Chapter II (16)

This letter he addressed to her and laid on the table, where it would be sure to catch her eye, when she should come down in the morning. While doing so, a grim smile flitted across his face; he was thinking of Halima's rage when she should find that he had gone without consulting her. How she would stamp about and storm; would vent her spleen on the unhappy servants; they would have but a sorry time of it.

He went to the mantelpiece and took down his sword. "This sword," he murmured, "was first drawn in his service, and, if he require it, it shall be again."

He took up the packet for the Emperor, and placed it in his pocket. Then he picked up the Empress's letter to himself and re-read it. This done, he raised it to his lips and kissed it passionately. "I long to keep it in remembrance of her," he murmured, "but it is not safe."

He stepped up to the fire and threw it on the flames, and followed it with Tremeau's confession. He waited till both were shriveled into blackness; then left the room.

Pausing in the hall outside, he unhooked from a peg a riding cloak and a three-cornered hat. From a cabinet he took a pair of strong warm gloves and a brace of pistols, which he carefully loaded and put into his pocket. Then, as noiselessly as possible, he quitted the house by a side-door in the study, and made his way to the stables, which were close at hand.

Here he selected from a stall a suitable roadster, and saddled him with his own hands, not choosing to wake the grooms, who were sleeping soundly in the loft above. Then, he left the stable and proceeded down the avenue, leading the horse.

He had just mounted and was about to turn into the high road, when he received a check he had not bargained for. Barring his way, was a party of mounted men. There was sufficient light--for it was a clear, starlight night--for him to see that they were soldiers, and, by their uniform, hussars. While he was wondering what their presence could portend, a voice called out in peremptory tones, "Halt."

Clearly the words were addressed to him, for the others were already stationary. Desirous of concealing his identity, on the chance that they might be coming to arrest him--not that he was aware of having done anything to warrant it, but that his experience had made him apprehensive--he decided to pretend to be a groom; so, to the challenge he replied in broad Sussex dialect, "Who be you, Sirs, and what be you adoin' here? This here ain't a public road. If you want Shoreham, it's straight on to the right. Let me pass, please, Masters. I've got to ride for all I know for the doctor. My mistress is lying near on death, and master is watching beside her bed. Let me pass, sirs; it is a case of life and death!"

But the men made no attempt to stir, and the voice that had before challenged him called out, "Is not your master named St. Just?"

"Aye, that be's name," rejoined the pseudo-countryman. "Let me get through. I tell you my mistress is mortal bad, and I cannot stop for naught."

"Harkee, sirrah,"--the words came from a fresh voice--"your master is accused of conspiring against the King, and we have a warrant for his arrest. Lead us to him instantly, or it will be the worse for you." And the speaker moved his horse close up to St. Just.

There was something in the man's tone that seemed familiar to St. Just; he was confident he had heard the voice before. And, now that its owner had come alongside of him, he recognized him in an instant. He was Sir Henry Emerson, the man whose despatches he had purloined in the character of the Comte St. Clair.

Taught by the many perils he had passed through, he was generally prepared for an emergency, and never lost his presence of mind. On the present occasion, while the colloquy had been proceeding, he had been casting about for a plan of escape; and had decided on his course of action. Convinced that it was useless to parley farther--more than ever now that he had recognized Sir Henry Emerson--he slashed, with his riding whip, the King's Messenger across the face; then, suddenly wheeling round, he struck his spurs into his horse and leaped the fence that bordered one side of the avenue.

In making his jump, St. Just had been careful to select his spot. It so happened that, for some distance along the other side of the hedge, right down to the high road, the ground had been excavated for sandstone, for which that part of Sussex was celebrated. It was, therefore, full of pits, and anyone, jumping into them in the dark, must sustain serious injury, if not death. St. Just, however, knew the bearings well, and he had chosen the only spot on which one could alight with safety. It gave on to a grassy track that threaded its way between the various quarries and, after a long detour, came out eventually on to the high road, nearer Brighton.

St. Just's action had been so sudden that his would-be captors were thoroughly bewildered and, at first, could not conceive what had become of him. A moment ago he had been there; now he had disappeared. That was all that they were certain of. Sir Henry Emerson gave a yell of mingled pain and rage, and the officer and his men came round him to learn the cause of it. With a volley of curses, he explained. Meanwhile, the sound of horse's hoofs could be heard upon the turf, gradually growing fainter, until they were no longer audible. They knew nothing of the country, so to pursue the fugitive would be useless. Besides, in their opinion, he was not the man they wanted, and he could be dealt with when he came back with the doctor. So they proceeded slowly up the avenue towards the house, Sir Henry Emerson, with a red wheal across his face, cursing and swearing at every step.

