“No, no,” exclaimed Bonaparte hastily; “they might think I needed them. I won’t have any quibbling. They must decide to-day without any other conditions than those you have offered them; to-morrow it will be too late. I feel strong enough to stand alone; and I now have Sièyes and Barras.” “Barras?” repeated the two negotiators astonished. “Yes, Barras, who treated me like a little corporal, and wouldn’t send me back to Italy, because, he said, I had made my fortune there, and it was useless to return. Well, Barras--” “Barras?” “Nothing.” Then, changing his mind, “Faith! I may as well tell you. Do you know what Barras said at dinner yesterday before me? That it was impossible to go on any longer with the Constitution of the year III. He admitted the necessity of a dictatorship; said he had decided to abandon the reins of government, and retire; adding that he himself was looked upon as worn-out, and that the Republic needed new men. Now, guess to whom he thinks of transferring his power. I give it you, as Madame de Sévigné says, in a hundred, thousand, ten thousand. No other than General Hedouville, a worthy man, but I have only to look him in the face to make him lower his eyes. My glance must have been blasting! As the result, Barras came to my bedside at eight o’clock, to excuse himself as best he could for the nonsense he talked the night before, and admitted that I alone could save the Republic, and placed himself at my disposal, to do what I wished, assume any rôle I might assign him, begging me to promise that if I had any plan in my head I would count on him--yes, on him; and he would be true to the crack of doom.” “And yet,” said Talleyrand, unable to resist a play upon words, “doom is not a word with which to conjure liberty.” Bonaparte glanced at the ex-bishop. “Yes, I know that Barras is your friend, the friend of Fouché and Réal; but he is not mine, and I shall prove it to him. Go back to Lebrun and Cambacérès, Bruix, and let them make their own bargain.” Then, looking at his watch and frowning, he added: “It seems to me that Moreau keeps us waiting.” So saying, he turned to the group which surrounded Talma. The two diplomatists watched him. Then Admiral Bruix asked in a low voice: “What do you say, my dear Maurice, to such sentiments toward the man who picked him out, a mere lieutenant, at the siege of Toulon, who trusted him to defend the Convention on the 13th Vendémiaire, and who named him, when only twenty-six, General-in-Chief of the Army in Italy?” “I say, my dear admiral,” replied M. de Talleyrand, with his pallid mocking smile, “that some services are so great that ingratitude alone can repay them.” At that moment the door opened and General Moreau was announced. At this announcement, which was more than a piece of news--it was a surprise to most of those present--every eye was turned toward the door. Moreau appeared.