For Love of a Bedouin Maid

He failed to recognize St. Just, dressed, as he was, like a fisherman, and roughly ordered him away. "I will have no loafers (faineants) about my ship;" for St. Just was hanging about, idly gazing at the workers.

St. Just broke into a laugh and recalled himself to the Captain's remembrance, and then proceeded to state the object of his voyage and to ask Brenneau whether he would drop him at Elba. To this the other at once agreed and, on the following day they sailed.

Now, had they proceeded thither direct, Elba should have been reached, ten or eleven days later; but Captain Brenneau had to call at Marseilles to see the owners, and here the vessel was detained for ten days loading further cargo; so that it was not until the first of February that they sighted the little island that now comprised all Napoleon's empire.

It was dark by the time they were near enough to lower a boat.

St. Just bid farewell to the Captain, and took his seat in it; the boat put off, and, in half an hour made the harbor and was brought up by a flight of steps in the harbor wall. Here St. Just got out, and the boat pushed off to make her way back to the ship.

He stood watching the departing boat for about five minutes; and he was on the point of ascending the steps, when he heard voices just above him. He paused to listen.

"I tell you," said one voice, "that to-night he is expected from the country. It is the best chance we have yet had."

"But," said another voice, "he is always guarded; it will be useless."

"Not to-night. He and Bertrand return alone to meet –," St. Just could not catch the name—"who brings intelligence from Pauline."

"And where do you propose to stop him?"

"At the –" again the word was inaudible to St. Just.

"You will take your stand, hat in hand, in the middle of the road; take this dog with you, leading it with a string, as though you were blind, and beg alms of the Emperor. Then, when the carriage has stopped to avoid running over you, lean forward and fire both pistols at him. He will be seated on the right side, remember."

"And what part do you take?"

"We cover your retreat."

"Is it certain that this man has promised us a ship?"

"Yes, yes; an hour ago, when the fog lifted, I saw her standing off the shore. And a boat to take us to her is at this moment waiting at the spot arranged."

St. Just was horrified at what he heard. Clearly there was on foot a plot to assassinate the Emperor. What could he do to circumvent it? Not knowing where to find Napoleon, he could not warn him. He was an absolute stranger in the place, too. And no time was to be lost; for, so far as he could tell, the attack might be made at any moment. Certainly it was to be to-night. His agitation became terrible, while he vainly tried to puzzle out some plan of saving Napoleon's life. He was in a trap, for his only means of getting away from where he was, was by the steps, and these men were at the top. For a certainty they would know that he had overheard their conversation, when he should show himself, and, for their own safety, would attack him, in the hope of silencing him for ever. Doubtless he could secure his own safety by remaining where he was, until they should have gone. But then, the Emperor? He had come all the way from England on what he regarded as a sacred trust from Josephine, to help the Emperor to the utmost of his power, and, come what might, this time he would not betray his trust. He was periling his life in appearing before the Emperor; by facing the conspirators above, he would be but anticipating danger. And this he made up his mind to do. He would steal noiselessly up the steps, and, the moment he gained the top, without a word, he would fall upon these men. Two circumstances were in his favor—the start they would receive when he suddenly burst upon them; and the advantages that lay in striking the first blow. Besides this, he was convinced, by what he had overheard, that they were cowards.

Silently he removed his cloak, lest it should impede his movements, and laid it on the steps. Then he examined his pistols—they were double-barreled—to see that they were duly primed. Satisfied on this point, he placed one in the right breast pocket of his coat, so that his left hand could grasp it readily; and the other in a pocket in the skirt. Next, slowly and with the utmost care, lest the clink of metal should be heard, he withdrew his sword from the scabbard. Then, step by step and bending low, he crept up the flight of stairs, pausing at each to steady himself. No Red Indian bent on falling upon his enemy in his sleep could have moved more stealthily. He could still hear the men above him talking, but their tones were lower than before, and his mind was so intent on his own movements that he caught only a word or two now and then. So far as he could judge from the different intonations, three men were talking. But he had no fear. He had many faults, but want of courage, when it came to fighting, was not one of them. Besides, in the present instance, his opponents might be accounted as only two, for he would cut down one almost before they would know that they were attacked.

