"I am not going," he said, "to levy a war tax on my good city of Grenoble, but my good and faithful soldiers must be paid, and I must provision my army in case I encounter stronger resistance at Lyons than I can cope with, and am forced to make a détour. I want the money--the Empress' money, which that infamous Talleyrand stole from her. So you, de Marmont, had best go straight away to the Hôtel de Ville and in my name summon the préfet to appear before me. You can tell him at once that it is on account of the money." "I will go at once, Sire," replied de Marmont with a regretful sigh, "but I fear me that it is too late." "Too late?" snapped out the Emperor with a frown, "what do you mean by too late?" "I mean that Fourier has left Grenoble in the trail of Marchand, and that two days ago--unless I'm very much mistaken--he disposed of the money." "Disposed of the money? You are mad, de Marmont." "Not altogether, Sire. When I say that Fourier disposed of the Empress' money I only mean that he deposited it in what he would deem a safe place." "The cur!" exclaimed Napoleon with a yet tighter clenching of his hand and mighty fist, "turning against the hand that fed him and made him what he is. Well!" he added impatiently, "where is the money now?" "In the keeping of M. le Comte de Cambray at Brestalou," replied de Marmont without hesitation. "Very well," said the Emperor, "take a company of the 7th regiment with you to Brestalou and requisition the money at once." "If--as I believe--the Comte no longer has the money by him?----" "Make him tell you where it is." "I mean, Sire, that it is my belief that M. le Comte's sister and daughter will undertake to take the money to Paris, hoping by their sex and general air of innocence to escape suspicion in connection with the money." "Don't worry me with all these details, de Marmont," broke in Napoleon with a frown of impatience. "I told you to take a company with you and to get me the Empress' money. See to it that this is done and leave me in peace." He hated arguing, hated opposition, the very suggestion of any difficulty. His followers and intimates knew that; already de Marmont had repented that he had allowed his tongue to ramble on quite so much. Now he felt that silence must redeem his blunder--silence now and success in his undertaking. He bent the knee, for this homage the great Corsican adventurer and one-time dictator of civilised Europe loved to receive: he kissed the hand which had once wielded the sceptre of a mighty Empire and was ready now to grasp it again. Then he rose and gave the military salute. "It shall be done, Sire," was all that he said.