Bourrienne was an old friend of Bonaparte; they had been together at
the military academy; they had met afterward at Paris--and poor
young Lieutenant Bonaparte had often been glad enough to accept a
dinner at the hands of his wealthier friend.

Only a few years had elapsed since that time, and now Lieutenant
Bonaparte had become already an illustrious general; while
Bourrienne, whom the Terrorists had proscribed, thankfully accepted
the protection of his old comrade, and now filled the position of
private secretary under him.

He had been with him in this capacity only two days--for two days he
had seen Bonaparte every hour, and yet he contemplated with ever new
surprise this wonderful countenance, in which he vainly tried to
recognize the features of the friend of his youth. True, the same
outlines and contours were still there, but the whole face was an
entirely different one. No traces of the carelessness, of the
harmless hilarity of former days, were left in these features. His
complexion was pale almost to sickliness; his figure, which did not
rise above the middle height, was slender and bony. Upon looking at
him, you seemed at first to behold a young man entirely devoid of
strength, and hopelessly doomed to an early death. But the longer
you examined him, the more his features seemed to breathe vitality
and spirit, and the firmer grew the conviction that this was an
exceptional being--a rare and strange phenomenon. Once accustomed to
his apparent pale and sickly homeliness, the beholder soon saw it
transformed into a fascinating beauty such as we admire on the
antique Roman cameos and old imperial coins. His classical and
regular profile seemed to be modelled after these antique coins; his