“I admit it, general. I was showing him my order to be here on the 16th Brumaire.” “Did I write the 16th or the 17th?” “Oh! the 16th, general. The 17th would have been too late.” “Why too late?” “Why, hang it, Bourrienne says there are to be great doings here on the 18th.” “Capital,” muttered Bourrienne; “the scatter-brain will earn me a wigging.” “Ah! So he told you I had planned great doings for the 18th?” Then, approaching Bourrienne, Bonaparte pinched his ear, and said, “Tell-tale!” Then to Roland he added: “Well, it is so, my dear fellow, we have made great plans for the 18th. My wife and I dine with President Gohier; an excellent man, who was very polite to Josephine during my absence. You are to dine with us, Roland.” Roland looked at Bonaparte. “Was it for that you brought me here, general?” he asked, laughing. “For that, and something else, too, perhaps. Bourrienne, write--” Bourrienne hastily seized his pen. “Are you ready?” “Yes, general.” “‘My dear President, I write to let you know that my wife and I, with one of my aides-de-camp, will dine with you the day after to-morrow. This is merely to say that we shall be quite satisfied with a family dinner.’” “What next?” “How do you mean?” “Shall I put, ‘Liberty, equality, fraternity’?” “Or death,” added Roland. “No,” said Bonaparte; “give me the pen.” He took the pen from Bourrienne’s hands and wrote, “Ever yours, Bonaparte.” Then, pushing away the paper, he added: “Address it, Bourrienne, and send an orderly with it.” Bourrienne wrote the address, sealed it, and rang the bell. An officer on duty entered. “Send an orderly with that,” said Bourrienne. “There is an answer,” added Bonaparte. The officer closed the door. “Bourrienne,” said Bonaparte, pointing to Roland, “look at your friend.” “Well, general, I am looking at him.” “Do you know what he did at Avignon?” “I hope he didn’t make a pope.” “No, he threw a plate at a man’s head.” “Oh, that was hasty!” “That’s not all.” “That I can well imagine.” “He fought a duel with that man.” “And, most naturally, he killed him.” “Exactly. Do you know why he did it?” “No.” The general shrugged his shoulders, and said: “Because the man said that I was a thief.” Then looking at Roland with an indefinable expression of raillery and affection, he added: “Ninny!” Then suddenly he burst out: “Oh! by the way, and the Englishman?” “Exactly, the Englishman, general. I was just going to speak to you about him.” “Is he still in France?” “Yes, and for awhile even I thought he would remain here till the last trumpet blew its blast through the valley of Jehosaphat.” “Did you miss killing him?” “Oh! no, not I. We are the best friends in the world. General, he is a capital fellow, and so original to boot that I’m going to ask a bit of a favor for him.” “The devil! For an Englishman?” said Bonaparte, shaking his head. “I don’t like the English.” “Good! As a people, but individually--”