f intelligence followed the
first. Ney, the king's hope, the last support of his tottering throne,
Ney had not had the heart to maintain a hostile position toward his old
companion in arms. Ney had gone over to the emperor, and his army had
followed him with exultation.

The king's eyes were now opened, he now saw the truth, and learned how
greatly he had been deceived.

"Alas," cried he, sadly, "Bonaparte fell because he would not listen to
the truth, and I shall fall because they would not tell me the truth!"

At this moment, and while the king was eloquently appealing to his
brothers and relatives, and to the gentlemen of his court who surrounded
him, to tell him the whole truth, the door opened, and the Minister
Blacas, until then so complacent, so confident of victory, now stepped
in pale and trembling.

The truth, which he had so long concealed from the king, was now plainly
impressed on his pale, terrified countenance. The king had desired to
hear the truth; it stood before him in his trembling minister.

A short interval of profound silence occurred; the eyes of all were
fastened on the count, and, in the midst of the general silence, he was
heard to say, in a voice choked with emotion: "Sire, all is lost; the
army, as well as the people, betray your majesty. It will be necessary
for your majesty to leave Paris."

The king staggered backward for an instant, and then fastened an
inquiring glance on the faces of all who were present. No one dared to
return his gaze with a glance of hope. They all looked down sorrowfully.

The king understood this mute reply, and a deep sigh escaped his breast.

"The tree bears its fruit," said he, with a bitter smile; "heretofore it
has been your purpose to make me govern for you, hereafter I shall
govern for no one. If I shall, however, return to the throne of my
fathers once more, you will be made to understand that I will profit by
the experience you have given me[48]!"

[Footnote 48: The king's own words. Memoires d'une Femme de Qualite,
vol. i. p. 156.]

A few hours later, at nightfall, supported on the arm of Count Blacas,
without any suite, and preceded by a single lackey bearing a torch, the
king left the once more desolate and solitary Tuileries, and fled
to Holland.

Twenty-four hours later, on the evening of the 20th of March, Napoleon
entered the Tuileries, accompanied by the exulting shouts of the
people, and the thundering "_Vive l'empereur_" of the troo