dash of
Maurice's and Sebastiani's gallant cavalry upon the whole Austrian
army, the deadly conflict before the bridge, the picture of the retreat
that bade fair to become a rout.

He could see again the Emperor, riding down, sword in hand, into the
midst of the fugitives crossing the bridge, and, amid a storm of
bullets, ordering and beseeching and imploring the men to rally. He
had been there on that mad March morning. He would never forget the
sight of that figure, the words the Emperor said. It reminded him of
the dash of the "little corporal" with the flag on the bridge of Lodi,
of which old Bullet-Stopper had often told him and the other young men
over the camp-fires.

The Fifth-of-the-Line had immortalized itself that day, adding to the
fame it had gained upon a hundred fields, an imperishable crown.
Napoleon saw that the battle was lost, that the whole Austrian army had
blundered upon that first French division and that, unless their steady
advance could be checked, the division itself would be cut to pieces.
Men had grown more precious to the Emperor every hour. What would he
not have given for those he had spent so recklessly years before? And
here was a whole division about to be annihilated, to say nothing of
the cavalry, which had performed prodigies of valor.

"What regiment is that?" he had asked Marteau, who was riding at his
heels in the midst of the fugitives, and doing his best to second the
Emperor's frantic efforts to restore order and bring the men to a stand.

"The Fifth-of-the-Line, Sire."

"Your old regiment?"

"The same, Sire."

"It still stands."

"And it will stand."

"Good! Go to it. Tell them that I, the Emperor, devote them to death,
for me and for the army. They must hold the Austrians in check and
cover the retreat."

"Farewell, Sire," the young soldier had said, saluting.

"What mean you?"

"I shall not come back with the remainder."

"Adieu," said the Emperor, acknowledging the salute and understanding
all.

How well Marteau remembered that frightful conflict. The
Fifth-of-the-Line had not waited to be attacked. It had gone forward.
The Colonel had been shot down. Officer after officer had fallen. The
advancing line had wavered, hesitated, halted. The Eagle-bearer fell.
Eager hands caught the staff. The Austrian fire was concentrated upon
it. The color guard was shot to pieces. The Eagle itself had the tip
of its right wing shot away. Mortal men co