The Companions of Jehu

  CHAPTER V. ROLAND

  The return was silent and mournful; it seemed that with the hopes ofdeath Roland's gayety had disappeared.

  The catastrophe of which he had been the author played perhaps a partin his taciturnity. But let us hasten to say that in battle, and moreespecially during the last campaign against the Arabs, Roland had beentoo frequently obliged to jump his horse over the bodies of his victimsto be so deeply impressed by the death of an unknown man.

  His sadness was, due to some other cause; probably that which heconfided to Sir John. Disappointment over his own lost chance of death,rather than that other's decease, occasioned this regret.

  On their return to the Hotel du Palais-Royal, Sir John mounted to hisroom with his pistols, the sight of which might have excited somethinglike remorse in Roland's breast. Then he rejoined the young officer andreturned the three letters which had been intrusted to him.

  He found Roland leaning pensively on a table. Without saying a word theEnglishman laid the three letters before him. The young man cast hiseyes over the addresses, took the one destined for his mother, unsealedit and read it over. As he read, great tears rolled down his cheeks. SirJohn gazed wonderingly at this new phase of Roland's character. He hadthought everything possible to this many-sided nature except those tearswhich fell silently from his eyes.

  Shaking his head and paying not the least attention to Sir John'spresence, Roland murmured:

  "Poor mother! she would have wept. Perhaps it is better so. Mothers werenot made to weep for their children!"

  He tore up the letters he had written to his mother, his sister, andGeneral Bonaparte, mechanically burning the fragments with the utmostcare. Then ringing for the chambermaid, he asked:

  "When must my letters be in the post?"

  "Half-past six," replied she. "You have only a few minutes more."

  "Just wait then."

  And taking a pen he wrote:

  My DEAR GENERAL--It is as I told you; I am living and he is dead. You must admit that this seems like a wager. Devotion to death.

  Your Paladin

  ROLAND.

  Then he sealed the letter, addressed it to General Bonaparte, Rue de laVictoire, Paris, and handed it to the chambermaid, bidding her lose notime in posting it. Then only did he seem to notice Sir John, and heldout his hand to him.

  "You have just rendered me a great service, my lord," he said. "Oneof those services which bind men for all eternity. I am already yourfriend; will you do me the honor to become mine?"

  Sir John pressed the hand that Roland offered him.

  "Oh!" said he, "I thank you heartily. I should never have dared ask thishonor; but you offer it and I accept."

  Even the impassible Englishman felt his heart soften as he brushed awaythe tear that trembled on his lashes. Then looking at Roland, he said:"It is unfortunate that you are so hurried; I should have been pleasedand delighted to spend a day or two with you."

  "Where were you going, my lord, when I met you?"

  "Oh, I? Nowhere. I am travelling to get over being bored. I amunfortunately often bored."

  "So that you were going nowhere?"

  "I was going everywhere."

  "That is exactly the same thing," said the young officer, smiling."Well, will you do something for me?"

  "Oh! very willingly, if it is possible."

  "Perfectly possible; it depends only on you."

  "What is it?"

  "Had I been killed you were going to take me to my mother or throw meinto the Rhone."

  "I should have taken you to your mother and not thrown you into theRhone."

  "Well, instead of accompanying me dead, take me living. You will be allthe better received."

  "Oh!"

  "We will remain a fortnight at Bourg. It is my natal city, and one ofthe dullest towns in France; but as your compatriots are pre-eminent fororiginality, perhaps you will find amusement where others are bored. Arewe agreed?"

  "I should like nothing better," exclaimed the Englishman; "but it seemsto me that it is hardly proper on my part."

  "Oh! we are not in England, my lord, where etiquette holds absolutesway. We have no longer king nor queen. We didn't cut off that poorcreature's head whom they called Marie Antoinette to install HerMajesty, Etiquette, in her stead."

  "I should like to go," said Sir John.

  "You'll see, my mother is an excellent woman, and very distinguishedbesides. My sister was sixteen when I left; she must be eighteen now.She was pretty, and she ought to be beautiful. Then there is my brotherEdouard, a delightful youngster of twelve, who will let off fireworksbetween your legs and chatter a gibberish of English with you. At theend of the fortnight we will go to Paris together."

