were stationed.

It fell to my lot to be on duty the day after, when the Duke of Wellington
and Lord Castlereagh arrived to pay their respects to the restored monarch.
I happened to be in the Salle des Marechaux when these illustrious personages
passed through that magnificent apartment. The respect paid to the
Duke of Wellington on this occasion may be easily imagined, from the
fact that a number of ladies of the highest rank, and of course partisans
of the legitimate dynasty, formed an avenue through which the hero of
Waterloo passed, exchanging with them courteous recognitions. The King
was waiting in the grand reception apartment to receive the great British
captain. The interview, I have every reason to believe, was not confined
to the courtesies of the palace.

The position of the Duke was a difficult one. In the first place, he
had to curb the vindictive vandalism of Blucher and his army, who would
have levelled the city of Paris to the ground, if they could have done
so; on the other hand, he had to practise a considerable amount of diplomacy
towards the newly-restored King. At the same time the Duke's powers
from his own Government were necessarily limited. A spirit of vindictiveness
pervaded the restored Court against Napoleon and his adherents, which
the Duke constantly endeavoured to modify. I must not forget to give
an illustration of this state of feeling. It was actually proposed
by Talleyrand, Fouche, and some important ecclesiastics of the ultra-royalist
party, to arrest and shoot the Emperor Napoleon, who was then at Rochfort:
so anxious were they to commit this criminal, inhuman, and cowardly
act, on an illustrious fallen enemy, who had made the arms of France
glorious throughout Europe, that they suggested to the Duke, who had
the command of the old wooden-armed semaphores, to employ the telegraph
to order what I should have designated by no other name than the assassination