Meanwhile St. Just was cantering along the grassy track, and, in due course, gained the lane which led to the high road. Here he breathed his horse for a minute or two, listening the while with pained intentness for the first sound of approaching horsemen: but not a footfall, either of horse or man, was to be heard. The stillness was almost absolute; not a whisper of animated life, or a breath of wind to stir the leafless trees. Once more he gave his horse the rein and quickly urged him to a gallop. Though, for the moment, he had escaped, his pursuers would quickly discover that the man who had slipped through their fingers was the very one they wanted, and would soon be after him. On he sped, sweeping across Sayre's Common as though the devil were at his heels; then, continuing with unabated speed, he gained the foot of Dale Hill, leading to Rye Coombe. Here he dismounted and once more strained his ears for the slightest sound that should import pursuit; but still the silence was profound. He ascended the hill on foot, walking briskly and leading his horse. At the top of the hill he remounted. It was now a level stretch to Brighton, and he made the most of it, thundering along the road at topmost speed, until within half a mile of Brighton; then he moderated his pace. Slade's house was in the outskirts of the village, as Brighton then was, and he pulled up at the fisherman's door, just when the clock of St. Nicholas' Church, not far distant, was chiming half past four.

A sharp knock, a few hurried words, and a little money, and the business was arranged.

One of John Slade's sons, Tommy, a bright-looking lad of two and twenty, who loved anything that savored of adventure, entered heart and soul into the "lark," as he mentally phrased it, and hailed with delight the proposal that he should ride back St. Just's horse to the Plough Inn at Rye Coombe. He was to don the Frenchman's hat and cloak, and he guaranteed to lead his pursuers a pretty race, if they should sight him.

When this matter had been arranged, St. Just disguised himself as a fisherman, and then he and the elder Slade walked quickly up the hill, at whose foot the cottage stood, and struck out for St. Nicholas' Church. Here they turned to the right and, after continuing for a short distance, knocked at the door of one of an isolated group of cottages, where lived the mate of the John Edward, as Slade's sloop was named--after himself.

Roused from his slumbers, and grumbling considerably thereat, Harry Wingfield was quickly told the reason. The sloop was to start, as rapidly as she could be got off, with the French gentleman for Havre or Fecamp, whichever port would be the easier to make.

They made their way down West Street for the shore.

"How is it the sloop comes to be moored here, instead of at Shoreham?" asked St. Just.

"Well, Sir, since father died, I've lived here. Wingfield here," and he jerked his thumb towards the mate, "know'd I'd be wantin' him middlin' early this morning for I'd sent him word. That's why he was so slippy in comin' down when we knocked. I've only just got from Lewes--given 'em the slip, you know--and, if not off pretty sharp, they'll have me. I meant to sail at five this mornin' just on the turn of the tide; so you're only just in time; a little later and I should have flown."

St. Just made a suitable reply, and, by this time, they had reached the bottom of the street. They shaped their way to the "Blockhouse"--or rather, the remains of it--that had been erected by Henry VIII to defend the coast. Below this lay the sloop. Borrowing a boat, they rowed quickly to her. The crew were on board, so the anchor was weighed instantly, the sails were set and the John Edward was headed for the coast of France.

*CHAPTER III.*

The little sloop John Edward duly made the port of Havre.

Here Fortune smiled upon St. Just, for he learned that a ship was lying in the "roads" on the point of sailing for Naples, and that its captain was an old acquaintance, Captain Brenneau, aforetime commanding the La Fleche. So he started for the owner's office to engage a passage. He parted cordially from the smuggler-fisherman, for they had become very friendly on the passage, and St. Just had told him of his errand to Napoleon. Tremeau had said that Slade was to be trusted, and St. Just thought he would be interested in his movements. He had told him also of Tremeau's tragic end, at which the fisherman had been much affected; he and the French Colonel had seen much of one another in Lewes jail, and had escaped together.

In shaking hands with his late passenger and making him wince with the vigor of his grasp, Slade said heartily, "Good luck go with you, Sir; and, when you return to England, I hope you'll come and see me. No, no, Sir," when St. Just pressed money on him, "I won't take a penny off you. I didn't put to sea on your account, for I was bound to make myself scarce, till things had settled down a bit; and you're a friend of that there Tremeau, a decent chap I will say for a Frenchy."

And, with these farewell words ringing in his ears, and another grip of the honest fellow's hand, St. Just left him and went aboard L'aigle d'or (the Golden Eagle) where he found Captain Brenneau anxiously pacing the quarterdeck, watching the men hoisting in the stores.

He failed to recognize St. Just, dressed, as he was, like a fisherman, and roughly ordered him away. "I will have no loafers (faineants) about my ship;" for St. Just was hanging about, idly gazing at the workers.

St. Just broke into a laugh and recalled himself to the Captain's remembrance, and then proceeded to state the object of his voyage and to ask Brenneau whether he would drop him at Elba. To this the other at once agreed and, on the following day they sailed.

Now, had they proceeded thither direct, Elba should have been reached, ten or eleven days later; but Captain Brenneau had to call at Marseilles to see the owners, and here the vessel was detained for ten days loading further cargo; so that it was not until the first of February that they sighted the little island that now comprised all Napoleon's empire.

