Then I got away from him.

It was gratifying but inexpedient to be an Englishman at that moment, and John Turner, whose clothes were made in Paris, silently denied me and edged away.

Others seemed desirous of burying Waterloo also, but I managed the obsequies of that great victory with a shake of the hand.
"Vive l'Empereur!" they cried.

"Long live Napoleon!" And I shouted as loud as any.

Whatever one may think, it is always wise to agree with the mob.
On the steps of the church I found John Turner awaiting me.
"Finished embracing your new-found friend ?" he asked me, with a shortness which may have been a matter of breath.