  "I have just come from Paris," said the Englishman.

  "But listen. You were willing to go to Egypt to see General Bonaparte.Paris is not so far from here as Cairo. I'll present you, and,introduced by me, you may rest assured that you will be well received.You were speaking of Shakespeare just now--"

  "Oh! I am always quoting him."

  "Which proves that you like comedies and dramas."

  "I do like them very much, that's true."

  "Well, then, General Bonaparte is going to produce one in his own stylewhich will not be wanting in interest, I answer for it!"

  "So that," said Sir John, still hesitating, "I may accept your offerwithout seeming intrusive?"

  "I should think so. You will delight us all, especially me."

  "Then I accept."

  "Bravo! Now, let's see, when will you start?"

  "As soon as you wish. My coach was harnessed when you threw thatunfortunate plate at Barjols' head. However, as I should never haveknown you but for that plate, I am glad you did throw it at him!"

  "Shall we start this evening?"

  "Instantly. I'll give orders for the postilion to send other horses, andonce they are here we will start."

  Roland nodded acquiescence. Sir John went out to give his orders, andreturned presently, saying they had served two cutlets and a cold fowlfor them below. Roland took his valise and went down. The Englishmanplaced his pistols in the coach box again. Both ate enough to enablethem to travel all night, and as nine o'clock was striking from theChurch of the Cordeliers they settled themselves in the carriage andquitted Avignon, where their passage left a fresh trail of blood, Rolandwith the careless indifference of his nature, Sir John Tanlay withthe impassibility of his nation. A quarter of an hour later both weresleeping, or at least the silence which obtained induced the belief thatboth had yielded to slumber.

  We shall profit by this instant of repose to give our readers someindispensable information concerning Roland and his family.

  Roland was born the first of July, 1773, four years and a few days laterthan Bonaparte, at whose side, or rather following him, he made hisappearance in this book. He was the son of M. Charles de Montrevel,colonel of a regiment long garrisoned at Martinique, where he hadmarried a creole named Clotilde de la Clemenciere. Three children wereborn of this marriage, two boys and a girl: Louis, whose acquaintance wehave made under the name of Roland, Amelie, whose beauty he had praisedto Sir John, and Edouard.

  Recalled to France in 1782, M. de Montrevel obtained admission for youngLouis de Montrevel (we shall see later how the name of Louis was changedto Roland) to the Ecole Militaire in Paris.

  It was there that Bonaparte knew the child, when, on M. de Keralio'sreport, he was judged worthy of promotion from the Ecole de Brienne tothe Ecole Militaire. Louis was the youngest pupil. Though he was onlythirteen, he had already made himself remarked for that ungovernable andquarrelsome nature of which we have seen him seventeen years later givean example at the table d'hote at Avignon.

  Bonaparte, a child himself, had the good side of this character; thatis to say, without being quarrelsome, he was firm, obstinate, andunconquerable. He recognized in the child some of his own qualities, andthis similarity of sentiments led him to pardon the boy's defects,and attached
him to him. On the other hand the child, conscious of asupporter in the Corsican, relied upon him.

  One day the child went to find his great friend, as he called Napoleon,when the latter was absorbed in the solution of a mathematical problem.He knew the importance the future artillery officer attached to thisscience, which so far had won him his greatest, or rather his onlysuccesses.

  He stood beside him without speaking or moving. The young mathematicianfelt the child's presence, and plunged deeper and deeper into hismathematical calculations, whence he emerged victorious ten minuteslater. Then he turned to his young comrade with that inward satisfactionof a man who issues victorious from any struggle, be it with science orthings material.

  The child stood erect, pale, his teeth clinched, his arms rigid and hisfists closed.

  "Oh! oh!" said young Bonaparte, "what is the matter now?"

  "Valence, the governor's nephew, struck me."

  "Ah!" said Bonaparte, laughing, "and you have come to me to strike himback?"

  The child shook his head.

  "No," said he, "I have come to you because I want to fight him--"

  "Fight Valence?"

  "Yes."

  "But Valence will beat you, child; he is four times as strong as you."

  "Therefore I don't want to fight him as children do, but like menfight."

  "Pooh!"

