There was a view of the very beach where he had been captured.

Two men were digging a hole in the sand at the foot of the little
redoubt. Murat watched them mechanically. When the two men had
finished, they went into a neighbouring house and soon came out, bearing
a corpse in their arms.

The king searched his memory, and indeed it seemed to him that in the
midst of that terrible scene he had seen someone fall, but who it was he
no longer remembered. The corpse was quite without covering, but by the
long black hair and youthful outlines the king recognised Campana, the
aide-decamp he had always loved best.

This scene, watched from a prison window in the twilight, this solitary
burial on the shore, in the sand, moved Murat more deeply than his own
fate. Great tears filled his eyes and fell silently down the leonine
face. At that moment General Nunziante came in and surprised him with
outstretched arms and face bathed with tears. Murat heard him enter and
turned round, and seeing the old soldier's surprise.

"Yes, general," he said, "I weep; I weep for that boy, just twenty-four,
entrusted to me by his parents, whose death I have brought about. I weep
for that vast, brilliant future which is buried in an unknown grave, in
an enemy's country, on a hostile shore. Oh, Campana! Campana! if ever
I am king again, I will raise you a royal tomb."

The general had had dinner served in an adjacent room. Murat followed
him and sat down to table, but he could not eat. The sight which he had
just witnessed had made him heartbroken, and yet without a line on his
brow that man had been through the battles of Aboukir, Eylau, and Moscow!