hand with such slight cures as were possible. After violent sickness
the Emperor sank into deep prostration; but, when refreshed by tea,
and by the cool air of dawning day, he gradually revived. "Fate has
decided," he exclaimed: "I must live and await all that Providence has
in store for me."[454] He then signed the treaty with the allies,
presented Macdonald with the sword of Murad Bey, and calmly began to
prepare for his departure.

Marie Louise did not come to see him. Her decision to do so was
overruled by her father, in obedience to whose behests she repaired
from Blois to Rambouillet.

There, guarded by Cossacks, she saw Francis, Alexander, and Frederick
William in turn. What passed between them is not known: but the result
was that, on April 23rd, she set out for Vienna, whence she finally
repaired to Parma; she manifested no great desire to see her consort
at Elba, but soon consoled herself with the Count de Neipperg.

No doubts as to her future conduct, no qualms of conscience as to the
destiny of France now ruffled Napoleon's mind. Like a sky cleared by a
thunderstorm, once more it shone forth with clear radiance. Those who
saw him now were astonished at his calmness, except in some moments
when he declaimed at his wife and child being kept from him by
Austrian schemes. Then he stormed and wept and declared that he would
seek refuge in England, which General Koeller, the Austrian
commissioner appointed to escort him to Elba, strongly advised him to
do. But for the most part he showed remarkable composure. When Bausset
sought to soothe him by remarking that France would still form one of
the finest of realms, he replied: "_with remarkable serenity_--'I
abdicate and I yield nothing.'"[455] The words hide a world of
meaning: they inclose the secret of the Hundred Days.

On the 20th, he bade farewell to his Guard: in thrilling words he told
them that his mission thenceforth would be to describe to posterity
the wonders they had achieved: he then embraced General Petit, kissed
the war-stained banner, and, wafted on his way by the sobs of these
unconquered heroes, set forth for the Mediterranean. In the central
districts, and as far as Lyons, he was often greeted by the well-known
shouts, but, further south, the temper of the people changed.

At Orange they cursed him to his face, and hurled stones at the
windows of the carriage; Napoleon, protected by Bertrand, sat huddled
up in the corner, "apparently very mu