  "Does that surprise you?" asked the child.

  "No," said Bonaparte; "what do you want to fight with?"

  "With swords."

  "But only the sergeants have swords, and they won't lend you one."

  "Then we will do without swords."

  "But what will you fight with?"

  The child pointed to the compass with which the young mathematician hadmade his equations.

  "Oh! my child," said Bonaparte, "a compass makes a very bad wound."

  "So much the better," replied Louis; "I can kill him."

  "But suppose he kills you?"

  "I'd rather that than bear his blow."

  Bonaparte made no further objections; he loved courage, instinctively,and his young comrade's pleased him.

  "Well, so be it!" he replied; "I will tell Valence that you wish tofight him, but not till to-morrow."

  "Why to-morrow?"

  "You will have the night to reflect."

  "And from now till to-morrow," replied the child, "Valence will think mea coward." Then shaking his head, "It is too long till to-morrow." Andhe walked away.

  "Where are you going?" Bonaparte asked him.

  "To ask some one else to be my friend."

  "So I am no longer your friend?"

  "No, since you think I am a coward."

  "Very well," said the young man rising.

  "You will go?"

  "I am going."

  "At once?"

  "At once."

  "Ah!" exclaimed the child, "I beg your pardon; you are indeed myfriend." And he fell upon his neck weeping. They were the first tears hehad shed since he had received the blow.

  Bonaparte went in search of Valence and gravely explained his mission tohim. Valence was a tall lad of seventeen, having already, like certainprecocious natures, a beard and mustache; he appeared at least twenty.He was, moreover, a head taller than the boy he had insulted.

  Valence replied that Louis had pulled his queue as if it were abell-cord (queues were then in vogue)--that he had warned him twice todesist, but that Louis had repeated the prank the third time, whereupon,considering him a mischievous youngster, he had treated him as such.

  Valence's answer was reported to Louis, who retorted that pulling acomrade's queue was only teasing him, whereas a blow was an insult.Obstinacy endowed this child of thirteen with the logic of a man ofthirty.

  The modern Popilius to Valence returned with his declaration of war. Theyouth was greatly embarrassed; he could not fight with a child withoutbeing ridiculous. If he fought and wounded him, it would be a horriblething; if he himself were wounded, he would never get over it so long ashe lived.

  But Louis's unyielding obstinacy made the matter a serious one. Acouncil of the Grands (elder scholars) was called, as was usual inserious cases. The Grands decided that one of their number could notfight a child; but since this child persisted in considering himselfa young man, Valence must tell him before all his schoolmates that heregretted having treated him as a child, and would henceforth regard himas a young man.

  Louis, who was waiting in his friend's room, was sent for. He wasintroduced into the conclave assembled in the playground of the youngerpupils.

  There Valence, to whom his comrades had dictated a speech carefullydebated among themselves to safeguard the honor of the Grands toward thePetits, assured Louis that he deeply deplored the occurrence; thathe had treated him according to his age and not according to hisintelligence and courage, and begged him to excuse his impatience and toshake hands in sign that all was forgotten.

  But Louis shook his head.

  "I heard my father, who is a colonel, say once," he replied, "that hewho receives a blow and does not fight is a coward. The first time I seemy father I shall ask him if he who strikes the blow and then apologizesto avoid fighting is not more of a coward than he who received it."

  The young fellows looked at each other. Still the general opinion wasagainst a duel which would resemble murder, and all, Bonaparte included,were unanimously agreed that the child must be satisfied with whatValence had said, for it represented their common opinion. Louisretired, pale with anger, and sulked with his great friend, who, saidhe, with imperturbable gravity, had sacrificed his honor.

  The morrow, while the Grands were receiving their lesson in mathematics,Louis slipped into the recitation-room, and while Valence was making ademonstration on the blackboard, he approached him unperceived, climbedon a stool to reach his face, and returned the slap he had received thepreceding day.

  "There," said he, "now we are quits, and I have your apologies to boot;as for me, I shan't make any, you may be quite sure of that."

