ame; I advise you." As I did not seem disposed to
follow this advice without some plausible reason, the First Consul added,
"You must know, then, that I learn from Caesar all that passes in your
house. You do not speak very ill of me yourself, nor does any one
venture to do so in your presence. You play your rubber and go to bed.
But no sooner are you gone than your wife, who never liked me, and most
of those who visit at your house, indulge in the most violent attacks
upon me. I receive a bulletin from Caesar Faucher every day when he
visits at your house; this is the way in which he requites you for your
kindness, and for the asylum you afforded his brother.--[Constantine
Rancher had been condemned in contumacy for the forgery of a public
document.--Bourrienne.]--But enough; you see I know all--farewell;" and
he left me.

The grave having closed over these two brothers,--[The Fauchers were twin
brothers, distinguished in the war of the Revolution, and made
brigadier-generals at the same time on the field of battle. After the
Cent Jours they refused to recognise the Bourbons, and were shot by
sentence of court-martial at Bordeaux. (Bouillet)]--I shall merely state
that they wrote me a letter the evening preceding their execution, in
which they begged me to forgive their conduct towards me. The following
is an extract from this letter:

In our dungeon we hear our sentence of death being cried in the streets.
To-morrow we shall walk to the scaffold; but we will meet death with such
calmness and courage as shall make our executioners blush. We are sixty
years old, therefore our lives will only be shortened by a brief apace.
During our lives we have shared in common, illness, grief, pleasure,
danger, and good fortune. We both entered the world on the same day, and
on the same day we shall both depart from it. As to you, sir....

I suppress what relates to myself.

The hour of the grand levee arrived just as the singular interview which
I have described terminated. I remained a short time to look at this
phantasmagoria. Duroc was there. As soon as he saw me he came up, and
taking me into the recess of a window told me that Moreau's guilt was
evident, and that he was about to be put on his trial. I made some
observations on the subject, and in particular asked whether there were
sufficient proofs of his guilt to justify his condemnation? "They should
be cautious," said I; "it is no joke to accuse the conqueror of
Hohenli