On, like a tiger crouching and dragging himself slowly towards his unsuspecting prey, he glided, mounting ever higher; until, at last, he was within three steps of the top. The restraint he had placed upon himself in his efforts to make no noise, scarce even to breathe, had made him short of breath; so he paused for a moment to regain it, preparatory to the rush he meditated.

It was a minute before he could breathe easily. Then, with a dash, he was at the top of the steps and rushing at the men. There were three of them, as he had thought, and they were standing about two yards from where he had landed, all close together and talking in low tones. There was no one else in sight. They started apart, on seeing him, with an exclamation of alarm; but he was on them almost before it had left their lips. There was a cry of pain, then a groan, as St. Just's swift weapon was withdrawn, and the man nearest to him lay writhing on the ground. The other two, seeing their companion fall and realizing the imminent peril they were in, unsheathed their daggers, and, in an instant almost, had rolled their cloaks round their left arms—they were hanging over them at the time, and by a rapid whirling movement of the wearers' arms, they were coiled round—and prepared to defend their lives. They felt it would be useless to attempt to fly. St. Just saw that he had all his work to do. They dodged about him with the activity of cats, always keeping at a safe distance, but now and then making feints at advancing, and one or the other continually trying to attack him from behind. He had to keep turning round, whirling his sword about the while, with such velocity that sometimes it seemed to be multiplied by three or four. He began to be apprehensive of the result, for the men were young and agile, and seemed to be untiring. So active were they, that he feared to attempt to withdraw his pistol, lest at that moment they should take him unawares. The fight had now been going on for several minutes, and St. Just's breath was failing him. He had not bargained for so sharp a contest. He could not last much longer. Becoming desperate at this reflection, he rushed frantically, with sword uplifted, at the nearest of his assailants, regardless of himself. But luck befriended him. In his hurry to avoid the sudden onslaught, the man struck his foot against something and lost his balance. Before he could recover it, St. Just's sword had reached him and inflicted an awful gash in his neck, that brought him to the ground. At the same instant St. Just felt a sharp pain in his left arm. Aiming at his back in the hope of striking his heart, the other man had missed the spot, owing to a movement on St. Just's part, so that the blow had descended on his arm. Feeling the smart, St. Just turned quickly. His assailant was too close for him to cut or pierce him with his sword, but he raised his hand and brought the hilt down on the man's head, with all his force. The man dropped like a stone.

St. Just was laboring painfully with his efforts, and he rested on his sword to take his breath and to think things out.

"The Emperor is saved for to-night," he gasped, when he was able to speak; "but it was tough work, I was nearly done for; I could not have held out much longer."

When he had recovered himself he went down the steps to regain his cloak. He threw it over his shoulders and went up again. Then, without heeding the prostrate men, and caring little whether they were alive or dead, he set off at a brisk walk, intending to make inquiries how he was to reach the Emperor.

He had just got beyond the precincts of the harbor, when he heard a step and saw a light approaching. The man who bore it came quickly on, and, in another minute, was close to him. A lantern was held up to him, and a face peered into his.

St. Just was dumfounded; the man was his old comrade, Garraud.

"Garraud! don't you know me?" he exclaimed. "I'm St. Just."

From his action, Garraud might have seen a specter. He started so violently that he dropped the lantern. Then, "My God! St. Just, is it really you?" he said, "I thought you dead. And what brings you here?"

St. Just told him of his errand from the dead Empress, and then went on to speak about the plot he had overheard, and how he had dealt with the conspirators.

"Heavens! what a narrow escape," cried Garraud. "We must alarm the guard at once, and seek for the others. There must be more in this affair than the three you have disposed of. You seem to be continually in adventures, my friend."

They walked away together, and, ten minutes later, a dozen Polish lancers were trotting quickly down the road by which the Emperor was expected, carrying a message from St. Just, confirmed by Garraud.

Then the two reunited friends made their way to the Palace, as the tumbledown building the Emperor occupied was called, where there was as much ceremony as had been observed at the Tuileries and Fontainebleau in the olden days.

