reserved for a strange destiny. Of all the fierce and masterful men who
surrounded the Emperor there was none with greater gifts, and none,
also, whose ambitions he more distrusted, than those of Jules
Bernadotte.

And yet, fierce and masterful as these men were, having, as Auguereau
boasted, fear neither of God nor of the devil, there was something which
thrilled or cowed them in the pale smile or black frown of the little
man who ruled them. For, as I watched them, there suddenly came over
the assembly a start and hush such as you see in a boys' school when the
master enters unexpectedly, and there near the open doors of his
headquarters stood the master himself. Even without that sudden
silence, and the scramble to their feet of those upon the benches, I
felt that I should have known instantly that he was present. There was
a pale luminosity about his ivory face which drew the eye towards it,
and though his dress might be the plainest of a hundred, his appearance
would be the first which one would notice. There he was, with his
little plump, heavy-shouldered figure, his green coat with the red
collar and cuffs, his white, well-formed legs, his sword with the gilt
hilt and the tortoise-shell scabbard. His head was uncovered, showing
his thin hair of a ruddy chestnut colour. Under one arm was the flat
cocked hat with the twopenny tricolour rosette, which was already
reproduced in his pictures. In his right hand he held a little riding
switch with a metal head. He walked slowly forward, his face immutable,
his eyes fixed steadily before him, measured, inexorable, the very
personification of Destiny.

'Admiral Bruix!'

I do not know if that voice thrilled through every one as it did through