t this, reminded him, that he
was speaking to the minister at war, to the general in chief of the
army: and enjoined him, to repair to Fontainebleau, where he should
receive his orders.--"No, sir," replied Count de Flahaut briskly, "I
will not go; I will not abandon the Emperor I will preserve to the
last moment that fidelity to him, which so many others have
sworn."--"I will have you punished for your disobedience."--"You have
no longer the right to do so. From this moment I give in my
resignation. I can no longer serve under your orders, without
disgracing my epaulettes."

He went away. The Emperor perceived on his return, that something had
cut him to the heart. He questioned him; and at length brought him to
confess all that had passed. Accustomed since his abdication, to be
surprised at nothing, and to endure every thing without complaint,
Napoleon appeared neither astonished nor displeased at the insults of
his former minister. "Let him come," answered he coolly: "_I am ready,
if he desire it, to hold out my throat to him._ Your conduct, my dear
Flahaut, touches me; but your country wants you: remain in the army,
and forget, like me, the Prince of Eckmuhl and his dastardly menaces."

History, more rigid, will not forget them. Respect for misfortune has
always been placed in the foremost rank of military virtues. If the
warrior, who insults his disarmed enemy, lose the esteem of the brave,
what sentiment should he inspire, who abuses, insults, and threatens,
his friend, his benefactor, his prince, when under misfortunes?

In the bosom of faithful friendship the Emperor disburdened his mind of
the chagrin, that the refusal of his services by the committee
occasioned him. "Those people," said he to M. de Bassano, "are blinded
by their avidity of enjoying power, and continuing to act the sovereign.
They feel, that, if they replaced me at the head of the army, they would
be no longer any thing more than my shadow; and they are sacrificing me
and their country to their pride, to their vanity. They will ruin every
thing." After a few moments silence he added: "But why should I let them
reign? I abdicated, to save France, to save the throne of my son. If
this throne must be lost, I had rather lose it in the field of battle
than here. I can do nothing better for all of you, for my son, and for
myself, than throw myself into the arms of my soldiers. My presence
will electrify the army, will be a clap of thunder to the for