destiny and her future
trembled in the hands of God.

"Ah, de Marmont saw it all . . . at once . . ." continued the Emperor
earnestly, "he saw eye to eye with me. He knows that money--a great deal
of money--is just what I want now . . . money to reorganise my army, to
re-equip and reform it. The Chamber and my Ministers will never give me
what I want. . . . My God! they are such cowards! and some of them would
rather see the foreign troops again in Paris than Napoleon Emperor at
the Tuileries. You should know that, Marechal, and you, too, my good
Bertrand. De Marmont knows it . . . that is why he rode to Brussels at
the hour when I alone knew that all was lost at Waterloo, but when half
Europe still thought that the Corsican ogre had conquered again. . . .
De Marmont is in Brussels now . . . to-night he crosses over to
England--to-morrow morning he and his broker will be in the Stock
Exchange in London--calm, silent, watchful. An operation on the Bourse,
what? like hundreds that have been done before . . . but in this case
the object will be to turn one million into fifty so that with it I
might rebuild my Empire again."

He spoke with absolute conviction, and with indomitable fervour, sitting
here quietly, he--the architect of the mightiest empire of modern
days--just as he used to do in the camps at Austerlitz and Jena and
Wagram and Friedland--with one clenched hand resting upon the rough deal
table, the flickering light of the tallow candle illuminating the wide
brow, the heavy jaw, those piercing eyes that still gazed--in this hour
of supreme catastrophe--into a glorious future destined never to
be--scheming, planning, scheming still, even while his Grand Army was
melting into nothingness all around him, and distant volleys of musketry
were busy consummating the final annihilation of the Empire which he had
created and still hoped to rebuild.

Berthier gave a quick sign of impatience.

Rebuild an Empire, ye gods!--an Empire!--when the flower of its manhood
lies pale and stark like the windrows of corn after the harvester has
done his work. Thoughts of a dreamer! Schemes of a visionary! How will
the quaking lips which throughout the length and breadth of this vast
hecatomb now cry, "Sauve qui peut!" how will they ever intone again the
old "Vive l'Empereur!"

The conqueror of Wagram gave a bitter sigh and faithful Bertrand hung
his head gloomily; but de Marmont had neither sighed nor doubted: but
then de Marmo