It was dark by the time they were near enough to lower a boat.

St. Just bid farewell to the Captain, and took his seat in it; the boat put off, and, in half an hour made the harbor and was brought up by a flight of steps in the harbor wall. Here St. Just got out, and the boat pushed off to make her way back to the ship.

He stood watching the departing boat for about five minutes; and he was on the point of ascending the steps, when he heard voices just above him. He paused to listen.

"I tell you," said one voice, "that to-night he is expected from the country. It is the best chance we have yet had."

"But," said another voice, "he is always guarded; it will be useless."

"Not to-night. He and Bertrand return alone to meet ----," St. Just could not catch the name--"who brings intelligence from Pauline."

"And where do you propose to stop him?"

"At the ----" again the word was inaudible to St. Just.

"You will take your stand, hat in hand, in the middle of the road; take this dog with you, leading it with a string, as though you were blind, and beg alms of the Emperor. Then, when the carriage has stopped to avoid running over you, lean forward and fire both pistols at him. He will be seated on the right side, remember."

"And what part do you take?"

"We cover your retreat."

"Is it certain that this man has promised us a ship?"

"Yes, yes; an hour ago, when the fog lifted, I saw her standing off the shore. And a boat to take us to her is at this moment waiting at the spot arranged."

St. Just was horrified at what he heard. Clearly there was on foot a plot to assassinate the Emperor. What could he do to circumvent it? Not knowing where to find Napoleon, he could not warn him. He was an absolute stranger in the place, too. And no time was to be lost; for, so far as he could tell, the attack might be made at any moment. Certainly it was to be to-night. His agitation became terrible, while he vainly tried to puzzle out some plan of saving Napoleon's life. He was in a trap, for his only means of getting away from where he was, was by the steps, and these men were at the top. For a certainty they would know that he had overheard their conversation, when he should show himself, and, for their own safety, would attack him, in the hope of silencing him for ever. Doubtless he could secure his own safety by remaining where he was, until they should have gone. But then, the Emperor? He had come all the way from England on what he regarded as a sacred trust from Josephine, to help the Emperor to the utmost of his power, and, come what might, this time he would not betray his trust. He was periling his life in appearing before the Emperor; by facing the conspirators above, he would be but anticipating danger. And this he made up his mind to do. He would steal noiselessly up the steps, and, the moment he gained the top, without a word, he would fall upon these men. Two circumstances were in his favor--the start they would receive when he suddenly burst upon them; and the advantages that lay in striking the first blow. Besides this, he was convinced, by what he had overheard, that they were cowards.

Silently he removed his cloak, lest it should impede his movements, and laid it on the steps. Then he examined his pistols--they were double-barreled--to see that they were duly primed. Satisfied on this point, he placed one in the right breast pocket of his coat, so that his left hand could grasp it readily; and the other in a pocket in the skirt. Next, slowly and with the utmost care, lest the clink of metal should be heard, he withdrew his sword from the scabbard. Then, step by step and bending low, he crept up the flight of stairs, pausing at each to steady himself. No Red Indian bent on falling upon his enemy in his sleep could have moved more stealthily. He could still hear the men above him talking, but their tones were lower than before, and his mind was so intent on his own movements that he caught only a word or two now and then. So far as he could judge from the different intonations, three men were talking. But he had no fear. He had many faults, but want of courage, when it came to fighting, was not one of them. Besides, in the present instance, his opponents might be accounted as only two, for he would cut down one almost before they would know that they were attacked.

On, like a tiger crouching and dragging himself slowly towards his unsuspecting prey, he glided, mounting ever higher; until, at last, he was within three steps of the top. The restraint he had placed upon himself in his efforts to make no noise, scarce even to breathe, had made him short of breath; so he paused for a moment to regain it, preparatory to the rush he meditated.

It was a minute before he could breathe easily. Then, with a dash, he was at the top of the steps and rushing at the men. There were three of them, as he had thought, and they were standing about two yards from where he had landed, all close together and talking in low tones. There was no one else in sight. They started apart, on seeing him, with an exclamation of alarm; but he was on them almost before it had left their lips. There was a cry of pain, then a groan, as St. Just's swift weapon was withdrawn, and the man nearest to him lay writhing on the ground. The other two, seeing their companion fall and realizing the imminent peril they were in, unsheathed their daggers, and, in an instant almost, had rolled their cloaks round their left arms--they were hanging over them at the time, and by a rapid whirling movement of the wearers' arms, they were coiled round--and prepared to defend their lives. They felt it would be useless to attempt to fly. St. Just saw that he had all his work to do. They dodged about him with the activity of cats, always keeping at a safe distance, but now and then making feints at advancing, and one or the other continually trying to attack him from behind. He had to keep turning round, whirling his sword about the while, with such velocity that sometimes it seemed to be multiplied by three or four. He began to be apprehensive of the result, for the men were young and agile, and seemed to be untiring. So active were they, that he feared to attempt to withdraw his pistol, lest at that moment they should take him unawares. The fight had now been going on for several minutes, and St. Just's breath was failing him. He had not bargained for so sharp a contest. He could not last much longer. Becoming desperate at this reflection, he rushed frantically, with sword uplifted, at the nearest of his assailants, regardless of himself. But luck befriended him. In his hurry to avoid the sudden onslaught, the man struck his foot against something and lost his balance. Before he could recover it, St. Just's sword had reached him and inflicted an awful gash in his neck, that brought him to the ground. At the same instant St. Just felt a sharp pain in his left arm. Aiming at his back in the hope of striking his heart, the other man had missed the spot, owing to a movement on St. Just's part, so that the blow had descended on his arm. Feeling the smart, St. Just turned quickly. His assailant was too close for him to cut or pierce him with his sword, but he raised his hand and brought the hilt down on the man's head, with all his force. The man dropped like a stone.

