of the modern demi-god, who, finding the whole fabric of France
destroyed, went to work to reconstruct everything. The new official
never showed fatigue, never cried "Enough." Projects, reports, notes,
studies, he accepted all, even the hardest labors, happy in the
consciousness of aiding his Emperor. He loved him as a man, he adored
him as a sovereign, and he would never allow the least criticism of
his acts or his purposes.

From 1804 to 1808, the Bridaus lived in a handsome suite of rooms on
the Quai Voltaire, a few steps from the ministry of the interior and
close to the Tuileries. A cook and footman were the only servants of
the household during this period of Madame Bridau's grandeur. Agathe,
early afoot, went to market with her cook. While the latter did the
rooms, she prepared the breakfast. Bridau never went to the ministry
before eleven o'clock. As long as their union lasted, his wife took
the same unwearying pleasure in preparing for him an exquisite
breakfast, the only meal he really enjoyed. At all seasons and in all
weathers, Agathe watched her husband from the window as he walked
toward his office, and never drew in her head until she had seen him
turn the corner of the rue du Bac. Then she cleared the
breakfast-table herself, gave an eye to the arrangement of the rooms,
dressed for the day, played with her children and took them to walk,
or received the visits of friends; all the while waiting in spirit for
Bridau's return. If her husband brought him important business that
had to be attended to, she would station herself close to the
writing-table in his study, silent as a statue, knitting while he
wrote, sitting up as late as he did, and going to bed only a few
moments before him. Occasionally, the pair went to some theatre,
occupying one of the ministerial boxes. On those days, they dined at a
restaurant, and the gay scenes of that establishment never ceased to