“Thank you, I will.” We then parted; I sending some of my attendants on to Paris. The implacable douaniers then commenced their perilous sport; and although, thanks to a friend of mine, I had an official passport from the French Embassy, signed by Count Walewski, two of my boxes containing my Shilling Cookery Books were confiscated till the next morning, but eventually allowed to pass free of duty, but not of trouble, and would have been the cause of my losing a day for nothing, had it not been that we were too late for the train. At ten minutes to seven o’clock, through a very heavy rain and a brisk gale, we arrived at the “Grand Hôtel du Pavilion,” which had just been finished, and was inhabited for the first time. This hotel is situated about five hundred yards from the Etablissement des Bains, at the foot of the bank, on the right hand side of that establishment. Any person who has visited Boulogne must be acquainted with the spot. It is rather remarkable that soon after the arrival of the Emperor--in fact, he only just had time to dress after his journey--an avalanche of earth fell from the top of the bank, shaking the very foundations of the hotel. At the back of the house the earth reached higher than the second floor, breaking the windows. Some of the _débris_ actually fell into the Emperor’s dressing-room, only a few minutes after he had left it. The slip of earth was supposed to have been caused by the melting of the snow, which had lain there for some time, as well as the rain, which had been pouring down, night and day, for a week. My friend was just sitting down to supper, when I joined them, it being then eight o’clock, _heure militaire_, punctuality being the motto in every department in the imperial household. Having introduced my secretary, T. G., the conversation turned upon the avalanche, then upon the _grand repas de corps_, as it is called in France, or military banquet, given that evening to the generals and officers of the Camp de Boulogne. But the most important part of the conversation was upon the contemplated departure of Napoleon for the East. He was to travel from Paris to Marseilles incog., with but very few of his suite. “Everything,” said M. Léon, “is packed and ready, and we may start at an hour’s notice. Your friend Benoit has already sent his _batterie de cuisine_, and a quantity of preserved provisions.” (M. Benoit is the Emperor’s _chef de cuisine_.)[6] Whilst we were conversing, a footman entered, in a state of anxiety and excitement, and exclaimed--“There is not a single cigar, and the Emperor has asked for some.” “Very well,” said the maître d’hôtel, “go and buy some.” In about half an hour he returned with a square box, three parts full of various kinds of cigars, which he had no doubt purchased at all the nearest grocers’ shops, clearing out their stock of _French_ Havana cigars. “Couldn’t you get better ones than these?” said the maître d’hôtel. “No doubt I could, but not near.”