Marie's death brought me such sorrow that another great misfortune was necessary to rouse me from my apathy and desolation. During Napoleon's invasion of Italy our villa was sacked and fired. Montmorin and I managed to escape, carrying with us a small quantity of money and certain documents which we deposited in a place of security. We reached Rome and passed on to Civita Vecchia, from which we embarked on a merchant brig for England. We boarded the vessel during threatening weather. Hardly had we put to sea when the waves and wind rose high, sweeping the deck and breaking one of the masts. Then we were driven pitilessly toward the French coast and seemed about to break upon the reefs. Montmorin and I were dismayed at the prospect of landing in France. The captain perceived our terror and observed that we must have an ugly secret. We disembarked at Dieppe and were examined by the Marine and Quarantine Commissions, to which the captain communicated his suspicions regarding us. We were, nevertheless, dismissed, and hastened to conceal ourselves in an obscure inn, with the intention of seizing the first opportunity of leaving for Spain or England. But the police followed us. I was alone when the officers entered. I hastily pressed some money into a servant-maid's hand, bidding her stand at the street corner and warn Montmorin of the danger on his return. I was conducted to what was known as the Delegation and subjected to a series of questions. Being inexperienced, I compromised myself. I was placed, during the night, on a coasting barge. We landed at a little port whose name I never learned, and entered a carriage there in waiting. We started on a journey which lasted four days, at the end of which I was placed in a Paris prison, where I remained six days. On the seventh a young man of affable manners, whom I later learned went by the name of Volpetti, entered my cell. He spoke German. I was almost too weak to reply. "Friend," he said, "I know your history. You are playing a role which providence has not assigned you. Your friends have inoculated you with the virus of royal ambition. I come to offer you salvation from this induced mania. Swear to me by the memory of your mother that you will not seek to escape from the monastery to which I shall conduct you. In return, you will be promised that not a hand shall be raised against you. Buried beneath a religious name in Belgium or Italy, your life will pass serenely." Thérèse, the blood that courses through your body and mine, the blood of the Hapsburgs and Bourbons, rose imperious against the indignity of the proposition. "I fling your offer in your teeth, Monsieur!" I cried.