‘Prompted by his fear only, Dubois considers it most prudent to hide under his bed. Fouché, receiving no answer to the summons of the baker’s wife, makes up his mind to mount the six flights. A courtier does not stop at that when it becomes a question of proving his zeal to those in power. It would want the facetious genius of Beaumarchais or Lesage, or the comic talent of Potier, to paint the originality of the scene, and of the Minister finally discovering the protégé under the worm-eaten wooden structure that served him as a couch. Hence I abridge the particulars. Fouché reassures Dubois, and induces him to come forth from his improvised hiding-place. Regardless of the poet’s very profound _négligé_, he places him by his side in the carriage, which takes its way to the Ministry, where luncheon is soon served. ‘“What would you like to be, M. Dubois?” asks his Excellency in the interval between a dish of cutlets _à la Soubise_, made short work of by the famished poet, and a _salmis de perdreaux_ equally appreciated, at any rate ocularly. “Now tell me what can I do for you?” ‘“I’ll be whatever your Excellency likes; and I shall be grateful for any kind of post.” ‘“Well, would you like to go to the island of Elba? I can give you the appointment of commissary general of police.” ‘“I’ll go to the end of the world in order to please your Excellency,” replies the poet, not quite sure whether for the last hour or so he has been awake or dreaming. ‘“Very well then, I’ll go and make out your nomination, and you’ll start to-morrow. On reaching Porto-Ferrajo you’ll find further instructions. Meanwhile take this on account of your stipend.” Saying which, Fouché presses a roll of napoleons into the poet’s hand. The latter’s luggage was the reverse of voluminous; it would have filled a big snuff-box, and did not take long to pack. Dubois engaged a place in the diligence, and, in imitation of the awakened sleeper, departed, like Sancho, for his island, which he reached without any further adventures.