“He did. And so did I. My father survived the Retreat from Moscow. And when the emperor returned for his great final battle and called upon all France to rise to his aid, my father went, and I went with him, though I was hardly older than you. My mother didn’t wish it. She was afraid to lose me. But my father said, ‘Better my son should die than fail to fight for the honor of France.’ So I marched with my father. It was the proudest day of my life.”

“And you did not die.”

“No. It was my father who gave his life. At Waterloo, the emperor’s final battle. I was at his side.” The old man paused. “Ever since, on my father’s birthday, I have saluted him, and the emperor, and the honor of France. That’s seventy-two years. And for the last twenty-six years, since this tomb has been here, I have come to Les Invalides to pay my respects.”

Napoléon might have died in exile on the island of Saint Helena, but his legend had lived on. To his enemies, he remained an upstart and a tyrant. But to many of Europe’s peoples, oppressed under their rigid old monarchies, he remained the republican liberator, the hero of the common man. And to many in France, as well.

Even King Louis Philippe, to make himself more popular, had felt obliged to bring the emperor’s body home to Paris; and now, with a magnificence unmatched by any French king, his ashes rested in this mighty mausoleum in the heart of France.

Whatever he thought of the sacrilegious emperor, Roland had to admire the dignity and the nobility of this old soldier, who must be nearly ninety, yet who stood so tall and straight.

The blue eyes under the bushy eyebrows surveyed Roland carefully.

“And who might you be, young monsieur?” he asked.

“My name is Roland de Cygne, monsieur,” Roland answered.

“A noble. Well, there were nobles who served the emperor, too. Promotion was on merit, whoever you were.” He nodded. “Our country was respected then. Not like now. To think that I should have lived to see the humiliation of Paris and Alsace-Lorraine given to the Germans.”

“Our history master says that we must avenge the dishonor of 1870,” Roland told him. Hardly a week went by without the class getting a lecture on the subject. It was a lesson given in schools all over France. “He says we must recover Alsace-Lorraine.”

The old man looked at him, perhaps privately measuring whether this new generation was up to the task.

“The honor of France is in your hands now,” he said finally, and glanced toward the doorway to indicate that the interview was over now.

Hardly knowing that he was doing so, Roland stood at attention as the old man walked stiffly away. And he waited a little time after he was gone before heading out himself.