mode of formation Buonaparte found a strong one, when cavalry is massed in successive crescents one behind another.

Breathless, silent and motionless, the little troop remained drawn up, their ears on the alert for the first sounds of the approaching horsemen. Soon the tread of horses' hoofs, muffled by the sand, was heard, and the jangling of bridles and accoutrements. Nearer and nearer came the sounds. St. Just had given his men orders to make for the left, so as, so far as possible, to skirt the enemy, rather than meet them face to face; they were not to seek encounters, and only cut down those who barred their way; the main thing they were to keep before them was that they were to gallop for all that they were worth.

On came the Arabs. They had not yet discovered the French. A few seconds passed; then there was a shout, and the desert horsemen put their horses to the gallop and bore down upon the Frenchmen. Instantly St. Just gave the order, and from its scabbard flashed every sword; spurs were dug into the horses' sides, and they went off at the charge, meeting the fringe only of their opponents.

This was St. Just's first experience of a cavalry skirmish, his sole experience of warfare having been gained in an infantry regiment during the Italian campaign. But his horse was an old stager and used to the business; and he communicated his excitement to his rider, who felt himself borne madly onward with the others, without seeing which way he was going. There was a crash of opposing forces, a mêlée of Frenchmen and swarthy Arabs, all slashing, stabbing and hacking at each other, and parrying the blows dealt at them, as well as the dimness of the light permitted; and then St. Just felt his horse pause in its career and begin to stagger; at once he knew it had been badly wounded. In a moment he saw what had happened. An Arab, facing him alongside, so close that St. Just could have touched him, had come at him full tilt with his lance pointed dead at him. But, either by miscalculation of aim, or by an involuntary swerving on the part of one of the horses, the weapon had missed St. Just and buried itself deep in the flank of his charger, the point even protruding through the buttock. Quick as thought, St. Just realized that, if once he were unhorsed in the darkness and in the midst of all this crowd, the life would speedily be trampled out of him. Possessed of great muscular strength, to which his perilous position gave added energy, he raised himself in his stirrups, flashed his sword high in the air, then brought it down with all his force upon the turbaned skull of his opponent. The blade was sharp and trusty and it was wielded by a powerful arm. It struck the Arab's head a little to the left of his crown, and, cutting its way in a slanting direction, came out below the right ear, slicing off more than half the skull. But the force of the blow was not yet spent. Continuing its course, St. Just's sabre entered his adversary's right shoulder and, in a twinkling, had lopped off the arm that held the spear whose point and a good portion of its shaft were still fixed in the French officer's horse. Then, feeling his charger sinking beneath him, St. Just drew his feet from the stirrups and threw himself on the Arab's horse, the collision sending the lifeless body of the rider to the ground. With the man's warm blood gushing over him, he realized something of the horrors of war. But this was no time for sentiment. Settling his feet in the stirrups of the strange horse, at the moment he saw his own poor steed sink to the ground, St. Just seized the reins of his new mount, wheeled him round with the powerful Arab bit, struck his spurs into his sides, and, finding no one immediately opposing him, dashed off at full gallop; whither he knew not, except that he was going west of his proper route.

St. Just traversed a few miles on the same course, and then, satisfied that he was not being pursued, he reined in his recently appropriated horse and dismounted, intending to remain where he was, until day should break. The docile creature seemed to know what was expected of it, and, with very little trouble, St. Just got it to lie down; then, passing his arm through the reins, he laid himself down beside the animal, which thus helped to keep him warm. The young officer tried his hardest to keep his eyes open; but, spite of his efforts, after a time, he dropped asleep. He was exhausted with the heat and his exertions.

How long he had slept he did not know, but when he awoke, feeling cold and stiff, the day was breaking, for in the East he noticed a faint gleam of light.

At first he was puzzled to account for his whereabouts. But, when thoroughly awakened and in full possession of his senses, the occurrences of the previous night came back to him, and he remembered he had almost miraculously broken away from a horde of Bedouins, after cutting down the rider of the horse he had seized.

