The quay was instantly deserted, and, though I am by no means vain, I may state that this third cannon-shot was fired for me alone. I had a long time previously formed my plan of retreat, and I based it on the small door of the Institut, which was on my left. Scarcely had the gun been fired a third time, before the smoke had dispersed and allowed my manœuvre to be seen, I rushed out and knocked at the door with loud blows with the butt-end of my gun. It opened without keeping me long waiting: I will pay that much justice to the porter, though, generally, in Revolutionary times, porters are not so smart. I slipped in through the half-opened doorway into shelter. As the porter was shutting the door, a bullet pierced it, but without wounding him. When inside, I had quite a choice of friends: I went upstairs to see Madame Guyet-Desfontaines. I should mention that, at first sight, my appearance did not produce the effect I expected. They did not immediately know me; then, when they had recognised 'me, they considered me pretty badly dressed. My readers will recollect how I had arrayed myself for the occasion. I went and fetched my gun, which I had left outside the door for fear of frightening Madame Guyet and her daughter. The gun soon explained matters. Directly she recognised me, Madame Guyet became her charmingly sprightly, animated self, in spite of the gravity of the situation: she is, in this respect, quite incorrigible. I was nearly dead with hunger, and especially with thirst; I thereupon unaffectedly made my wants known to my hosts. They brought me a bottle of Bordeaux, which I drank almost at one draught. They also brought me a huge bowl of chocolate, and that disappeared also. I believe I must have eaten everyone else's breakfast! "Ah!" I said, parodying Napoleon's remark on his return from Russia, as I stretched myself in a big arm-chair, "it is much better here than behind the Institut lion!" Of course, I had to give an account of my Iliad, which, up to then, consisted of one victory and two retreats. True, the last retreat--with the exception of the embarrassment of having ten thousand men under me--might be likened to that of Xenophon. But, on the other hand, the first might be compared with a Waterloo. I made honourable mention of the lion, which had probably saved my life, and which possessed, under the circumstances, that superiority over Androcles' lion, that it was not repaying a kind act done to it. The upshot of the delightful welcome I received (the minutest details whereof I can still remember, after the lapse of more than twenty-two years) was that Madame Guyet-Desfontaines' house all but became to me what Capua was to Hannibal two thousand years before. However, with a little moral courage, I had the advantage over the conqueror of Trebia, Cannes and Trasimène of tearing myself away in time from the delights that were spread before me.