Napoleon, sitting facing her on the further side of the table,
and Napoleon's hat, sword and riding whip lying on the couch, she
sees for the first time. He is working hard, partly at his meal,
which he has discovered how to dispatch, by attacking all the
courses simultaneously, in ten minutes (this practice is the
beginning of his downfall), and partly at a map which he is
correcting from memory, occasionally marking the position of the
forces by taking a grapeskin from his mouth and planting it on
the map with his thumb like a wafer. He has a supply of writing
materials before him mixed up in disorder with the dishes and
cruets; and his long hair gets sometimes into the risotto gravy
and sometimes into the ink.
GIUSEPPE. Will your excellency--
NAPOLEON (intent on his map, but cramming himself mechanically
with his left hand). Don't talk. I'm busy.
GIUSEPPE (with perfect goodhumor). Excellency: I obey.
NAPOLEON. Some red ink.
GIUSEPPE. Alas! excellency, there is none.
NAPOLEON (with Corsican facetiousness). Kill something and bring
me its blood.
GIUSEPPE (grinning).
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