St. Just was laboring painfully with his efforts, and he rested on his sword to take his breath and to think things out.

"The Emperor is saved for to-night," he gasped, when he was able to speak; "but it was tough work, I was nearly done for; I could not have held out much longer."

When he had recovered himself he went down the steps to regain his cloak. He threw it over his shoulders and went up again. Then, without heeding the prostrate men, and caring little whether they were alive or dead, he set off at a brisk walk, intending to make inquiries how he was to reach the Emperor.

He had just got beyond the precincts of the harbor, when he heard a step and saw a light approaching. The man who bore it came quickly on, and, in another minute, was close to him. A lantern was held up to him, and a face peered into his.

St. Just was dumfounded; the man was his old comrade, Garraud.

"Garraud! don't you know me?" he exclaimed. "I'm St. Just."

From his action, Garraud might have seen a specter. He started so violently that he dropped the lantern. Then, "My God! St. Just, is it really you?" he said, "I thought you dead. And what brings you here?"

St. Just told him of his errand from the dead Empress, and then went on to speak about the plot he had overheard, and how he had dealt with the conspirators.

"Heavens! what a narrow escape," cried Garraud. "We must alarm the guard at once, and seek for the others. There must be more in this affair than the three you have disposed of. You seem to be continually in adventures, my friend."

They walked away together, and, ten minutes later, a dozen Polish lancers were trotting quickly down the road by which the Emperor was expected, carrying a message from St. Just, confirmed by Garraud.

Then the two reunited friends made their way to the Palace, as the tumbledown building the Emperor occupied was called, where there was as much ceremony as had been observed at the Tuileries and Fontainebleau in the olden days.

Two hours later, St. Just was summoned to the Emperor's presence, being ushered in by General Bertrand.

The apartment was poorly furnished; the contrast to Fontainebleau struck St. Just with amazement. A few gilt chairs from the Tuileries were scattered about the room, serving merely to emphasize its bareness; in the center was a long trestle table, on which was spread a large map of the island; a small writing table stood in one corner, and along the side of a wall an old chintz-covered sofa. These completed all the furniture.

The Emperor at the moment of St. Just's entrance was standing before the fire-place, pressing down the blazing logs in it with his foot, a trick of his.

He was wearing a very old uniform of the Guards, his only decoration being the cross of the Legion of Honor; his boots were dirty, and, altogether, there was a general appearance of slovenliness about him. He was even paler than when St. Just had last seen him, and he looked anxious and dissatisfied. He had grown stouter, too. He was wearing his cocked hat, but it was pushed off from his brow, and was balanced on the back of his head. But, despite the deterioration in his appearance, there was still an air of majesty, and he had not lost his commanding mien.

As it had ever been with him in Napoleon's presence, St. Just felt awed, and, when the Emperor turned round, he knelt at his feet and kissed his hand.

"Rise, Sir, rise," said the great man sharply. "We look not for the ceremonial here that was the rule in France."

St Just rose to his feet. "I have the honor, Sire," he said, with great respect, "to be the bearer of information for your private ear."

"Go, Bertrand," said the Emperor instantly, without replying to St. Just. "Leave me with this gentleman; but remain within call." Then, when the Marshal had left the room, he continued to St. Just, "Now Sir! Your message must needs be pressing when you dare to present yourself to me, after what occurred when last we met. I have not forgotten that I have an account to settle with you. Methinks your courage exceeds your judgment."

This was not an encouraging reception, and while St. Just hesitated, he went on speaking in still sharper tones, "Come Sir, explain why you are here."

He paused for St. Just's reply, and began to pace the room impatiently.

"Sire," replied St. Just, "I need no reminder of the circumstances of our last meeting, and I take this opportunity of expressing my contrition for my conduct on that occasion, and praying your forgiveness. It is in accordance with a promise then given to the Empress that I am here to-night. On the first day of the New Year I received this packet, accompanied by a letter from Her Majesty, charging me to deliver it to you. Coming as it did from a hand then cold in death, I regarded it as a sacred trust, and instantly I started to fulfill it."

