Some day also I may tell how I
came back into my rightful inheritance of Grosbois, which is still
darkened to me by the thought of that terrible uncle of mine, and of
what happened that night when Toussac stood at bay in the library.
But enough of me and of my small fortunes. You have already heard more
of them, perhaps, than you care for.
As to the Emperor, some faint shadow of whom I have tried in these pages
to raise before you, you have heard from history how, despairing of
gaining command of the Channel, and fearing to attempt an invasion which
might be cut off from behind, he abandoned the camp of Boulogne.
You have heard also how, with this very army which was meant for
England, he struck down Austria and Russia in one year, and Prussia in
the next. From the day that I entered his service until that on which
he sailed forth over the Atlantic, never to return, I have faithfully
shared his fortunes, rising with his star and sinking with it also.
And yet, as I look back at my old master, I find it very difficult to
say if he was a very good man or a very bad one.
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