  The scandal was great. The act occurring in the professor's presence,he was obliged to report it to the governor of the school, the MarquisTiburce Valence. The latter, knowing nothing of the events leading upto the blow his nephew had received, sent for the delinquent and aftera terrible lecture informed him that he was no longer a member of theschool, and must be ready to return to his mother at Bourg that veryday. Louis replied that his things would be packed in ten minutes, andhe out of the school in fifteen. Of the blow he himself had received hesaid not a word.

  The reply seemed more than disrespectful to the Marquis Tiburce Valence.He was much inclined to send the insolent boy to the dungeon for a week,but reflected that he could not confine him and expel him at the sametime.

  The child was placed in charge of an attendant, who was not to leave himuntil he had put him in the coach for Macon; Madame de Montrevel was tobe notified to meet him at the end of the journey.

  Bonaparte meeting the boy, followed by his keeper, asked an explanationof the sort of constabulary guard attached to him.

  "I'd tell you if you were still my friend," replied the child; "but youare not. Why do you bother about what happens to me, whether good orbad?"

  Bonaparte made a sign to the attendant, who came to the door while Louiswas packing his little trunk. He learned then that the child had beenexpelled. The step was serious; it would distress the entire family, andperhaps ruin his young comrade's future.

  With that rapidity of decision which was one of the distinctivecharacteristics of his organization, he resolved to ask an audienceof the governor, meantime requesting the keeper not to hasten Louis'sdeparture.

  Bonaparte was an excellent pupil, beloved in the school, and highlyesteemed by the Marquis Tiburce Valence. His request was immediatelycomplied with. Ushered into the governor's presence, he relatedeverything, and, without blaming Valence in the least, he sought toexculpate Louis.

  "Are you sure of what you are telling me, sir?" asked the governor
.

  "Question your nephew himself. I will abide by what he says."

  Valence was sent for. He had already heard of Louis's expulsion, andwas on his way to tell his uncle what had happened. His account talliedperfectly with what you Bonaparte had said.

  "Very well," said the governor, "Louis shall not go, but you will. Youare old enough to leave school." Then ringing, "Bring me the list of thevacant sub-lieutenancies," he said.

  That same day an urgent request for a sub-lieutenancy was made to theMinistry, and that same night Valence left to join his regiment. He wentto bid Louis farewell, embracing him half willingly, half unwillingly,while Bonaparte held his hand. The child received the embracereluctantly.

  "It's all right now," said he, "but if ever we meet with swords by oursides--" A threatening gesture ended the sentence.

  Valence left. Bonaparte received his own appointment as sub-lieutenantOctober 10, 1785. His was one of fifty-eight commissions which LouisXVI. signed for the Ecole Militaire. Eleven years later, November 15,1796, Bonaparte, commander-in-chief of the army of Italy, at the Bridgeof Arcola, which was defended by two regiments of Croats and two piecesof cannon, seeing his ranks disseminated by grapeshot and musket balls,feeling that victory was slipping through his fingers, alarmed by thehesitation of his bravest followers, wrenched the tri-color from therigid fingers of a dead color-bearer, and dashed toward the bridge,shouting: "Soldiers! are you no longer the men of Lodi?" As he did so hesaw a young lieutenant spring past him who covered him with his body.

  This was far from what Bonaparte wanted. He wished to cross first. Hadit been possible he would have gone alone.

  Seizing the young man by the flap of his coat, he drew him back,saying: "Citizen, you are only a lieutenant, I a commander-in-chief! Theprecedence belongs to me."

  "Too true," replied the other; and he followed Bonaparte instead ofpreceding him.

  That evening, learning that two Austrian divisions had been cut topieces, and seeing the two thousand prisoners he had taken, togetherwith the captured cannons and flags, Bonaparte recalled the young manwho had sprung in front of him when death alone seemed before him.

  "Berthier," said he, "tell my aide-de-camp, Valence, to find that younglieutenant of grenadiers with whom I had a controversy this morning atthe Bridge of Arcola."

  "General," stammered Berthier, "Valence is wounded."

  "Ah! I remember I have not seen him to-day. Wounded? Where? How? On thebattlefield?"

  "No, general," said he, "he was dragged into a quarrel yesterday, andreceived a sword thrust through his body."

  Bonaparte frowned. "And yet they know very well I do not approve ofduels; a soldier's blood belongs not to himself, but to France. GiveMuiron the order then."

