time, and that it must have gone astray in the creeks of Saint Louis and
Sainte Marguerite. This was, in fact, exactly what had happened.

By five o'clock M. Marouin had reported the news to his brother and the
king. It was bad news. The king had no courage left to defend his life
even by flight, he was in a state of prostration which sometimes
overwhelms the strongest of men, incapable of making any plan for his own
safety, and leaving M. Marouin to do the best he could. Just then a
fisherman was coming into harbour singing. Marouin beckoned to him, and
he came up.

Marouin began by buying all the man's fish; then, when he had paid him
with a few coins, he let some gold glitter before his eyes, and offered
him three louis if he would take a passenger to the brig which was lying
off the Croix-des-Signaux. The fisherman agreed to do it. This chance
of escape gave back Murat all his strength; he got up, embraced Marouin,
and begged him to go to the queen with the volume of Voltaire. Then he
sprang into the boat, which instantly left the shore.

It was already some distance from the land when the king stopped the man
who was rowing and signed to Marouin that he had forgotten something. On
the beach lay a bag into which Murat had put a magnificent pair of
pistols mounted with silver gilt which the queen had given him, and which
he set great store on. As soon as he was within hearing he shouted his
reason for returning to his host. Marouin seized the valise, and without
waiting for Murat to land he threw it into the boat; the bag flew open,
and one of the pistols fell out. The fisherman only glanced once at the
royal weapon, but it was enough to make him notice its richness and to
arouse his suspicions. Nevertheless, he went on rowing towards the
frigate. M. Marouin seeing him disappear in the distance, left his