HOW THE BRIGADIER WAS TEMPTED BY THE DEVIL

The spring is at hand, my friends. I can see the little green
spear-heads breaking out once more upon the chestnut trees, and the cafe
tables have all been moved into the sunshine. It is more pleasant to sit
there, and yet I do not wish to tell my little stories to the whole
town. You have heard my doings as a lieutenant, as a squadron officer,
as a colonel, as the chief of a brigade. But now I suddenly become
something higher and more important. I become history.

If you have read of those closing years of the life of the Emperor which
were spent in the Island of St Helena, you will remember that, again and
again, he implored permission to send out one single letter which should
be unopened by those who held him. Many times he made this request, and
even went so far as to promise that he would provide for his own wants
and cease to be an expense to the British Government if it were granted
to him. But his guardians knew that he was a terrible man, this pale,
fat gentleman in the straw hat, and they dared not grant him what he
asked. Many have wondered who it was to whom he could have had anything
so secret to say. Some have supposed that it was to his wife, and some
that it was to his father-in-law; some that it was to the Emperor
Alexander, and some to Marshal Soult. What will you think of me, my
friends, when I tell you it was to me--to me, the Brigadier Gerard--that
the Emperor wished to write? Yes, humble as you see me, with only my 100
francs a month of half-pay between me and hunger, it is none the less
true that I was always in the Emperor's mind, and that he would have
given his left hand for five minutes' talk with me. I will tell you
tonight how this came about.

It was after the Battle of Fere-Champenoise where the conscripts in
their blouses and their sabots made such a fine stand, that we, the more
long-headed of us, began to understand that it was all over with us. Our
reserve ammunition had been taken in the battle, and we were left with
silent guns and empty caissons. Our cavalry, too, was in a deplorable
condition, and my own brigade had been destroyed in the charge at
Craonne. Then came the news that the enemy had taken Paris, that the
citizens had mounted the white cockade; and finally, most terrible of
all, that Marmont and his corps had gone over to the Bourbons. We looked
at each other and asked how many more of our generals were going to turn
agains