  "He is killed, general."

  "To Elliot, in that case."

  "Killed also."

  Bonaparte drew his handkerchief from his pocket and passed it over hisbrow, which was bathed with sweat.

  "To whom you will, then; but I want to see that lieutenant."

  He dared not name any others, fearing to hear again that fatal "Killed!"

  A quarter of an hour later the young lieutenant was ushered into histent, which was lighted faintly by a single lamp.

  "Come nearer, lieutenant," said Bonaparte.

  The young man made three steps and came within the circle of light.

  "So you are the man who wished to cross the bridge before me?" continuedBonaparte.

  "It was done on a wager, general," gayly answered the young lieutenant,whose voice made the general start.

  "Did I make you lose it?"

  "Maybe, yes; maybe, no."

  "What was the wager?"

  "That I should be promoted captain to-day."

  "You have won it."

  "Thank you, general."

  The young man moved hastily forward as if to press Bonaparte's hand,but checked himself almost immediately. The light had fallen full on hisface for an instant; that instant sufficed to make the general noticethe face as he had the voice. Neither the one nor the other wasunknown to him. He searched his memory for an instant, but finding itrebellious, said: "I know you!"

  "Possibly, general."

  "I am certain; only I cannot recall your name."

  "You managed that yours should not be forgotten, general."

  "Who are you?"

  "Ask Valence, general."

  Bonaparte gave a cry of joy.

  "Louis de Montrevel," he exclaimed, opening wide his arms. This time theyoung lieutenant did not hesitate to fling himself into them.

  "Very good," said Bonaparte; "you will serve eight days with theregiment in your new rank, that they may accustom themselves to yourcaptain's epaulets, and then you will take my poor Muiron's place asaide-de-camp. Go!"

  "Once more!" cried the young man, opening his arms.

  "Faith, yes!" said Bonaparte, joyfully. Then holding him close afterkissing him twice, "And so it was you who gave Valence that swordthrust?"

  "My word!" said the new captain and future aide-de-camp, "you were therewhen I promised it to him. A soldier keeps his word."

  Eight days later Captain Montrevel was doing duty as staff-officerto the commander-in-chief, who changed his name of Louis, then inill-repute, to that of Roland. And the young man consoled himselffor ceasing to be a descendant of St. Louis by becoming the nephew ofCharlemagne.

  Roland--no one would have dared to call Captain Montrevel Louis afterBonaparte had baptized him Roland--made the campaign of Italy with hisgeneral, and returned with him to Paris after the peace of Campo Formio.

  When the Egyptian expedition was decided upon, Roland, who had beensummoned to his mother's side by the death of the Brigadier-General deMontrevel, killed on the Rhine while his son was fighting on the Adigeand the Mincio, was among the first appointed by the commander-in-chiefto accompany him in the useless but poetical crusade which he wasplanning. He left his mother, his sister Amelie, and his young brotherEdouard at Bourg, General de Montrevel's native town. They residedsome three-quarters of a mile out of the city, at Noires-Fontaines,a charming house, called a chateau, which, together with the farm andseveral hundred acres of land surrounding it, yielded an income of sixor eight thousand livres a year, and constituted the general's entirefortune. Roland's departure on this adventurous expedition deeplyafflicted the poor widow. The death of the father seemed to presage thatof the son, and Madame de Montrevel, a sweet, gentle Creole, was farfrom possessing the stern virtues of a Spartan or Lacedemonian mother.

  Bonaparte, who loved his old comrade of the Ecole Militaire with all hisheart, granted him permission to rejoin him at the very last momentat Toulon. But the fear of arriving too late prevented Roland fromprofiting by this permission to its full extent. He left his mother,promising her--a promise he was careful not to keep--that he wouldnot expose himself unnecessarily, and arrived at Marseilles eight daysbefore the fleet set sail.

  Our intention is no more to give the history of the campaign ofEgypt than we did that of Italy. We shall only mention that whichis absolutely necessary to understand this story and the subsequentdevelopment of Roland's character. The 19th of May, 1798, Bonaparte andhis entire staff set sail for the Orient; the 15th of June the Knightsof Malta gave up the keys of their citadel. The 2d of July the armydisembarked at Marabout, and the same day took Alexandria; the 25th,Bonaparte entered Cairo, after defeating the Mamelukes at Chebreiss andthe Pyramids.

