Scornandtheloveofdestructionwerewrittenonmostofthefacesoftheseobservers，butmanywerepale，andmanyquiveredwithangerandgrief。Inthefrontranksofthespectatorsstoodtwoyoungmen，oneoftheminsimplecivilian’scostume，theotherintheuniformofasub-lieutenant。Thefaceoftheyoungofficerwaspale，butitlightenedupwithrareenergy；andwithhisnoble，antiqueprofile，andflamingeyes，itenchantedeverylook，andfixedtheattentionofeveryonewhoobservedhim。
Asthehowling，roaringmobpassedhim，theyoungofficerturnedtohiscompanionwithanexpressionoffieryindignation。“0God，“hecried，“howisthispossible？Hasthekingnocannontodestroythiscanaille？“[Footnote：Hisownwords——SeeBeauchesne，vol。i。，p。
“Myfriend，“answeredtheyoungman，smiling，“rememberthewordsofourgreatpoetCorneille：’Thepeoplegivethekinghispurpleandtakeitbackwhentheyplease。Thebeggar，kingonlybythepeople’sgrace，simplygivesbackhispurpletothepeople。’“
“Ah!“criedtheyounglieutenant，smiling，“whatoncehasbeenreceivedshouldbefirmlyheld。I，atleast，ifIhadoncereceivedthepurplebythepeople’sgrace，wouldnotgiveitback。Butcome，letusgoon，itangersmetoseethiscanaille，uponwhichyoubestowthefinenameof’thepeople。’“Hehastilygraspedthearmofhisfriend，andturnedtoamoresolitarypartofthegardenoftheTuileries。
Thisyoungsub-lieutenant，whosawwithsuchindignationthisrevolutionaryprocessionpasshim，andwhomdestinyhadappointedonedaytobringthisrevolutiontoanend——thisyounglieutenant’snamewasNapoleonBonaparte。