Two hours later, St. Just was summoned to the Emperor's presence, being ushered in by General Bertrand.

The apartment was poorly furnished; the contrast to Fontainebleau struck St. Just with amazement. A few gilt chairs from the Tuileries were scattered about the room, serving merely to emphasize its bareness; in the center was a long trestle table, on which was spread a large map of the island; a small writing table stood in one corner, and along the side of a wall an old chintz-covered sofa. These completed all the furniture.

The Emperor at the moment of St. Just's entrance was standing before the fire-place, pressing down the blazing logs in it with his foot, a trick of his.

He was wearing a very old uniform of the Guards, his only decoration being the cross of the Legion of Honor; his boots were dirty, and, altogether, there was a general appearance of slovenliness about him. He was even paler than when St. Just had last seen him, and he looked anxious and dissatisfied. He had grown stouter, too. He was wearing his cocked hat, but it was pushed off from his brow, and was balanced on the back of his head. But, despite the deterioration in his appearance, there was still an air of majesty, and he had not lost his commanding mien.

As it had ever been with him in Napoleon's presence, St. Just felt awed, and, when the Emperor turned round, he knelt at his feet and kissed his hand.

"Rise, Sir, rise," said the great man sharply. "We look not for the ceremonial here that was the rule in France."

St Just rose to his feet. "I have the honor, Sire," he said, with great respect, "to be the bearer of information for your private ear."

"Go, Bertrand," said the Emperor instantly, without replying to St. Just. "Leave me with this gentleman; but remain within call." Then, when the Marshal had left the room, he continued to St. Just, "Now Sir! Your message must needs be pressing when you dare to present yourself to me, after what occurred when last we met. I have not forgotten that I have an account to settle with you. Methinks your courage exceeds your judgment."

This was not an encouraging reception, and while St. Just hesitated, he went on speaking in still sharper tones, "Come Sir, explain why you are here."

He paused for St. Just's reply, and began to pace the room impatiently.

"Sire," replied St. Just, "I need no reminder of the circumstances of our last meeting, and I take this opportunity of expressing my contrition for my conduct on that occasion, and praying your forgiveness. It is in accordance with a promise then given to the Empress that I am here to-night. On the first day of the New Year I received this packet, accompanied by a letter from Her Majesty, charging me to deliver it to you. Coming as it did from a hand then cold in death, I regarded it as a sacred trust, and instantly I started to fulfill it."

He handed the packet to the Emperor, who immediately asked how it had come into his possession.

St. Just told him, and of Tremeau's letter to him and his tragic end. Also of Tremeau's breach of trust in having opened the packet and sent a copy of its contents to the English Government. Then he gave a rapid sketch of the incidents of his start from home, up to the moment of his arrival at Elba, winding up with an account of the conversation he had overheard on landing, and of his encounter with the men who were plotting to assassinate the Emperor.

Napoleon listened to him attentively, without a word. His countenance was absolutely immobile; so far as any one could judge from looking at it, St. Just's narration was no concern of his; but, all the while, he was weighing in his mind whether the speaker was to be believed. More than once he had broken his trust; he might be lying now.

"Have you anything to add?" he asked in a cold, impassive tone, when St. Just had finished speaking.

St. Just was in great pain; his wounded arm was smarting terribly; he had lost a great deal of blood, there was a curious dizziness in his head, and a strange weakness was creeping over him; he felt unequal to further conversation. But, making a strong effort, he replied, "Only this, if Your Majesty will forgive my boldness; but my loyalty to your person gives me courage. Once before, upon the eve of Wagram, I brought you State papers from the Empress, containing grave intelligence. You doubted their trustworthiness and destroyed them. I cannot but think that, had Your Majesty acted on that information, affairs would have shaped themselves for you more fortunately. And now, a second time, I bring you a despatch from her. I have not a suspicion of its contents, but, from the earnest entreaty of her letter that I should convey her packet to you with my own hand and with the utmost speed, I know they must be of the gravest moment to Your Majesty. Oh! Sire," he continued with impassioned earnestness, "if a humble person, such as I am, dare advise, I beseech you, this time to be guided by the Empress. Your interests were ever nearer to her heart than were all others. I—know—I risk—my—"

He tottered, sank into a chair, then rolled on to the floor in a swoon.

