III.--ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY.
Shall I tell you, my dear, that when Francois woke me at a very
early hour on this eventful morning, while the keen stars were still
glittering overhead, a half-moon, as sharp as a razor, beaming in the
frosty sky, and a wicked north wind blowing, that blew the blood out of
one's fingers and froze your leg as you put it out of bed;--shall I tell
you, my dear, that when Francois called me, and said, "V'la vot' cafe,
Monsieur Titemasse, buvez-le, tiens, il est tout chaud," I felt myself,
after imbibing the hot breakfast, so comfortable under three blankets
and a mackintosh, that for at least a quarter of an hour no man in
Europe could say whether Titmarsh would or would not be present at the
burial of the Emperor Napoleon.
Besides, my dear, the cold, there was another reason for doubting.
Did the French nation, or did they not, intend to offer up some of us
English over the imperial grave? And were the games to be concluded by
a massacre? It was said in the newspapers that Lord Granville had
despatched circulars to all the English resident in Paris, begging them
to keep their homes.
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