  During this succession of marches and battles, Roland had been theofficer we know him, gay, courageous and witty, defying the scorchingheat of the day, the icy dew of the nights, dashing like a hero or afool among the Turkish sabres or the Bedouin bullets. During the fortydays of the voyage he had never left the interpreter Ventura; so thatwith his admirable facility he had learned, if not to speak Arabicfluently, at least to make himself understood in that language.Therefore it often happened that, when the general did not wish to usethe native interpreter, Roland was charged with certain communicationsto t
he Muftis, the Ulemas, and the Sheiks.

  During the night of October 20th and 21st Cairo revolted. At five in themorning the death of General Dupey, killed by a lance, was made known.At eight, just as the revolt was supposedly quelled, an aide-de-camp ofthe dead general rode up, announcing that the Bedouins from the plainswere attacking Bab-el-Nasr, or the Gate of Victory.

  Bonaparte was breakfasting with his aide-de-camp Sulkowsky, so severelywounded at Salahieh that he left his pallet of suffering with thegreatest difficulty only. Bonaparte, in his preoccupation forgetting theyoung Pole's condition, said to him: "Sulkowsky, take fifteen Guides andgo see what that rabble wants."

  Sulkowsky rose.

  "General," interposed Roland, "give me the commission. Don't you see mycomrade can hardly stand?"

  "True," said Bonaparte; "do you go!"

  Roland went out and took the fifteen Guides and started. But the orderhad been given to Sulkowsky, and Sulkowsky was determined to execute it.He set forth with five or six men whom he found ready.

  Whether by chance, or because he knew the streets of Cairo better thanRoland, he reached the Gate of Victory a few seconds before him. WhenRoland arrived, he saw five or six dead men, and an officer being ledaway by the Arabs, who, while massacring the soldiers mercilessly, willsometimes spare the officers in hope of a ransom. Roland recognizedSulkowsky; pointing him out with his sabre to his fifteen men, hecharged at a gallop.

  Half an hour later, a Guide, returning alone to head-quarters, announcedthe deaths of Sulkowsky, Roland and his twenty-one companions.

  Bonaparte, as we have said, loved Roland as a brother, as a son, as heloved Eugene. He wished to know all the details of the catastrophe, andquestioned the Guide. The man had seen an Arab cut off Sulkowsky'shead and fasten it to his saddle-bow. As for Roland, his horse hadbeen killed. He had disengaged himself from the stirrups and was seenfighting for a moment on foot; but he had soon disappeared in a generalvolley at close quarters.

  Bonaparte sighed, shed a tear and murmured: "Another!" and apparentlythought no more about it. But he did inquire to what tribe belongedthese Bedouins, who had just killed two of the men he loved best. He wastold that they were an independent tribe whose village was situated somethirty miles off. Bonaparte left them a month, that they might becomeconvinced of their impunity; then, the month elapsed, he ordered one ofhis aides-de-camp, named Crosier, to surround the village, destroythe huts, behead the men, put them in sacks, and bring the rest of thepopulation, that is to say, the women and children, to Cairo.

  Crosier executed the order punctually; all the women and children whocould be captured were brought to Cairo, and also with them one livingArab, gagged and bound to his horse's back.

  "Why is this man still alive?" asked Bonaparte. "I ordered you to beheadevery man who was able to bear arms."

  "General," said Crosier, who also possessed a smattering of Arabianwords, "just as I was about to order his head cut off, I understood himto offer to exchange a prisoner for his life. I thought there would betime enough to cut off his head, and so brought him with me. If I ammistaken, the ceremony can take place here as well as there; what ispostponed is not abandoned."

  The interpreter Ventura was summoned to question the Bedouin. He repliedthat he had saved the life of a French officer who had been grievouslywounded at the Gate of Victory, and that this officer, who spoke alittle Arabic, claimed to be one of General Bonaparte's aides-de-camp.He had sent him to his brother who was a physician in a neighboringtribe, of which this officer was a captive; and if they would promiseto spare his life, he would write to his brother to send the prisoner toCairo.