But what had become of his escort—French and Arab? Carefully he made the circuit of the horizon with his eye, but not a sign of a human being, friend or foe, was to be seen. Nor, further within the field of his vision, turn which way he would, was a single object, animate or inanimate, visible: not a tree, not a shrub, not a rock, nothing but sand, that appeared to be without bound, north, south, east and west; St. Just and his horse, to all appearance, were the sole occupants of the desert. The stillness and solitude were awful in their oppressiveness and the young officer felt that only action on his own part would make them bearable.

He got his horse to his feet and mounted, setting out in the direction he believed to be that which would lead him to General Buonaparte's line of march. There was not a landmark by which to shape his way; only the first glimmer of light eastward.

He had proceeded in a northerly direction for about two hours, when he espied a solitary horseman in the distance, advancing towards him. Nearer and nearer came the figure, and soon St. Just was able to make out that he was not a native of the desert, next that he wore a French uniform and finally, with a cry of joy, that he was Garraud, the young subaltern from whom, with his convoy party, he had parted at the so-called village where they had rested for the night two days before. At the same moment, Garraud recognized him, and both simultaneously urged their horses forward.

Mutual explanations were at once made.

It appeared that Garraud and his command had left the village a few hours after St. Just, following slowly in his wake. The first misfortune that had assailed them was to be almost buried in the sand-storm that St. Just had managed to escape. Hardly had they got over this, when they had been attacked by the very horde that St. Just and his escort had encountered. They had done their best in the face of tremendous odds, making a temporary rampart of the mules and their loads, firing over their backs and surrendering only when several of them had been killed and many wounded and all their ammunition had been exhausted, so that further resistance would have been useless. In the confusion, somehow, Garraud had managed to escape.

The spirits of both raised by companionship, they rode on side by side, hoping they were nearing Buonaparte. All day they marched, resting themselves and their horses occasionally, but with no food or water for either. It was just beginning to grow dark, when they descried in the distance the huts in which they had passed the night. When they reached the spot, darkness had closed over it. They could see no one, but the welcome challenge "Qui va là?" fell on their ears. The two men replied "Napoleon" and, at the same moment, a light was shown in their faces.

They found that a regiment of Chasseurs occupied the place and that General Buonaparte was with them. The main body was some few hours behind, and ought to be up before the morning.

Buonaparte's orders were that all couriers were to be conducted to him immediately on their arrival, so St. Just at once dismounted and, escorted by a sergeant's guard, made instantly for the General's tent. Two soldiers, with loaded carbines, stood before the entrance, and within could be seen the figure of Buonaparte writing on an old door, propped upon two blocks of stone to form a table.

At the challenge of the sentries, Buonaparte raised his head and saw the little group standing without. "What is it?" he said in a sharp, shrill voice.

"A courier, Sir," replied the sergeant, saluting.

Buonaparte saw and recognized St. Just, who was standing a little behind the soldier. "Ah, from the advance guard at—"

"Beda, Sir."

"Despatches?"

"Delivered, Sir; but these are the reply;" handing in those Dessaix had given him on his return journey.

Buonaparte opened them, glanced at them, then said, "Did you encounter or see any force on your way here? For, on taking possession of this place, we saw many stragglers about in the far distance, apparently part of a large body of Bedouins."

"I cut my way through a band of the enemy—how many I can't say—last night, losing all my escort. Afterwards I fell in with a French infantry officer, whose party had been previously attacked by the same force."

"How many miles away?"

"Between twenty and thirty, Sir."

"Good." Then, rising, Buonaparte walked up and down his tent for a few minutes, his brows together, thinking deeply and evidently forgetful of St. Just's presence. Finally he turned to his impromptu table and wrote a few lines. These he sealed and addressed to the General in command at Alexandria, then handed the paper to St. Just. "Deliver this; join me again as soon as possible."

"Alone, Sir?"

"Yes, unless you can find an escort from Alexandria. Stay! When did you leave General Dessaix?"

"On the 8th in the evening, Sir."

"This is the 10th. You halted last at 11 to-day. Have you a good horse?"

"Yes, sir."

