“Well, since you insist on being bored. You are referring, I suppose, to my picture, ‘The Last Moments of Marie Antoinette?’ Despite what French newspapers may say, I had no political motive. The work was done merely to please my own fancy. When finished my poor old drawing master saw it, and begged for the loan of it, to place it among a small exhibition of his own pictures. I consented. The result was marvellous. Thousands came to view the picture. Republicans who had once yelled for the head of ‘The Austrian,’ and had gleefully seen her perish on the scaffold, now melted to tears at sight of her image on the canvas. Bonaparte got wind of the affair, and, on the ground that it was creating a sentiment in favour of Royalism, ordered the picture to be destroyed. The _gendarmerie_ were stoutly opposed. Shouts of _A bas Napoleon_ were raised, a struggle ensued, and the gallery had to be cleared with fixed bayonets.” “And is it true that you challenged Napoleon to a duel?” “I demanded compensation for the loss of my picture or—satisfaction at the sword’s point.” Ouvaroff could not help smiling at his friend’s colossal audacity. “And General Bonaparte’s answer——?” “Was a police order to cross the frontier within forty-eight hours.” “You went?” “I stayed. You see, the First Consul’s sister, the dark-eyed Pauline, with whom I had had some love passages—platonic, of course—had invited me to a ball a fortnight later. My dear Serge, how could I refuse? On the evening of the dance I presented myself, greatly to the dismay of my friends, who were aware that the First Consul was expected. I had purposely arranged to take my departure at the moment of his arrival.” “He saw you?” “Certainly. Figure his rage as he saw me raising Pauline’s hand to my lips as I took my leave! The music, the dancing, the conversation—all stopped. The stillness was painful. ‘Did you not receive an order to quit France a fortnight ago?’ he thundered. ‘Why have you not gone?’ ‘And did you not receive a challenge to fight a fortnight ago?’ I answered. ‘Why have you not fought?’ “He couldn’t speak for passion. “‘As to quitting France, Citoyen Bonaparte,’ I continued, ‘in such matters as coming and going, we Courtenays are accustomed to please ourselves. I had fixed upon to-night as the time of my departure, and, as you now perceive, I—er—depart. Adieu, citoyen.’ “With that I passed, by preconcerted arrangement, through a circle of friends, and before he had time to order my arrest I had reached a private gateway, where a carriage was awaiting me. As I had taken the precaution to have relays of horses in readiness, I succeeded in crossing the Eastern frontier a few hundred yards ahead of the pursuing carabineers.” “And so General Bonaparte declined to measure swords with you?”