e murmured, "you are in danger--"

But the Emperor turned and motioned to his staff to take refuge in
the narrow road that skirted the kiln, where men and horses would be
sheltered from the fire.

"Really, Sire, this is madness. Sire, we entreat you--"

His only answer was to repeat his gesture; probably he thought that the
appearance of a group of brilliant uniforms on that deserted road would
draw the fire of the batteries on the left bank. Entirely unattended
he rode forward into the midst of the storm of shot and shell, calmly,
unhurriedly, with his unvarying air of resigned indifference, the air
of one who goes to meet his appointed fate. Could it be that he heard
behind him the implacable voice that was urging him onward, that voice
from Paris: "March! march! die the hero's death on the piled corpses of
thy countrymen, let the whole world look on in awe-struck admiration, so
that thy son may reign!"--could that be what he heard? He rode forward,
controlling his charger to a slow walk. For the space of a hundred yards
he thus rode forward, then halted, awaiting the death he had come
there to seek. The bullets sang in concert with a music like the fierce
autumnal blast; a shell burst in front of him and covered him with
earth. He maintained his attitude of patient waiting. His steed, with
distended eyes and quivering frame, instinctively recoiled before the
grim presence who was so close at hand and yet refused to smite horse
or rider. At last the trying experience came to an end, and the Emperor,
with his stoic fatalism, understanding that his time was not yet
come, tranquilly retraced his steps, as if his only object had been to
reconnoiter the position of the German batteries.

"What courage, Sire! We beseech you, do not expose yourself further--"

But, unmindful of their solicitations, he beckoned to his staff to
follow him, not offering at present to consult their safety more than
he did his own, and turned his horse's head toward la Moncelle, quitting
the road and taking the abandoned fields of la Ripaille. A captain was
mortally wounded, two horses were killed. As he passed along the line of
the 12th corps, appearing and vanishing like a specter, the men eyed him
with curiosity, but did not cheer.

To all these events had Delaherche been witness, and now he trembled
at the thought that he, too, as soon as he should have left the brick
works, would have to run the gauntlet of those terrible projectiles. H