The glamour, the romance--what a bald dead thing is life without it! His own face had clouded over as if that old life had perhaps had a charm which the Emperor's crown had never given.

It may be that those nine letters written in one day at wayside inns had brought him more true joy than all the treaties by which he had torn provinces from his neighbours.
But the sentiment passed from his face, and he came back in his sudden concise fashion to my own affairs.
'Eugenie de Choiseul is the niece of the Duc de Choiseul, is she not ?' he asked.
'Yes, Sire.' 'You are affianced!' 'Yes, Sire.' He shook his head impatiently.
'If you wish to advance yourself in my Court, Monsieur de Laval,' said he,' you must commit such matters to my care.

Is it likely that I can look with indifference upon a marriage between emigres--an alliance between my enemies ?' 'But she shares my opinions, Sire.' 'Ta, ta, ta, at her age one has no opinions.

She has the emigre blood in her veins, and it will come out.

Your marriage shall be my care, Monsieur de Laval.