"I never think," retorted Fouche.

"That's evident," said Napoleon. "Is the arch-treasurer of my empire
up yet? The Empress is going shopping, and wants an appropriation."

"He is, Your Majesty," said Fouche, looking at his memorandum-book.
"He rose at 7:30, dressed as usual, parted his hair on the left-hand
side, and breakfasted at eight. At 8:15 he read the Moniteur, and
sneezed twice while perusing the second column of the fourth page--"

"What is the meaning of these petty details?" cried the Emperor,
impatiently.

"I merely wished to show Your Majesty that as the Sherlock Holmes of
this administration I am doing my duty. There isn't a man in France
who is not being shadowed in your behalf," returned the minister of
police.

The Emperor looked out of the window; then, turning to Fouche, he
said, the stern, impatient look fading into softness, "Pardon my
irritability, Fouche. You are a genius, and I appreciate you, though
I may not always show it. I didn't sleep well last night, and in
consequence I am not unduly amiable this morning."

"Your Majesty is not ill, I trust?" said Fouche, with a show of
anxiety.

"No," replied the Emperor. "The fact is, old man, I--ah--I forgot to
take the crown off when I went to bed."