GIUSEPPE (with cheerful conviction). Quite, excellency.

NAPOLEON. And you have no devouring devil inside you who must be
fed with action and victory--gorged with them night and day--who
makes you pay, with the sweat of your brain and body, weeks of
Herculean toil for ten minutes of enjoyment--who is at once your
slave and your tyrant, your genius and your doom--who brings you
a crown in one hand and the oar of a galley slave in the other--
who shows you all the kingdoms of the earth and offers to make
you their master on condition that you become their servant!--
have you nothing of that in you?

GIUSEPPE. Nothing of it! Oh, I assure you, excellency, MY
devouring devil is far worse than that. He offers me no crowns
and kingdoms: he expects to get everything for nothing--sausages,
omelettes, grapes, cheese, polenta, wine--three times a day,
excellency: nothing less will content him.

LIEUTENANT. Come, drop it, Giuseppe: you're making me feel hungry
again.

(Giuseppe, with an apologetic shrug, retires from the
conversation, and busies himself at the table, dusting it,
setting the map straight, and replacing Napoleon's chair, which
the lady has pushed back.)

NAPOLEON (turning to the lieutenant with sardonic ceremony). I
hope _I_ have not been making you feel ambitious.