"Set off at six in the morning; it is now ten."

"Yes, sir."

"Go then, in the name of France." St. Just bowed and left the tent.

CHAPTER V.

At six o'clock next day St. Just set out, to plough his solitary way across the sandy desert. If it had been dreary on the first occasion, when he had the company of an escort, he found the sandy wastes, now that he was alone, almost unbearable. It was, therefore, with great delight that, after the first few hours of his journey, he encountered the main body of Buonaparte's army crawling like a gigantic snake across his path. But his satisfaction was but momentary, for the sights that met his eyes were heartrending. Horses in a lather of sweat from head to foot and scarce able to stand from fatigue and heat, were being cruelly urged with whip and spur to drag along the heavy guns and ammunition wagons, whose wheels were deeply embedded in the sand and could scarce be got to move. Ever and anon some of the exhausted animals would fall down dead. Then the guns would have to be abandoned, sometimes for hours, until a detachment of infantry had been brought up and transformed into beasts of burden by being yoked to them, when the sluggish march of the artillery would be recommenced.

Often St. Just passed men, who, overcome by fatigue, could no longer walk, and had been left in the wake of the army, to follow afterwards, if they could; if not, to die where they were, of thirst and exhaustion, under the sun's scorching rays.

Many of these poor creatures cried out to him piteously for help; but he was absolutely powerless to relieve them, and, moreover, was the bearer of despatches which he had been charged to deliver with all speed.

Here and there, half buried in the sand, could be seen the putrefying bodies of both men and animals (horses and mules and here and there a camel) that had died, some of want, some of fatigue, some of illness, and a few of Arab wounds. In some cases only a few whitening bones remained of what a few hours before had been creatures instinct with activity and life; the loathsome vultures having picked off all the flesh.

Towards night he halted and, wrapping his cloak around him, he laid himself on the ground, his head resting on his horse's shoulder, the reins tightly knotted to his wrist, and soon dropped asleep, awakening only with the dawn. The next day he met with a terrible disappointment. On gaining the pool where he had intended to give his horse a drink and to replenish his own water-bottle, he found it dry, the marching army having drained it of every drop. With his tongue almost rattling in his mouth, so parched was it, and his poor horse in the same condition, he was riding on dejectedly, when, happening to cast his eyes around, he noticed a cloud of dust upon his left. The French could scarcely be in that direction; the disturbance must be due to Bedouins. At all hazards he must avoid capture; should his despatches fall into the enemy's hands, the consequences would certainly be serious, and might be fatal. He urged his jaded, thirsty steed to pace its best, and the noble animal responded bravely to his call.

He managed to escape the desert horsemen, but this would have availed him little, had not assistance come, for both man and horse were thoroughly pumped out and could proceed no further. St. Just felt his charger sway beneath him, and, to avoid falling with him, threw himself from the saddle only a moment before the exhausted animal rolled over. Then, just when he had resigned himself with all the philosophy he could command to the consciousness that, in a few hours at most, the carrion desert birds would be stripping the flesh from his bones and from his horse's, he heard a muffled tread, and, shortly afterwards, a troop of French Hussars, who were bringing up the rear guard, came in sight.

Seeing the exhausted condition of both rider and horse, and learning from St. Just that he was the bearer of important despatches from Buonaparte to General Kleber at Alexandria, the officer in command of the troop rendered the young aide-de-camp all the assistance in his power and detailed two of his troopers to accompany him on his journey, and to return with him to Buonaparte's headquarters.

After a few hours' rest and a supply of food and water, the young officer and his horse were sufficiently restored to proceed upon their way, and, on the fifth day after leaving General Buonaparte, he, accompanied by the two hussars, entered Alexandria and delivered his despatches to General Kleber.

Two days after, St. Just, with the two hussars for escort, left Alexandria for the second time, bearing reply despatches from Kleber to Buonaparte, and made his way as rapidly as he could to Damanhour, where he expected to find the Commander-in-Chief. This place he reached in two days, but only to find that Buonaparte had gone forward towards Cairo. So St. Just had to follow.