nt was young--he too was a dreamer, and an enthusiast and a
visionary. His idol in his eyes had never had feet of clay. For him the
stricken man was his Emperor still--the architect, the creator, the
invincible conqueror--checked for a moment in his glorious work, but
able at his will to rebuild the Empire of France again on the very ruins
that smouldered now on the fields of Waterloo.

"I can do it, Sire," he had cried exultantly, when his Emperor first
expounded his great, new scheme to him. "I can be in Brussels in an
hour, and catch the midnight packet for England at Ostend. At dawn I
shall be in London, and by ten o'clock at my post. I know a financier--a
Jew, and a mightily clever one--he will operate for me. I have a million
or two francs invested in England, we'll use these for our operations!
Money, Sire! You shall have millions! Our differences on the Stock
Exchange will equip the finest army that even you have ever had! Fifty
millions? I'll bring you a hundred! God has not yet decreed the downfall
of the Empire of France!"

So de Marmont had spoken this afternoon in the enthusiasm of his youth
and of his hero-worship: and since then the great dreamer had continued
to weave his dreams! Nothing was lost, nothing could be lost whilst
enthusiasm such as that survived in the hearts of the young.

And still wrapped in his dream he sat on, while danger and death and
disgrace threatened him on every side. Berthier and Bertrand entreated
in vain, in vain tried to drag him away from this solitary place, where
any moment a party of Prussians might find and capture him.

Unceremoniously the Prince of Wagram had blown out the flickering light
that might have attracted the attention of the pursuers. It was a very
elementary precaution, the only one he or Bertrand was able to take. The
horses were out in the yard for anyone to see, and the greatest spoil of
victory might at any moment fall into the hands of the meanest Prussian
soldier out for loot.

But the dreamer still sat on in the gloom, with the pale light of the
moon streaming in through the narrow casement window and illumining that
marble-like face, rigid and set, that seemed only to live by the
glowing eyes--the eyes that looked into the future and the past and
heeded not the awful present.

Close on a quarter of an hour went by until at last he jumped to his
feet, with the sudden cry of "To Genappe!"

Berthier heaved a sigh of relief and Bertrand hurried o