ot who may hear it. Necessity may make me meet an adversary in
single combat; but as to acting the cold-blooded part of a bystander--as
to being the witness of my friend's crime, or his own death--"

"Come, come; when you exchange the dolman for an alb I 'll listen to
this from you, if I can listen to it from any one. But happily, now we
have no time for more morality, for here comes the carriage."

Chatting pleasantly about the soiree and its company, we rolled along
towards our quarters, and parted with a cordial shake of the hand for
the night.

CHAPTER XI. A SALLE DE POLICE

When I entered the breakfast-room the following morning, I found
Duchesne stretched before the fire in an easy-chair, busily engaged
in reading the "Moniteur" of that day, where a long list of imperial
_ordonnances_ filled nearly three columns.

"Here have I been," said he, "conning over this catalogue of princely
favor these twenty minutes, and yet cannot discern one word of our
well-beloved cousins Captains Burke and Duchesne. And yet there seems to
be a hailstorm of promotions. Some of them have got grand duchies; some
principalities; some have the cross of the Legion; and here, by
Jove! are some endowed with wives. Now that his Majesty has taken to
christening and marrying, I suppose we shall soon see him administering
all the succors of Holy Church. Have you much interest in hearing
that Talleyrand is to be called Prince of Benevente, and Murat is now
Grand-Duke of Berg,--that Sebastiani is to be married to Mademoiselle de
Coigny, and Monsieur Decazes, _fils de_ M. Decazes, has taken some one
else to wife? Oh dear, oh dear! It's all very tiresome, and not even the
fete of Saint Napoleon--"

"Of whom?" said I, laughing.

"Saint Napoleon, _parbleu!_ It's no joking matter, I assure you. Here
is the letter of the cardinal legate to the arch-bishops and bishops
of France, commanding that the first Sunday in the August of each year
should be set apart to celebrate his saintship, with an account of the
processions to take place, and various plenary indulgences to the pious
who shall present themselves on the occasion. Fouche could tell you the
names of some people who bled freely to get rid of all this trumpery;
and, in good sooth, it's rather hard, if we could not endure Saint
Louis, to be obliged to tolerate Saint Napoleon,--saints, like Bordeaux
wine, being all the more palatable when they have age to mellow them. I
could forgive an