"Yes, General, but--"

"Has the assassin appropriation run out? Have the assassins struck
for higher wages, or are you simply careless?" demanded the First
Consul. "I warn you, sir, that I wish no excuses, and I will add
that unless an attempt is made on my life before ten o'clock to-
night, you lose your place. The French people must be kept
interested in this performance, and how the deuce it is to be done
without advertising I don't know. Go, and remember that I shall be
at home to assassins on Thursdays of alternate weeks until further
notice."

"Your Consulship's wishes shall be respected," said Fouche, with a
low bow. "But I must say one word in my own behalf. You were to
have had a dynamite bomb thrown at you yesterday by one of my
employes, but the brave fellow who was to have stood between you and
death disappointed me. He failed to turn up at the appointed hour,
and so, of course, the assault didn't come off."

"Couldn't you find a substitute?" demanded Bonaparte.

"I could not," said Fouche. "There aren't many persons in Paris who
care for that kind of employment. They'd rather shovel snow."

"You are a gay stage-manager, you are!" snapped Bonaparte. "My
brother Joseph is in town, and yet you say you couldn't find a man to
be hit by a bomb. Leave me, Fouche. You give me the ennuis."

Fouche departed with Talleyrand, to whom he expressed his indignation