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charger--he with the pale face and expansive forehead, crowned with light-brown hair; with impenetrable features, a cold, compressed mouth, and large, gloomy eyes--that man is Napoleon, Emperor of the French. Duroc, Berthier, Bessieres, and Caulaincourt, form his suite, and follow him at a full gallop to the bank of the river. That slender young man on the richly caparisoned black horse--that tall figure with smiling and handsome face, full of vigor, health, and vivacity--with soft, restless features; blue eyes radiant with enthusiasm, and crimson lips--is Alexander, Emperor of Russia. The Grand-duke Constantine, Generals Benningsen and Ouwaroff, Prince Labanoff, and Count Lieven, accompany him. The two emperors dismount at the same time, and embark with their suites in the gondolas that are to convey them to the pavilion. The oarsmen keep time with their oars and the boats approach each other, reaching simultaneously the two staircases leading from the platform to the water. The two monarchs disembark at the same moment. Alexander and Napoleon stand face to face. For a moment they look at each other with inquiring glances, and then embrace in the most cordial manner. This testimony of a frank reconciliation excited vehement applause among the spectators who lined the river; the French as well as the Russians stretched out their arms toward their newly-won friends on the other bank. "Peace!" shouted thousands. "Hail, ye friends and brethren! our enmity is over; our emperors have affectionately embraced each other, and like them their subjects will meet in love and peace! No more shedding of blood! Peace! peace!" The music joined with the exultant cries of the two nations, and the emperors stepped, keeping time with the bands, through the doors leading into the pavilion. They were alone. Only the eye of God could behold them. For a few moments they stood face to face, silent, and undecided which of them was to speak first, while the echoes of the music penetrated the heavily-curtained walls of the pavilion. Each of them seemed to be anxious to read the thoughts of the other in his face, and to look into the depths of his soul. Napoleon's sonorous voice was the first to break the silence. "Why are we at war?" he asked with an inimitable smile, offering his hand to Alexander. "It is true," exclaimed Alexander, as if awaking from a dream; "why are we at war? If your grudge is against England, and against her alon
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