e instant the
sentinel felt his arm brushed by some one passing close beside him; and
then all was silent in the tent once more.

"Thus, you see," said the sergeant-major, "from that hour it was agreed
on the Emperor should conquer the whole world, and leave that one little
spot for 'L'Homme Rouge.' _Parbleu!_ he might well spare him that much."

"How big might it be, that island?" said an old grenadier, who listened
with the deepest attention to the tale.

"Nothing to speak of; about the size of one battalion drawn up in
square."

"_Pardieu!_ a small kingdom too!"

"Ah! it would not do for the Emperor," said the sergeant-major,
laughing,--an emotion the others joined in at once; and many a jest went
round at the absurdity of such a thought.

I sat beside the watchfire, listening to the old campaigning stories,
till one by one the speakers dropped off to sleep. The bronzed veteran
and the boy conscript, the old soldier of the Sambre and the beardless
youth, lay side by side: to some of these it was the last time they
should slumber on earth. As the night wore on, the sounds became hushed
in the camp, and through the thin frosty air I could hear from a long
distance off the tramp of the patrols and the challenge of the reliefs
as the outposts were visited. The Prussian sentries were quite close to
our advanced posts, and when the wind came from that quarter, I often
heard the voices as they exchanged their signals.

Through the entire night, officers came and went to and from the tent of
the Emperor. To him, at least, it seemed no season of repose. At length,
when nigh morning, wearied with watching and tired out with expectancy,
I leaned my head on my knees, and dropped into a half-sleep. Some vague
sense of disappointment at being forgotten by the Emperor, was the
last thought I had as I fell off, and in its sadness it colored all
my dreams. I remembered, with all the freshness of a recent event, the
curse of the old hag on the morning I had quitted my home forever,--her
prayer that bad luck should track me every step through life; and in the
shadowy uncertainty of my sleeping thoughts I believed I was predestined
to misfortune.

Almost every man has experienced the fact, that there are times in life
when impressions, the slightest in their origin, will have an undue
weight on the mind; when, as it were, the clay of our natures become
softened, and we take the impress of passing events more easily. Some
vague