When he recovered consciousness, he found himself lying in the anteroom, and Garraud bending over him. He stared vacantly into his friend's face. "What has happened?" he stammered, "where am I?"

"Bravo! my friend," cried Garraud cheerfully, "you're all right now; you fainted, you know; lost a good deal of blood from your wound; over-excitement, and so on. But you must keep quiet. Don't talk, but listen; the Emperor is now closeted with his suite. You may be wanted."

"I recollect now," replied St. Just. "I was with the Emperor, and I swooned; but I am well enough now; only a trifle weak." And, with a little struggle, he raised himself and sat upright.

Soon afterwards, General Bertrand entered with a smiling face.

"If you are well enough, Mons. St. Just," he said, "the Emperor desires to see you at once."

St. Just rose slowly; his arm was in a sling; unknown to him, Napoleon's surgeon had attended to him by express command, and had bound up his wound.

In the adjoining room he found the Emperor, surrounded by his suite. When he entered, the words he heard rejoiced not less than they amazed him.

"Gentlemen," the Emperor was saying, "we leave for Paris the moment it can possibly be arranged. France calls us, and we, her sons, must obey her summons. She needs her Emperor, and she shall not need in vain. Therefore, prepare to start; but not a word of our intentions must be breathed outside these walls. You may now retire; all but Mons. St. Just, with whom I desire a word or two." He bent his head slightly in token of dismissal. All bowed low before him and then filed out; all, except St. Just, who stood awaiting Napoleon's will with inward trepidation.

But he was quickly reassured, for, the moment they were left alone, the Emperor advanced to him with a pleased expression, and held out his hand.

"Mons. St. Just," he said, "I wish to take your hand in token of forgiveness. I believe I wronged you.

"Had I, last April, received the news that you, at the risk of your life, have brought me, I should never have quitted Paris. As you have just heard me say, I am going to return; and, in consequence of the intelligence of which you have been the bearer. In token of my appreciation of your services, I hand you this. I will not say, live up to it, for I know you will."

He detached from his coat the decoration of the Legion of Honor, and handed it to St. Just.

St. Just was overwhelmed at the unexpected honor and, while he took it, was at a loss for words; but his face expressed all that was in his mind.

"But—but, Sire," at last he stammered, "this is the cross of a Commandant!"

"Quite so," replied Napoleon reassuringly; "and, to give you the status to support the dignity, I create you Count of Elba, and will see that you be endowed with a sufficient income. Now, I will not keep you longer, for you require rest. Don't stay to thank me, Count. Bertrand shall make out your patent of nobility to-morrow."

So St. Just, murmuring his thanks and protests of fidelity, but scarce knowing what he was doing, bowed low to the Emperor and withdrew.

Apparently St. Just never received his patent, for the following note forms a portion of his MS.:

"It was never done. Bertrand meant to do it, but it got put off from time to time, owing to his multifarious occupations; and on February 25th we sailed; I have never seen my titular island since, though I still have, at this time of writing, my cross. 4 June 1820."

CHAPTER IV

After Napoleon's landing in France on his escape from Elba, events moved fast. As everyone knows, his progress from the coast to Paris was a triumphal march; the people and the soldiers alike receiving him with effusion. The generals sent to effect his capture became magnetized by his presence and, instead of arresting him as a conspirator, hailed him with acclamation as their leader and enrolled themselves beneath his standard. Their soldiers followed them with the wildest enthusiasm, fresh troops successively sent forward to oppose him, taking the same course; so that, by the time he reached the capital, he was at the head of a powerful army, mostly veterans and commanded by the finest generals in the world. Thus, there was no one left to bar his progress; the opposition had melted away; such leading men as had not cast in their lot with his, had fled the country, and the King with them. The words in which Julius Cæsar used to describe his own achievements, altered thus, would even more suitably have applied to Buonaparte:—"Imperator venit, visus est, vicit."

