a, madame," exclaimed Bonaparte, turning
to Madame de Montrevel, who was leaning on Josephine's arm. Then he said
to the child, kissing him: "Very good; we will take care of you. What
would you like to be?"

"Soldier first."

"What do you mean by first?"

"Why, first a soldier, then later a colonel like my brother, and then a
general like my father."

"It won't be my fault if you are not," answered the First Consul.

"Nor mine," retorted the boy.

"Edouard!" exclaimed Madame de Montrevel, timidly.

"Now don't scold him for answering properly;" and Bonaparte, lifting the
child to the level of his face, kissed him.

"You must dine with us," said he, "and to-night Bourrienne, who met you
at the hotel, will install you in the Rue de la Victoire. You must stay
there till Roland gets back; he will then find you suitable lodgings.
Edouard shall go to the Prytanee, and I will marry off your daughter."

"General!"

"That's all settled with Roland." Then, turning to Josephine, he
said: "Take Madame de Montrevel with you, and try not to let her be
bored.--And, Madame de Montrevel, if _your friend_ (he emphasized the
words) wishes to go to a milliner, prevent it; she can't want bonnets,
for she bought thirty-eight last month."

Then, giving Edouard a friendly tap, he dismissed the two women with a
wave of the hand.

CHAPTER XXXI. THE SON OF THE MILLER OF LEGUERNO

We have said that at the very moment when Morgan and his three
companions stopped the Geneva diligence between Bar-sur-Seine and
Chatillon, Roland was entering Nantes.

If we are to know the result of his mission we must not grope our way,
step by step, through the darkness in which the Abbe Bernier wrapped
his ambitious projects, but we must join him later at the village of
Muzillac, between Ambon and Guernic, six miles above the little bay into
which the Vilaine River falls.

There we find ourselves in the heart of the Morbihan; that is to say, in
the region that gave birth to the Chouannerie. It was close to Laval, on
the little farm of the Poiriers, that the four Chouan brothers were
born to Pierre Cottereau and Jeanne Moyne. One of their ancestors, a
misanthropical woodcutter, a morose peasant, kept himself aloof from the
other peasants as the _chat-huant_ (screech-owl) keeps aloof from the
other birds; hence the name Chouan, a corruption of _chat-huant_.

The name became that of a party. On the right bank of the Loire they
said Chouans whe