Mars, then covered with Marshal Brune's field-artillery. No one had
arrived yet. He walked up and down between the gun-carriages until a
functionary came to ask what he was doing. He was hard put to it to find
an answer: a man is hardly likely to be wandering about in an artillery
park at ten o'clock at night for the mere pleasure of the thing. He
asked to see the commanding officer. The officer came up: M. Marouin
informed him that he was an avocat, attached to the law courts of Toulon,
and told him that he had arranged to meet someone on the Champs de Mars,
not knowing that it was prohibited, and that he was still waiting for
that person. After this explanation, the officer authorised him to
remain, and went back to his quarters. The sentinel, a faithful adherent
to discipline, continued to pace up and down with his measured step,
without troubling any more about the stranger's presence.

A few moments later a group of several persons appeared from the
direction of Les Lices. The night was magnificent, and the moon
brilliant. Marouin recognised Bonafoux, and went up to him. The captain
at once took him by the hand and led him to the king, and speaking in
turn to each of them--

"Sire," he said, "here is the friend. I told you of."

Then turning to Marouin--

"Here," he said, "is the King of Naples, exile and fugitive, whom I
confide to your care. I do not speak of the possibility that some day he
may get back his crown, that would deprive you of the credit of your fine
action.... Now, be his guide--we will follow at a distance. March!"

The king and the lawyer set out at once together. Murat was dressed in a