The young man moved hastily forward as if to press Bonaparte's
hand, but checked himself almost immediately. The light had fallen
full on his face for an instant; that instant sufficed to make
the general notice the face as he had the voice. Neither the
one nor the other was unknown to him. He searched his memory
for an instant, but finding it rebellious, said: "I know you!"

"Possibly, general."

"I am certain; only I cannot recall your name."

"You managed that yours should not be forgotten, general."

"Who are you?"

"Ask Valence, general."

Bonaparte gave a cry of joy.

"Louis de Montrevel," he exclaimed, opening wide his arms. This
time the young lieutenant did not hesitate to fling himself into
them.

"Very good," said Bonaparte; "you will serve eight days with the
regiment in your new rank, that they may accustom themselves to
your captain's epaulets, and then you will take my poor Muiron's
place as aide-de-camp. Go!"

"Once more!" cried the young man, opening his arms.