s and houses had been
in the vicinity of Quatre Bras or Mont Saint Jean. Bertrand struck a
tinder and lighted a tallow candle that stood forlorn on a deal table in
the centre of the room. The flickering light revealed a tiny cottage
kitchen--hastily abandoned but scrupulously clean--white-washed walls, a
red-tiled floor, the iron hearth, the painted dresser decorated with
white crockery, shiny tin pans hung in rows against the walls and two
or three rush chairs. Napoleon sat down.

"I again entreat you, Sire--" began Berthier more earnestly than before.

But the Emperor was staring straight out before him, with eyes that
apparently saw something beyond that rough white wall opposite, on which
the flickering candle-light threw such weird gargantuan shadows. The
precious minutes sped on: minutes wherein death or capture strode with
giant steps across the fields of Flanders to this lonely cottage where
the once mightiest ruler in Europe sat dreaming of what might have been.
The silence of the night was broken by the thunder of flying horses'
hoofs, by the cries of "Sauve qui peut!" and distant volleys of
artillery proclaiming from far away that Death had not finished all his
work yet.

Bertrand and Berthier stood by, with heads uncovered: silent, moody and
anxious.

Suddenly the dreamer roused himself for a moment and spoke abruptly and
with his usual peremptory impatience: "De Marmont," he said. "Has either
of you seen him?"

"Not lately, Sire," replied Colonel Bertrand, "not since five o'clock at
any rate."

"What was he doing then?"

"He was riding furiously in the direction of Nivelles. I shouted to him.
He told me that he was making for Brussels by a circuitous way."

"Ah! that is right! Well done, my brave de Marmont! Braver than your
treacherous kinsman ever was! So you saw him, did you, Bertrand? Did he
tell you that he had just come from Genappe?"

"Yes, Sire, he did," replied Bertrand moodily. "He told me that by your
orders he had sent a messenger from there to Paris with news of your
victory: and that by to-morrow morning the capital would be ringing
with enthusiasm and with cheers."

"And by the time de Marmont came back from Genappe," interposed the
Prince of Wagram with a sneer, "the plains of Waterloo were ringing with
the Grand Army's '_Sauve qui peut!_'"

"An episode, Prince, only an episode!" said Napoleon with an angry frown
of impatience. "To hear you now one would imagine that Essling ha