s along until they
found refuge in Koenigsberg. Napoleon had gone ahead toward France.
After Moscow he took a sledge, and sped away across the snow-covered
wastes of Poland, on his solitary journey to Paris. There is a
painting of this scene by the Slavic artist Kowalski, which
represents the three black horses abreast, galloping with all speed
with the Emperor's sledge across the cheerless world which he
traversed. He came to his own capital unannounced. None knew of his
arrival until the next day. At four o'clock in the morning of that
day, some one entered his office at the Tuileries, and found him with
his war-map of Europe spread out on the floor before him. He was
planning another campaign! In doing so, he could hardly forget that
the Grand Army of his glory was under the Russian snows!

WATERLOO.

One battle in this century rises in fame above all other conflicts of
the ages. It is Waterloo.

It was on the night of the seventeenth of June, 1815, that the British
and French armies, drawing near each other on the borders of Belgium,
encamped, the one near the little village of Waterloo and the other at
La Belle Alliance. They were close together. A modern fieldpiece could
easily throw a shell from Napoleon's headquarters over La Haie Sainte
to Mont St. Jean, and far beyond into the forest. During the afternoon
of the seventeenth, and the greater part of the night, there was a
heavy fall of rain. On the following morning the ground was muddy.
The Emperor, viewing the situation, was unwilling to precipitate the
battle until his artillery might deploy over a dry field.

As to the temper of the Emperor, that was good. Hugo says of him:
"From the morning his impenetrability had been smiling, and on June
18, 1815, this profound soul, coated with granite, was radiant. The
man who had been sombre at Austerlitz was gay at Waterloo. The
greatest predestined men offer these contradictions; for our joys are
a shadow and the supreme smile belongs to God.

"'Caesar laughs, Pompey will weep,' the legionaries of the Fulminatrix
legion used to say. On this occasion Pompey was not destined to weep,
but it is certain that Caesar laughed.

"At one o'clock in the morning, amid the rain and storm, he had
explored with Bertrand the hills near Rossomme, and was pleased to see
the long lines of English fires illumining the horizon from
Frischemont to Braine l'Alleud. It seemed to him as if destiny had
made an appointment with him