ard. In one of them Napoleon took refuge for a space, still
hoping to effect a rally, while outside Ney rushed from band to band,
brandishing a broken sword, foaming with fury, and launching at the
runaways the taunt, "Cowards! have you forgotten how to die?"[524]

But panic now reigned supreme. Adam's brigade was at hand to support
our horsemen; and shortly after nine there knelled from Planchenoit
the last stroke of doom, the shouts of Prussians at last victorious
over the stubborn defence. "The Guard dies and does not
surrender"--such are the words attributed by some to Michel, by others
to Cambronne before he was stretched senseless on the ground.[525]
Whether spoken or not, some such thought prompted whole companies to
die for the honour of their flag. And their chief, why did he not
share their glorious fate? Gourgaud says that Soult forced him from
the field. If so (and Houssaye discredits the story) Soult never
served his master worse. The only dignified course was to act up to
his recent proclamation that the time had come for every Frenchman of
spirit to conquer or die. To belie those words by an ignominious
flight was to court the worst of sins in French political life,
ridicule.

And the flight was ignominious. Wellington's weary troops, after
several times mistaking friends for foes in the dusk, halted south of
Rossomme and handed over the pursuit to the Prussians, many of whom
had fought but little and now drank deep the draught of revenge. By
the light of the rising moon Gneisenau led on his horsemen in a
pursuit compared with which that of Jena was tame. At Genappe Napoleon
hoped to make a stand: but the place was packed with wagons and
thronged with men struggling to get at the narrow bridge. At the blare
of the Prussian trumpets, the panic became frightful; the Emperor left
his carriage and took to horse as the hurrahs drew near. Seven times
did the French form bivouacs, and seven times were they driven out and
away. At Quatre Bras he once more sought to gather a few troops; but
ere he could do so the Uhlans came on. With tears trickling down his
pallid cheeks, he resumed his flight over another field of carnage,
where ghastly forms glinted on all sides under the pale light of dawn.
After further futile efforts at Charleroi, he hurried on towards
Paris, followed at some distance by groups amounting to about 10,000
men, the sorry remnant still under arms of the host that fought at
Waterloo: 25,000 lay