He handed the packet to the Emperor, who immediately asked how it had come into his possession.

St. Just told him, and of Tremeau's letter to him and his tragic end. Also of Tremeau's breach of trust in having opened the packet and sent a copy of its contents to the English Government. Then he gave a rapid sketch of the incidents of his start from home, up to the moment of his arrival at Elba, winding up with an account of the conversation he had overheard on landing, and of his encounter with the men who were plotting to assassinate the Emperor.

Napoleon listened to him attentively, without a word. His countenance was absolutely immobile; so far as any one could judge from looking at it, St. Just's narration was no concern of his; but, all the while, he was weighing in his mind whether the speaker was to be believed. More than once he had broken his trust; he might be lying now.

"Have you anything to add?" he asked in a cold, impassive tone, when St. Just had finished speaking.

St. Just was in great pain; his wounded arm was smarting terribly; he had lost a great deal of blood, there was a curious dizziness in his head, and a strange weakness was creeping over him; he felt unequal to further conversation. But, making a strong effort, he replied, "Only this, if Your Majesty will forgive my boldness; but my loyalty to your person gives me courage. Once before, upon the eve of Wagram, I brought you State papers from the Empress, containing grave intelligence. You doubted their trustworthiness and destroyed them. I cannot but think that, had Your Majesty acted on that information, affairs would have shaped themselves for you more fortunately. And now, a second time, I bring you a despatch from her. I have not a suspicion of its contents, but, from the earnest entreaty of her letter that I should convey her packet to you with my own hand and with the utmost speed, I know they must be of the gravest moment to Your Majesty. Oh! Sire," he continued with impassioned earnestness, "if a humble person, such as I am, dare advise, I beseech you, this time to be guided by the Empress. Your interests were ever nearer to her heart than were all others. I--know--I risk--my--"

He tottered, sank into a chair, then rolled on to the floor in a swoon.

When he recovered consciousness, he found himself lying in the anteroom, and Garraud bending over him. He stared vacantly into his friend's face. "What has happened?" he stammered, "where am I?"

"Bravo! my friend," cried Garraud cheerfully, "you're all right now; you fainted, you know; lost a good deal of blood from your wound; over-excitement, and so on. But you must keep quiet. Don't talk, but listen; the Emperor is now closeted with his suite. You may be wanted."

"I recollect now," replied St. Just. "I was with the Emperor, and I swooned; but I am well enough now; only a trifle weak." And, with a little struggle, he raised himself and sat upright.

Soon afterwards, General Bertrand entered with a smiling face.

"If you are well enough, Mons. St. Just," he said, "the Emperor desires to see you at once."

St. Just rose slowly; his arm was in a sling; unknown to him, Napoleon's surgeon had attended to him by express command, and had bound up his wound.

In the adjoining room he found the Emperor, surrounded by his suite. When he entered, the words he heard rejoiced not less than they amazed him.

"Gentlemen," the Emperor was saying, "we leave for Paris the moment it can possibly be arranged. France calls us, and we, her sons, must obey her summons. She needs her Emperor, and she shall not need in vain. Therefore, prepare to start; but not a word of our intentions must be breathed outside these walls. You may now retire; all but Mons. St. Just, with whom I desire a word or two." He bent his head slightly in token of dismissal. All bowed low before him and then filed out; all, except St. Just, who stood awaiting Napoleon's will with inward trepidation.

But he was quickly reassured, for, the moment they were left alone, the Emperor advanced to him with a pleased expression, and held out his hand.

"Mons. St. Just," he said, "I wish to take your hand in token of forgiveness. I believe I wronged you.

"Had I, last April, received the news that you, at the risk of your life, have brought me, I should never have quitted Paris. As you have just heard me say, I am going to return; and, in consequence of the intelligence of which you have been the bearer. In token of my appreciation of your services, I hand you this. I will not say, live up to it, for I know you will."

He detached from his coat the decoration of the Legion of Honor, and handed it to St. Just.

St. Just was overwhelmed at the unexpected honor and, while he took it, was at a loss for words; but his face expressed all that was in his mind.

"But--but, Sire," at last he stammered, "this is the cross of a Commandant!"

"Quite so," replied Napoleon reassuringly; "and, to give you the status to support the dignity, I create you Count of Elba, and will see that you be endowed with a sufficient income. Now, I will not keep you longer, for you require rest. Don't stay to thank me, Count. Bertrand shall make out your patent of nobility to-morrow."

So St. Just, murmuring his thanks and protests of fidelity, but scarce knowing what he was doing, bowed low to the Emperor and withdrew.

Apparently St. Just never received his patent, for the following note forms a portion of his MS.:

"It was never done. Bertrand meant to do it, but it got put off from time to time, owing to his multifarious occupations; and on February 25th we sailed; I have never seen my titular island since, though I still have, at this time of writing, my cross. 4 June 1820."