The news of his return fell like a thunderclap on the ears of Europe, and diplomatists and generals became as busy as ants when their home has been disturbed, devising means to crush once and forever the bold usurper. But, if they were active for his downfall, he was untiring in his efforts to strengthen his position and to make preparations for the impending onslaught; for he knew how terrible would be its force, and that nothing but consummate generalship, aided by extraordinary fortune, could avail him; the Allies were resolute and agreed about hurling him from power. So, during those memorable Hundred Days, his energy never flagged, and he performed prodigies of work, inquiring into everything himself—no detail was too small for him.

Fortresses were strengthened, provisioned and armed; thousands upon thousands of France's already depleted population were drafted into the army and drilled incessantly from morn to night; the foundries were kept going night and day, casting artillery; muskets and arms of every sort were poured out by tens of thousands; stores of every description were collected, men and women were hard at work all day in turning out materials for uniforms, and others in making them up as fast as their nimble fingers could ply their needles; never before in so short a period was such a mass of war material got together. And the Emperor saw to everything.

To be sure, he was ably seconded by his generals and ministers, for the enthusiasm was prodigious. Everything was done to excite the passions of the French against the rest of Europe, and to inspire them with confidence in the Emperor's invincibility. But there were some few—the more thoughtful of them—who doubted.

Throughout this period of preparation, St. Just saw a good deal of the Emperor, who had now taken him back into his favor, and seemed to have no doubt of his fidelity. Napoleon's trust was amply justified, for, now that the ci-devant traitor was removed from his wife's influence, his former devotion to his old commander had returned in greater strength than ever, and no persuasion or temptation could have made him swerve from his allegiance. Not even Halima herself could have achieved it.

The Emperor had placed him on his staff, and raised him to the rank of a colonel, and had bestowed other marks of favor on him, pecuniary and otherwise. Also he took him into his confidence on private matters, sometimes discussing with him subjects strictly personal to himself.

The Emperor often employed him on private missions and enquiries that required tact and promptness and fidelity for their performance; and he had never reason to be dissatisfied with the result. All this was very flattering to St. Just, and nourished his devotion.

The wound he had received in Elba had healed by the time he landed in France, and, beyond an occasional twinge, his arm was as sound as ever.

One day, ten days after the return to Paris—that is to say, early in April—St. Just was summoned to a private audience with the Emperor.

"Colonel," began Napoleon, the moment St. Just entered, "I want someone I can trust implicitly to proceed to Vienna upon an errand that will make demands alike on his acuteness and his courage. I have the utmost confidence in you, and should prefer you as my messenger to any one else. I know you have had much experience of continental travel."

He looked at St. Just with a knowing smile that showed he knew a good deal more of his movements at Halima's instance than had been suspected by the other. St. Just reddened slightly, but remained silent, waiting for further information.

"If you agree to go," the Emperor went on—St. Just was about to say impetuously that, of course, he would go, when Napoleon held up his hand to check him. "Stay," he said, "wait till I have finished. The man who undertakes this mission for me will run great risk; if he fail, I may be powerless to assist him. They may shoot him as a spy; or they may imprison him. Now, are you prepared to take the risk? I issue no command, for I might be sending you to your death. It is not the Emperor who orders, but the friend who asks."

Now, in putting the matter in the way he did, the Emperor showed much astuteness. Had he merely issued his order for St. Just to go, the aide-de-camp would, of course, have started without demur; but he would have gone unwillingly, for he liked Paris; the bustle and activity going on, and in which he bore a prominent part, had great attractions for him, and he was anxiously looking forward to the moment when, their preparations completed, the French army should, with Napoleon at its head, meet its enemies face to face. Above all, he was a soldier: the smell of powder was a sweet savor in his nostrils, the boom of cannon and the roll of musketry were as music in his ears. By going to Vienna he might lose the chance of winning distinction on the field. But, beyond all this, he would be separated from the Emperor, his intimate intercourse with whom was now his chief delight and pride.