lost the hundred thousands which he meant to risk to-morrow! Wellington
really vanquished before Bluecher could come to his rescue! Napoleon
once more victorious, as he had always been, and a mightier monarch
than before! Then he, Victor de Marmont, the faithful young enthusiast
who had never ceased to believe when others wavered, who at this last
hour--when the whole world seemed to crumble away from under the feet of
the man who had once been its master--was still ready to serve his
Emperor, never doubting, always hoping, he would reap such a reward as
must at last dazzle the one woman who could make that reward for him
doubly precious.

Victor de Marmont had effected the gruesome exchange. He was now dressed
in the black uniform of a Brunswick regiment wherein so many French
royalists were serving. By a wide detour he had reached the approach to
Brussels. Indeed it seemed as if the news which he had sent flying to
Paris was true after all. Behind the forest of Soigne where he now was,
the fields and roads were full of running men and galloping horses. The
dull green of Belgian uniforms, the yellow facings of the Dutch, the
black of Brunswickers, all mingled together in a moving kaleidoscopic
mass of colour: men were flying unpursued yet panic-stricken towards
Brussels, carrying tidings of an awful disaster to the allied armies in
their haggard faces, their quivering lips, their blood-stained tunics.

De Marmont joined in with them: though his heart was full of hope, he
too contrived to look pale and spent and panic-stricken at will--he
heard the shouts of terror, the hastily murmured "All is lost! even the
British can no longer stand!" as horses maddened with fright bore their
half-senseless riders by. He set his teeth and rode on. His dark eyes
glowed with satisfaction; there was no fear that the great gambler would
stake his last in vain: the news would travel quick enough--as news of
disaster always will. Brussels even now must be full of weeping women
and children, as it soon would be of terror-driven men, of wounded and
of maimed crawling into the shelter of the town to die in peace.

And as he rode, de Marmont thought more and more of Crystal. The last
three months had only enhanced his passionate love for her and his
maddening desire to win her yet at all costs. St. Genis would of course
be fighting to-day. Perchance a convenient shot would put him
effectively out of the way. De Marmont had vainly tried in th