*CHAPTER IV.*

After Napoleon's landing in France on his escape from Elba, events moved fast. As everyone knows, his progress from the coast to Paris was a triumphal march; the people and the soldiers alike receiving him with effusion. The generals sent to effect his capture became magnetized by his presence and, instead of arresting him as a conspirator, hailed him with acclamation as their leader and enrolled themselves beneath his standard. Their soldiers followed them with the wildest enthusiasm, fresh troops successively sent forward to oppose him, taking the same course; so that, by the time he reached the capital, he was at the head of a powerful army, mostly veterans and commanded by the finest generals in the world. Thus, there was no one left to bar his progress; the opposition had melted away; such leading men as had not cast in their lot with his, had fled the country, and the King with them. The words in which Julius Caesar used to describe his own achievements, altered thus, would even more suitably have applied to Buonaparte:--"Imperator venit, visus est, vicit."

The news of his return fell like a thunderclap on the ears of Europe, and diplomatists and generals became as busy as ants when their home has been disturbed, devising means to crush once and forever the bold usurper. But, if they were active for his downfall, he was untiring in his efforts to strengthen his position and to make preparations for the impending onslaught; for he knew how terrible would be its force, and that nothing but consummate generalship, aided by extraordinary fortune, could avail him; the Allies were resolute and agreed about hurling him from power. So, during those memorable Hundred Days, his energy never flagged, and he performed prodigies of work, inquiring into everything himself--no detail was too small for him.

Fortresses were strengthened, provisioned and armed; thousands upon thousands of France's already depleted population were drafted into the army and drilled incessantly from morn to night; the foundries were kept going night and day, casting artillery; muskets and arms of every sort were poured out by tens of thousands; stores of every description were collected, men and women were hard at work all day in turning out materials for uniforms, and others in making them up as fast as their nimble fingers could ply their needles; never before in so short a period was such a mass of war material got together. And the Emperor saw to everything.

To be sure, he was ably seconded by his generals and ministers, for the enthusiasm was prodigious. Everything was done to excite the passions of the French against the rest of Europe, and to inspire them with confidence in the Emperor's invincibility. But there were some few--the more thoughtful of them--who doubted.

Throughout this period of preparation, St. Just saw a good deal of the Emperor, who had now taken him back into his favor, and seemed to have no doubt of his fidelity. Napoleon's trust was amply justified, for, now that the ci-devant traitor was removed from his wife's influence, his former devotion to his old commander had returned in greater strength than ever, and no persuasion or temptation could have made him swerve from his allegiance. Not even Halima herself could have achieved it.

The Emperor had placed him on his staff, and raised him to the rank of a colonel, and had bestowed other marks of favor on him, pecuniary and otherwise. Also he took him into his confidence on private matters, sometimes discussing with him subjects strictly personal to himself.

The Emperor often employed him on private missions and enquiries that required tact and promptness and fidelity for their performance; and he had never reason to be dissatisfied with the result. All this was very flattering to St. Just, and nourished his devotion.

The wound he had received in Elba had healed by the time he landed in France, and, beyond an occasional twinge, his arm was as sound as ever.

One day, ten days after the return to Paris--that is to say, early in April--St. Just was summoned to a private audience with the Emperor.

"Colonel," began Napoleon, the moment St. Just entered, "I want someone I can trust implicitly to proceed to Vienna upon an errand that will make demands alike on his acuteness and his courage. I have the utmost confidence in you, and should prefer you as my messenger to any one else. I know you have had much experience of continental travel."

He looked at St. Just with a knowing smile that showed he knew a good deal more of his movements at Halima's instance than had been suspected by the other. St. Just reddened slightly, but remained silent, waiting for further information.

"If you agree to go," the Emperor went on--St. Just was about to say impetuously that, of course, he would go, when Napoleon held up his hand to check him. "Stay," he said, "wait till I have finished. The man who undertakes this mission for me will run great risk; if he fail, I may be powerless to assist him. They may shoot him as a spy; or they may imprison him. Now, are you prepared to take the risk? I issue no command, for I might be sending you to your death. It is not the Emperor who orders, but the friend who asks."

Now, in putting the matter in the way he did, the Emperor showed much astuteness. Had he merely issued his order for St. Just to go, the aide-de-camp would, of course, have started without demur; but he would have gone unwillingly, for he liked Paris; the bustle and activity going on, and in which he bore a prominent part, had great attractions for him, and he was anxiously looking forward to the moment when, their preparations completed, the French army should, with Napoleon at its head, meet its enemies face to face. Above all, he was a soldier: the smell of powder was a sweet savor in his nostrils, the boom of cannon and the roll of musketry were as music in his ears. By going to Vienna he might lose the chance of winning distinction on the field. But, beyond all this, he would be separated from the Emperor, his intimate intercourse with whom was now his chief delight and pride.

