“Ah! what a question. Why do you venture on the field of battle, where a bullet may plow through your breast or a cannon-ball lop off your head?” “Permit me to say that that is different. On the battlefield I risk an honorable death.” “Ah! do you suppose that on the day I get my head cut off by the revolutionary triangle I shall think myself dishonored? Not the least in the world. I am a soldier like you, only we can’t all serve our cause in the same way. Every religion has its heroes and its martyrs; happy the heroes in this world, and happy the martyrs in the next.” The young man uttered these words with a conviction which moved, or rather astonished, Roland. “But,” continued Morgan, abandoning his enthusiasm to revert to the gayety which seemed the distinctive trait of his character, “I did not come here to talk political philosophy. I came to ask you to let me speak to the First Consul.” “What! speak to the First Consul?” exclaimed Roland. “Of course. Read my letter over; did I not tell you that I had a request to make?” “Yes.” “Well, that request is to let me speak to General Bonaparte.” “But permit me to say that as I did not expect that request--” “It surprises you; makes you uneasy even. My dear colonel, if you don’t believe my word, you can search me from head to foot, and you will find that those pistols are my only weapons. And I haven’t even got them, since there they are on your table. Better still, take one in each hand, post yourself between the First Consul and me, and blowout my brains at the first suspicious move I make. Will that suit you?” “But will you assure me, if I disturb the First Consul and ask him to see you, that your communication is worth the trouble?” “Oh! I’ll answer for that,” said Morgan. Then, in his joyous tones, he added: “I am for the moment the ambassador of a crowned, or rather discrowned, head, which makes it no less reverenced by noble hearts. Moreover, Monsieur Roland, I shall take up very little of your general’s time; the moment the conversation seems too long, he can dismiss me. And I assure you he will not have to say the word twice.” Roland was silent and thoughtful for a moment. “And it is to the First Consul only that you can make this communication?” “To the First Consul only, as he alone can answer me.” “Very well. Wait until I take his orders.” Roland made a step toward the general’s room; then he paused and cast an uneasy look at a mass of papers piled on his table. Morgan intercepted this look. “What!” he said, “you are afraid I shall read those papers in your absence? If you only knew how I detest reading! If my death-warrant lay on that table, I wouldn’t take the trouble to read it. I should consider that the clerk’s business. And every one to his own task. Monsieur Roland, my feet are cold, and I will sit here in your easy-chair and warm them. I shall not stir till you return.” “Very good, monsieur,” said Roland, and he went to the First Consul.