confident voice. A young man without fear, without reverence,
without imagination, without sense, hopelessly insusceptible to
the Napoleonic or any other idea, stupendously egotistical,
eminently qualified to rush in where angels fear to tread, yet of
a vigorous babbling vitality which bustles him into the thick of
things. He is just now boiling with vexation, attributable by a
superficial observer to his impatience at not being promptly
attended to by the staff of the inn, but in which a more
discerning eye can perceive a certain moral depth, indicating a
more permanent and momentous grievance. On seeing Napoleon, he is
sufficiently taken aback to check himself and salute; but he does
not betray by his manner any of that prophetic consciousness of
Marengo and Austerlitz, Waterloo and St. Helena, or the
Napoleonic pictures of Delaroche and Meissonier, which modern
culture will instinctively expect from him.)

NAPOLEON (sharply). Well, sir, here you are at last. Your
instructions were that I should arrive here at six, and that I
was to find you waiting for me with my mail from Paris and with
despatches. It is now twenty minutes to eight. You were sent on
this service as a hard rider with the fastest horse in the camp.
You arrive a hundred minutes late, on foot. Where is your horse!

THE LIEUTENANT (moodily pulling off his gloves and dashing them
with his cap and whip on the table). Ah! where indeed? That's
just what I should like to know, General. (With emotion.) You
don't know how fond I was of that horse.

NAPOLEON (angrily sarcastic). Indeed! (With sudden misgiving.)
Where are the letters and despatches?