And Napoleon knew all this; he was a keen observer of those about him, and he had read St. Just aright. So he put his wishes on this occasion by way of favor; thus first anticipating and then smothering St. Just's dissatisfaction, making him swell with pride at the confidence reposed in him, and burn with enthusiasm to execute the Emperor's behests.

Not a moment did he hesitate when Napoleon finished speaking.

"Sire," was his prompt reply, "I deeply feel the honor your choice confers on me. Willingly, gladly I will execute your errand, and will do my utmost to bring it to a successful issue. The Emperor has but to command, and I will cheerfully obey. I trust I shall not fail in accomplishing the end you have in view; but, be assured, Sire, that, if I should, it will not be through lack of zeal. How soon am I to start, Sire, and what are my instructions?"

His face was glowing with enthusiasm, and the Emperor was moved at his devotion, and said a few gracious words by way of thanks; then he proceeded to explain to his staff officer what it was he had to do.

The Empress Marie Louise, with Napoleon's son, the titular King of Rome, was living at Vienna at her father's court; and Napoleon and his ministers thought it would be a good stroke of policy to get her into France. Once there, they hoped she could be influenced to intervene with the Allied Powers on his behalf. If she could gain her father to the Emperor's side, he might prevail on the other Powers not to interfere with the present regime in France, so long as the people themselves were satisfied. The Empress, if she could be got possession of, would be, it was hoped, a sort of hostage for the Powers' non-interference with her husband.

Already there was a plan on foot for the execution of this project, and St. Just had been selected by Napoleon as the agent.

He was to proceed with all speed to the Austrian Capital, and there--in person should it be possible, but, if not, by some trusty messenger--he was to convey to the Empress a letter from the Emperor, urging her to accompany the bearer to France.

It was hoped that, having regard to private communications which had already taken place, the Empress would yield to the Emperor's request and place herself under the protection of St. Just. She really had expressed her willingness to return to France, if it could be managed secretly. According to the plan that had been arranged, she was to leave the palace at night by a side door and join St. Just outside; then they were to make their way as rapidly as possible to Munich, where an escort would receive the Empress and accompany her to Paris. All this was detailed at length by the Emperor to St. Just, with the names of certain persons at Vienna who were in the plot, and could be trusted. His last words were,

"You will find the Empress at Schoenbrunn. Twenty-four hours after meeting her you must be at Munich. Spare no expense. When once you get possession of the Empress, fly. Now go, my friend, and good luck go with you."

St. Just bent before the Emperor and kissed his hand; then he withdrew. An hour afterwards he had quitted Paris.

St. Just's MS. from which this story is compiled gives no details of his journey to Vienna, the reason probably being that, inasmuch as his errand resulted in a fiasco, he did not wish to be reminded of it; but, from hints dropped here and there, it may be gathered that he reached his destination and saw the Empress. It would seem that he was duped, and by Halima once more. Fouche, with whom she had close relations, and who, in his heart, believed that Napoleon's day was over, and was opposed to the project for the furtherance of which St. Just was acting, must have told her. In the result, a lady closely veiled met him at the palace, as arranged, and the programme was duly carried out. But, on their setting foot in France, he found that his companion was not the Empress, but his wife. His chagrin and rage may be imagined; they must have been unbounded, and, probably for the first time in her life, Halima failed to pacify him and mould him to her will. At any rate, he makes no mention of what took place on his return; not even of how the Emperor received him, when he learned how St. Just had been beguiled. Evidently the subject was too sore a one for St. Just to bear to dwell upon. Much of the foregoing statement is based on surmise; but it is pieced together from stray notes in the MS. and is, probably, a fair account of what occurred.

When St. Just returned to Paris, he fell into his old groove; warlike preparations were hurried on; conscripts were drilled more assiduously than ever; arrangements were made for the government of the country in Napoleon's absence; and at last the moment came when the Emperor set out to cast the die that was to make or mar his fortune once for all.

*CHAPTER V.*

The morning of the 16th of June, 1815, was just dawning; for, away in the Northeast, a faint shimmer in the sky, that grew momentarily stronger, was heralding the approach of day.

The French army was once more on foreign soil; it had advanced into that country which, from its having been the scene of so many well-contested fields, so many sanguinary conflicts, had acquired the name of Europe's Cockpit.

That portion of the army, to which St. Just was for the moment joined, was posted on a height hard by some windmills, which, in an emergency, would form a temporary shelter and give time for the troops to rally after a check.

In the distance facing them, was the Prussian contingent of the Allied army, under Blucher, its center holding Ligny, its right and left wings extending respectively towards St. Amand and Sombrey. Between the two armies was a broad ravine.

