you?"

"Sire, I am Colonel Delelee, former aide-de-camp of General Moreau."

These words were pronounced in a firm voice, which resounded in the midst
of the profound silence which the presence of the sovereign imposed.

The Emperor stepped back, and fastened both eyes on the colonel. The
latter showed no emotion, but bowed slightly.

Marshal Moncey was pale as death.

The Emperor spoke. "What do you come to ask here?"

"That which I have asked for many years, Sire: that your Majesty will
deign to tell me wherein I have been in fault, or restore to me my rank."

Among those near enough to hear these questions and replies, few could
breathe freely. At last a smile half opened the firmly closed lips of
the Emperor; he placed his finger on his mouth, and, approaching the
colonel, said to him in a softened and almost friendly tone, "You have
reason to complain a little of that, but let us say no more about it,"
and continued his round. He had gone ten steps from the group formed by
the deputies of Bescancon, when he came back, and, stopping before the
colonel, said, "Monsieur Minister of War, take the name of this officer,
and be sure to remind me of him. He is tired of doing nothing, and we
will give him occupation."

As soon as the audience was over, the struggle was, who should be most
attentive to the colonel. He was surrounded, congratulated, embraced,