Chapter 8

The Last Adventure of the Brigadier

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I will tell you no more stories, my dear friends. It is said
that man is like the hare, which runs in a circle and comes back
to die at the point from which it started.

Gascony has been calling to me of late. I see the blue Garonne
winding among the vineyards and the bluer ocean toward which its
waters sweep. I see the old town also, and the bristle of masts
from the side of the long stone quay. My heart hungers for the
breath of my native air and the warm glow of my native sun.

Here in Paris are my friends, my occupations, my pleasures.
There all who have known me are in their grave. And yet the
southwest wind as it rattles on my windows seems always to be the
strong voice of the motherland calling her child back to that
bosom into which I am ready to sink. I have played my part in my
time. The time has passed. I must pass also.

Nay, dear friends, do not look sad, for what can be happier than
a life completed in honour and made beautiful with friendship and
love? And yet it is solemn also when a man approaches the end of
the long road and sees the turning which leads him into the
unknown. But the Emperor and all his Marshals have ridden round
that dark turning and passed into the beyond. My Hussars,
too--there are not fifty men who are not waiting yonder. I must
go. But on this the last night I will tell you that which is
more than a tale--it is a great historical secret. My lips have
been sealed, but I see no reason why I should not leave behind me
some account of this remarkable adventure, which must otherwise
be entirely lost, since I and only I, of all living men, have a
knowledge of the facts.

I will ask you to go back with me to the year 1821.

In that year our great Emperor had been absent from us for six
years, and only now and then from over the seas we heard some
whisper which showed that he was still alive. You cannot think
what a weight it was upon our hearts for us who loved him to
think of him in captivity eating his giant soul out upon that
lonely island. From the moment we rose until we closed our eyes
in sleep the thought was always with us, and we felt dishonoured
that he, our chief and master, should be so humiliated without
our being able to move a hand to help him. There were many who
would most willingly have laid down the remainder of their lives
to bring him a little ease, and yet all that we could do was to
sit and grumble in our cafes and stare at the map, counting up
the leagues of water which lay between us.

It seemed that he might have been in the moon for all that we
could do to help him. But that was only because we were all
soldiers and knew nothing of the sea.