POLEON

There may be, in some suited time,
Some cleaner means of carrying out such work.

ROUSTAN

Sire, you refuse? Can you support vile life
A moment on such terms? Why then, I pray,
Dispatch me with the weapon, or dismiss me.
[He holds the sword to NAPOLEON, who shakes his head.]
I live no longer under such disgrace!

[Exit ROUSTAN haughtily. NAPOLEON vents a sardonic laugh, and
throws himself on a sofa, where he by and by falls asleep. The
door is softly opened. ROUSTAN and CONSTANT peep in.]

CONSTANT

To-night would be as good a time to go as any. He will sleep there
for hours. I have my few francs safe, and I deserve them; for I have
stuck to him honourably through fourteen trying years.

ROUSTAN

How many francs have you secured?

CONSTANT

Well--more than you can count in one breath, or even two.

ROUSTAN

Where?

CONSTANT

In a hollow tree in the Forest. And as for YOUR reward, you can
easily get the keys of that cabinet, where there are more than
enough francs to equal mine. He will not have them, and you may
as well take them as strangers.

ROUSTAN

It is not money that I want, but honour. I leave, because I can
no longer stay with self-respect.

CONSTANT

And I because there is no other such valet in the temperate zone,
and it is for the good of society that I should not be wasted here.

ROUSTAN

Well, as you propose going this evening I will go with you, to lend
a symmetry to the drama of our departure. Would that I had served
a more sensitive master! He sleeps there quite indifferent to the
dishonour of remaining alive!

[NAPOLEON shows signs of waking. CONSTANT and ROUSTAN disappear.
NAPOLEON slowly sits up.]

NAPOLEON

Here the scene lingers still! Here linger I!...
Things could not have gone on as they were going;
I am amazed they kept their course so long.
But long or short they have ended now--at last!
[Footsteps are heard passing through the court without.]
Hark at them leaving me! So politic rats
Desert the ship that's doomed. By morrow-dawn
I shall not have a man to shake my bed
Or say good-morning to!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Herein behold
How heavily grinds the Will upon his brain,
His halting hand, and his unlighted eye.

SPIRIT IRONIC

A picture this for k