One last word about that luncheon.... My father had consulted Corvisart, and, although Corvisart did his best to reassure him, my father knew he was a dying man. My father had tried to get an interview with the emperor,--for Bonaparte, the general of the Army of the Interior, had become the Emperor Napoleon,--and the emperor had declined to see my father. He had then fallen back on his two friends, Brune and Murat, who had just become marshals of the Empire. He found Brune as cordial as ever, but Murat very cool towards him. This luncheon was for the purpose of commending my mother and me to Brune and Murat; my mother, so soon to become a widow, and I an orphan; for, when my father died, his allowance would die with him, and we should be left without means. They both promised to do all they could, should this come about. My father embraced Brune, shook Murat by the hand and left Paris the next day with death both in his body and in his heart. We left Paris, but the return journey is no clearer to me than our going. Only a few things remain in my memory: they slumbered in my childhood and youth, and then burst forth into bright flame during manhood. To what place we returned I cannot remember; I think, however, it must have been to Villers-Cotterets. I recollect that about the 3rd October we were staying in the famous hôtel de _l'Écu_, in the rue de Soissons, of which my grandfather was proprietor at the time of his daughter's marriage. As this crown was the crown of France, as the crown of France bore three _fleurs de lis_ and as these flowers had ceased to be used since 1792, l'hôtel de _l'Écu_ became l'hôtel de _l'Épée,_ and was kept by a M. Picot, who was called Picot de l'Épée to distinguish him from two other Picots, one called Picot de None, and the other Picot the lawyer. I shall have occasion to refer again to the latter two, who were closely connected with my early life. I remember that towards the end of October a cab drew up at the main entrance, to take my father and me away. I was always highly delighted when my father took me on his excursions. On this occasion we crossed the park, and I remember that it was late October, because of the dead leaves which flew about like flocks of birds. We reached a gate, and my father had forgotten the key. We were already three-quarters of a league from the house, and therefore too far away to go back for it; so my father got down, took _the gate_ in his arms, shook it violently, and caused the stone in which the bolt of the lock was secured, to become detached from the post that held it.