It was at this period that Napoleon developed his wonderful fascination of manner. As he could intimidate by frowns, harsh tones, fierce looks, and cutting words, he could charm with the sweetest of smiles, the kindest of glances, the most caressing words. If he wished to please, he could, as a rule, do so; if he wished to terrify, it was rarely he failed. Already there were hundreds of young officers who swore by him, lived for his praise, and were ready to die for him. Muiron had done so; Lannes, Junot, Marmont, Bessières, Berthier, Murat, were as ready. As to the army itself, Cæsar had never more completely the heart of the Tenth Legion than the young Napoleon that of the army of Italy. No higher reward did his soldiers crave than his words of praise. His proclamations intoxicated them like strong wine. They were ready to dare all, endure all, to please him, win his smile, wear his splendid tribute. “I was at ease; the Thirty-second was there;” and the delighted regiment embroidered the words on its flag. “The terrible Fifty-seventh” were proud to see on their banner that battle name given them by their “Little Corporal”; just as, at Toulon, he had kept the most exposed of the batteries filled with men by posting the words, “The Battery of those who are not afraid.” Planning, executing, marching, fighting, organizing new states, Napoleon was still the ardent lover. Josephine he never neglected. Courier sped after courier, bearing short, hasty, passionate love-letters to Josephine. He was in all the stress and storm, often cold, drenched by wintry rains, pierced by wintry winds, hungry, overwhelmed with work and care, yet not a day did he forget his bride. She was lapped in luxury at Paris,--warmth, light, pleasure, joyous ease, and companionship about her; and she laughed at the love-letters, thinking them wild, crude, extravagant. “Bonaparte is so queer!”