ed
wine.

The landlord, Giuseppe Grandi, is also no novelty. He is a swarthy,
vivacious, shrewdly cheerful, black-curled, bullet headed, grinning
little man of 40. Naturally an excellent host, he is in quite special
spirits this evening at his good fortune in having the French commander
as his guest to protect him against the license of the troops, and
actually sports a pair of gold earrings which he would otherwise have
hidden carefully under the winepress with his little equipment of
silver plate.

Napoleon, sitting facing her on the further side of the table, and
Napoleon's hat, sword and riding whip lying on the couch, she sees for
the first time. He is working hard, partly at his meal, which he has
discovered how to dispatch, by attacking all the courses
simultaneously, in ten minutes (this practice is the beginning of his
downfall), and partly at a map which he is correcting from memory,
occasionally marking the position of the forces by taking a grapeskin
from his mouth and planting it on the map with his thumb like a wafer.
He has a supply of writing materials before him mixed up in disorder
with the dishes and cruets; and his long hair gets sometimes into the
risotto gravy and sometimes into the ink.

GIUSEPPE. Will your excellency--

NAPOLEON (intent on his map, but cramming himself mechanically with his
left hand). Don't talk. I'm busy.

GIUSEPPE (with perfect goodhumor). Excellency: I obey.

NAPOLEON. Some red ink.

GIUSEPPE. Alas! excellency, there is none.

NAPOLEON (with Corsican facetiousness). Kill something and bring me its
blood.

GIUSEPPE (grinning). There is nothing but your excellency's horse, the
sentinel, the lady upstairs, and my wife.

NAPOLEON. Kill your wife.

GIUSEPPE. Willingly, your excellency; but unhappily I am not strong
enough. She would kill me.

NAPOLEON. That will do equally well.

GIUSEPPE. Your excellency does me too much honor. (Stretching his hand
toward the flask.) Perhaps some wine will answer your excellency's
purpose.

NAPOLEON (hastily protecting the flask, and becoming quite serious).
Wine! No: that would be waste. You are all the same: waste! waste!
waste! (He marks the map with gravy, using his fork as a pen.) Clear
away. (He finishes his wine; pushes back his chair; and uses his
napkin, stretching his legs and leaning back, but still frowning and
thinking.)

GIUSEPPE (clearing the table and removing the things to a tray on the
sideboard). Every ma