have kept you waiting, but I have not been master of my own
time."

They said nothing, but they still scanned me with curious eyes.
I can see them now, standing in a line before me, tall men and
short men, stout men and thin men: Olivier, with his warlike
moustache; the thin, eager face of Pelletan; young Oudin, flushed
by his first duel; Mortier, with the sword-cut across his
wrinkled brow.

I laid aside my busby and drew my sword.

"I have one favour to ask you, gentlemen," said I.

"Marshal Lannes has invited me to breakfast and I cannot keep him
waiting."

"What do you suggest?" asked Major Olivier.

"That you release me from my promise to give you five minutes
each, and that you will permit me to attack you all together." I
stood upon my guard as I spoke.

But their answer was truly beautiful and truly French. With one
impulse the twelve swords flew from their scabbards and were
raised in salute. There they stood, the twelve of them,
motionless, their heels together, each with his sword upright
before his face.

I staggered back from them. I looked from one to the other. For