  Perhaps this was a tale invented to gain time, but it might also betrue; nothing was lost by waiting.

  The Arab was placed in safe keeping, a scribe was brought to write athis dictation. He sealed the letter with his own seal, and an Arabfrom Cairo was despatched to negotiate the exchange. If the emissarysucceeded, it meant the Bedouin's life and five hundred piastres to themessenger.

  Three days later he returned bringing Roland. Bonaparte had hoped forbut had not dared to expect this return.

  This heart of iron, which had seemed insensible to grief, was now meltedwith joy. He opened his arms to Roland, as on the day when he had foundhim, and two tears, two pearls--the tears of Bonaparte were rare--fellfrom his eyes.

  But Roland, strange as it may seem, was sombre in the midst of the joycaused by his return. He confirmed the Arab's tale, insisted upon hisliberation, but refused all personal details about his capture by theBedouins and the treatment he had received at the hands of the doctor.As for Sulkowsky, he had been killed and beheaded before his eyes, so itwas useless to think more of him. Roland resumed his duties, but it wasnoticeable his native courage had become temerity, and his longing forglory, desire for death.

  On the other hand, as often happens with those who brave fire and sword,fire and sword miraculously spared him. Before, behind and around Rolandmen fell; he remained erect, invulnerable as the demon of war. Duringthe campaign in Syria two emissaries were sent to demand the surrenderof Saint Jean d'Acre of Djezzar Pasha. Neither of the two returned; theyhad been beheaded. It was necessary to send a third. Roland appliedfor the duty, and so insistent was he, that he eventually obtained thegeneral's permission and returned in safety. He took part in each of thenineteen assaults made upon the fortress; at each assault he was seenentering the breach. He was one of the ten men who forced their way intothe Accursed Tower; nine remained, but he returned without a scratch.During the retreat, Bonaparte commanded his cavalry to lend their horsesto the wounded and sick. All endeavored to avoid the contagion of thepest-ridden sick. To them Roland gave his horse from preference. Threefell dead from the saddle; he mounted his horse after them, and reachedCairo safe and sound. At Aboukir he flung himself into the melee,reached the Pasha by forcing his way through the guard of blacks whosurrounded him; seized him by the beard and received the fire of his twopistols. One burned the wadding only, the other ball passed under hisarm, killing a guard behind him.

  When Bonaparte resolved to return to France, Roland was the first towhom the general announced his intention. Another had been overjoyed;but he remained sombre and melancholy, saying: "I should prefer toremain here, general. There is more chance of my being killed here."

  But as it would have appeared ungrateful on his part to refuse to followthe general, he returned with him. During the voyage he remained sadand impenetrable, until the English fleet was sighted near Corsica.Then only did he regain his wonted animation. Bonaparte told AdmiralGantheaume that he would fight to the death, and gave orders to sinkthe frigate sooner than haul down the flag. He passed, however, unseenthrough the British fleet, and disembarked at Frejus, October 8, 1799.

  All were impatient to be the first to set foot on French soil. Rolandwas the last. Although the general paid no apparent attention to thesedetails, none escaped him. He sent Eugene, Berthier, Bourrienne, hisaides-de-camp and his suite by way of Gap and Draguignan, while he tookthe road to Aix strictly incognito, accompanied only by Roland, to judgefor himself of the state of the Midi. Hoping that the joy of seeing hisfamily again would revive the love of life in his heart crushed by itshidden sorrow, he informed Roland at Aix that they would part at Lyons,and gave him three weeks' furlough to visit his mother and sister.

  Roland replied: "Thank you, general. My sister and my mother will bevery happy to see me." Whereas formerly his words would have been:"Thank you, general. I shall be very happy to see my mother and sisteragain."

  We know what occurred at Avignon; we have seen with what profoundcontempt for danger, bitter disgust of life, Roland had provokedthat terrible duel. We heard the reason he gave Sir John for thisindifference to death. Was it true or false? Sir John at all eventswas obliged to content himself with it, since Roland was evidently notdisposed to furnish any other.

  And now, as we have said, they were sleeping or pretending to sleep asthey were drawn by two horses at full speed along the ro
ad of Avignon toOrange.