Napoleon's Exile Read Online Free Page A

Blacé anxiously.
    â€˜You’ve told me what I wanted to know. I’m going to show you something in return. What do you see, at the bottom of the hill?’
    â€˜Without a lantern?’
    â€˜Without a lantern.’
    â€˜Nothing at all.’
    â€˜No, take a closer look. Lean over.’
    Intrigued, the chevalier obeyed. Octave took his cane in both hands, lifted it quickly, and then brought it crashing down on the back of his companion’s neck. Blacé crumpled against the embankment, his nose in the soil. Octave rolled the body down to the water with the heel of his boot, and tipped it in with his cane. The corpse floated on the surface and was carried away by the current, swifter in this part of the river, between the Île Saint-Louis and the Île Louvier. When the body had disappeared into the night, Octave went back home to bed.
    *
    The drums had beaten the call to arms all night and in all parts of the city. From dawn, the sound of cannon and heavy gunfire could be heard from behind the hills of Belleville, Montmartre and the Butte Chaumont, which could be seen from the upper floors of the Sémallé townhouse. The sky was dark and leaden. Nervous and corseted, the young Countess de Sémallé left the window and let her maid buckle a curious belt around her waist. At that moment the Count slipped into the room. The
Countess glimpsed him in the mirror above the fireplace and uttered a little cry.
    â€˜Jean-René, you’ll give us away if you come here!’
    â€˜It’s my house.’
    â€˜The police are keeping watch on the house, you know that, they’ll have recognized you, they’ll put you under arrest!’
    â€˜Have no fear, my dear Zoe, events are keeping them far too busy, and their masters are already confused about who they’re supposed to be serving. The cannon has its charms, you see - but tell me, what’s the purpose of that padded belt, which puts pounds on you?’
    â€˜I’d rather keep my diamonds with me if we have to flee.’ The Countess pointed at her maid. ‘Louise is wearing a belt of the same model, with my jewels and my pearls.’
    â€˜The allies are our allies.’
    â€˜And what about the hairy Cossacks who are just dying to pillage us?’
    â€˜The moment I leave, our valets will take the forage cart that I ordered yesterday and push it against the gate.’
    â€˜Will that stop the barbarians?’
    â€˜Pillagers, my dear Zoé, I know from experience, give up at the first obstacle they encounter, and go off to pillage somewhere else. In Paris, they have plenty of choice.’
    â€˜Where will you be?’
    The Count kissed the hand that the Countess held out to him.
    â€˜We’re going to keep a close eye on the situation before we do anything.’
    â€˜You will be careful!’
    â€˜Don’t fret so, we’re finally going to defeat the lackeys of the Empire.’
    â€˜May God help you!’ said the Countess, crossing herself.
    â€˜God and the mandate of the Count of Artois.’
    Sémallé turned on his heels, put on his big black hat and went out to meet his friend La Grange in the courtyard. They took two horses from the stable and, once mounted, set off slowly down the boulevard de la Madeleine, picking their way through an anxious and various crowd gathered beneath the lime trees. At the barrier of the Faubourg Montmartre the Parisians were preparing their defences, such as they were:
chevaux-de-frise
that had been rolled out during the night on the roads and alleyways. There were no fortifications, just a dismantled tollgate, a cannon with no gunners, and palisades manned by university students in new clothes and workers in overalls armed with sticks and carving knives. National Guardsmen were turning up as reinforcements, loaves and fat brioches impaled on their bayonets. Many of them carried picks with tricolour banners for want of muskets. They wore a