gdom of the
Mediterranean, and the ease and the glory of it. In a few weeks he, too,
must tarnish his name.

"I make over the command to you," he said to Prince Eugene; and
Napoleon's step-son made an answer which shows, as Eugene showed again
and again, that contact with a great man makes for greatness.

"You cannot make it over to me," he replied. "Only the Emperor can
do that. You can run away in the night, and the supreme command will
devolve on me the next morning."

And what Murat did is no doubt known to the learned reader.

Macdonald, abandoned by Yorck with the Prussian contingent, in great
peril, alone in the north, was retreating with the remains of the Tenth
Army Corps, wondering whether Konigsberg or Dantzig would still be
French when he reached them. On his heels was Wittgenstein, in touch
with St. Petersburg and the Emperor Alexander, communicating with
Kutusoff at Vilna. And Macdonald, like the Scotchman and the Frenchman
that he was, turned at a critical moment and rent Wittgenstein. Here was
another bulldog in that panic-stricken pack, who turned and snarled and
fought while his companions slunk homewards with their tails between
their legs. There were three of such breed--Ney and Macdonald, and
Prince Eugene de Beauharnais.

Napoleon was in Paris, getting together in wild haste the new army
with which he was yet to frighten Europe into fits. And Rapp, doggedly
fortifying his frozen city, knew that he was to hold Dantzig at any
cost--a remote, far-thrown outpost on the Northern sea, cut off from
all help, hundreds of miles from the French frontier, nearly a thousand
miles from Paris.

At Marienwerder, Barlasch and Desiree found themselves in the midst of
that bustle and confusion which attends the arrival or departure of an
army corps. The majority of the men were young and of a dark skin. They
seemed gay, and called out salutations to which Barlasch replied curtly
enough.

"They are Italians," said he to his companion; "I know their talk and
their manners. To you and me, who come from the North, they are like
children. See that one who is dancing. It is some fete. What is to-day?"

"It is New Year's Day," replied Desiree.

"New Year's Day," echoed Barlasch. "Good. And we have been on the road
since six o'clock; and I, who have forgotten to wish you--" He paused
and called cheerily to the horses, which had covered more than forty
miles since leaving their stable at Thorn. "Bon Dieu!" he said