nsult him respecting arrangements which it
seemed necessary to make for the following day. Napoleon shook his head
and replied, "Ask me nothing till to-morrow," and again covering his
eyes with his hand, he resumed his attitude of meditation. Night came.
One by one the stars came out. The moon rose brilliantly in the
cloudless sky. The soldiers moved with noiseless footsteps, and spoke in
subdued tones. The rumbling of wagons and the occasional boom of a
distant gun alone disturbed the stillness of the scene.

"Those brave soldiers," says J. T. Headley, "filled with grief to see
their beloved chief bowed down by such sorrows, stood for a long time
silent and tearful. At length, to break the mournful silence, and to
express the sympathy they might not speak, the band struck up a requiem
for the dying marshal. The melancholy strains arose and fell in
prolonged echoes over the field, and swept in softened cadences on the
ear of the fainting, dying warrior. But still Napoleon moved not. They
changed the measure to a triumphant strain, and the thrilling trumpets
breathed forth their most joyful notes till the heavens rang with the
melody. Such bursts of music welcomed Napoleon as he returned, flushed
with victory, till his eye kindled with exultation. But now they fell on
a dull and listless ear. It ceased, and again the mournful requiem
filled all the air. But nothing could rouse him from his agonizing
reflections. His friend lay dying, and the heart that he loved more than
his life was throbbing its last pulsations. What a theme for a painter,
and what a eulogy was that scene! That noble heart, which the enmity of
the world could not shake, nor the terrors of the battle-field move from
its calm repose, nor even the hatred nor the insults of his at last
victorious enemies humble, here sank in the moment of victory before the
tide of affection. What military chieftain ever mourned thus on the
field of victory, and what soldiers ever loved their leader so!"

Before the dawn of the morning Duroc expired. When the event was
announced to Napoleon, he said sadly, "All is over. He is released from
his misery. Well, he is happier than I." The Emperor ordered a monument
to be reared to his memory, and, when afterwards dying at St. Helena,
left to the daughter of Duroc one of the largest legacies bequeathed in
his will. That Duroc was worthy of this warm affection of the Emperor,
may be inferred from the following testimony of Caulai