St. Just, mounted on a handsome chestnut charger, had arrived, not long before, with despatches from Marshal Ney to the Emperor. At the moment, he had dismounted to give his horse a rest, and was standing motionless by the windmills, his arm thrust through the bridle, his eyes and ears alike on the alert. Suddenly the sound of firing, in the distance, broke on his ear, now rapid, now merely dropping shots; occasionally, for a short space, ceasing altogether. He listened attentively, and the sound grew louder. He judged, from the quarter whence it came, that it was the advanced guard driving the Prussians back from the village of Fleurus. If the two were engaged, it must be the Prussians who were retiring; the French guards would never give ground to such a foe--for St. Just, like most of Napoleon's officers, held the Prussians in contempt.

While, he was figuring to himself the changes in the several positions that the engagement then proceeding would bring about, he heard the tramp of horses, and the Emperor, accompanied by his staff, rode up.

"Ah! St. Just," he cried, "what are you doing here?"

"My horse was tired, Sire, and I was giving him a few moments' rest. I was told by the picket officer that you were expected at the windmills almost immediately, and I thought I should find you sooner by waiting here than by seeking you, since I did not know from which direction you would come. Marshal Ney sent me to say that he is hindered in his advance on Quatre Bras, by the enemy, who are in force beyond Frasnes."

The Emperor, who was habited in his well-known gray overcoat, for the morning was chilly, scribbled these words on a piece of paper:--"Advance, at all hazards, on Quatre Bras at once. Send men by the village of Marchais to occupy the heights of Brie. I must have them by two o'clock. At that hour I shall order a charge of the whole front to support you. You ought not to have lost so much time; if you had already advanced, we should have had the Prussians in our grasp." He handed the paper to St. Just. "Take this at once to Marshal Ney, and ride your hardest. Urge on the Marshal the necessity of an immediate advance."

St. Just mounted and rode off at full gallop, for the Emperor's message was imperative. He would get a remount from Marshal Ney, for he knew that, when he reached him, his horse would be exhausted.

On gaining Frasnes, he found that Ney was only then preparing to advance. Ney read the Emperor's message carefully, and deliberated. It was all very well to give the order, but he doubted the strength of his command for the task before him.

While he was still hesitating, a dragoon rode up in haste. "Marshal,"--he saluted and shot out the words--"Colonel ----, commanding the advance guard, bids me say that the Prince of Orange has occupied Quatre Bras."

"Perdition!" shouted Ney, much upset at the intelligence. "At all costs we must drive him out." Then, turning to St. Just; "you see, Colonel, the difficulty I am in. The Emperor does not know of it; it is impossible for me to move the men as he desires; my force is not sufficient in the face of this last news. Here, take those men to the front;" pointing to a squadron of Dragoons. He seemed quite bewildered, and scarce knew what to do, hesitating whether to follow the Emperor's orders or to act on his own knowledge, gained on the spot, of the position.

"But, Sir," St. Just protested, "what about the men for the heights of Brie?"

"I tell you they cannot be spared, Sir," was the Marshal's sharp reply. "Go, Sir; the Emperor has placed me in command here. I must have time."

St. Just was attached to Ney's command, and he durst not disobey; so he made no further protest. He saw that, for some reason, the Marshal was delaying, and it troubled him. He said no word audibly, but he muttered, "It is terrible, but I am helpless. At any rate, I can obey."

He exchanged his wearied horse for a fresher one, then placed himself at the head of the squadron and started for the front. He could hear the sound of firing in the direction of Ligny on the right, and also straight ahead of him. Advancing at a rapid trot, he came up to some battalions of French infantry. They were hotly engaged with the enemy, firing as fast as they could load.

"They run, they run," shouted an officer by his side.

"Who?" asked St. Just sharply.

"The Brunswickers; see!" And he pointed towards the eddying cloud in front.

St. Just looked, but it was impossible to judge in the smoke and the confusion how the fight was going. All he saw was that the French were falling fast; right and left, and all around him they were dropping under the storm of bullets. To remain idly looking on was more than he could stand; the impulse to rush forward at the foe, to ride them down and hack and hew, was tearing him to pieces, and to remain a passive spectator was no longer possible. At last, although he had received no orders to advance, he shouted, "Charge!" and galloped forward to an opening between two squares. With a cheer, his men dashed after him. Straight before them, but concealed by the dense smoke, and formed into a square, were the Forty-second Highlanders, who had been advancing and had missed their position, so that they were unsupported. Into this square plunged St. Just's Dragoons with an impetuosity that could not be withstood. The Highlanders wavered, then broke and, in a moment, the Dragoons were in the midst of them, slashing and thrusting, and hewing like fiends let loose. The English, without knowing it, had approached so near the French lines that the battalions behind St. Just rushed in and attacked the Highlanders with the bayonet.

When St. Just and his men had cut their way through the square, sending, in their passage, many a gallant Scotsman to his account, his sword was red with blood, and yet he could scarce remember that he had used it; in his excitement, he had not had time to think, and had hardly realized what was going on.

His men and himself, mad with the lust of battle and the desire to kill, their appetite for blood increased by what it fed on, now threw themselves on a body of Black Brunswickers. It was reckless folly, for the latter far out-numbered them, and both horses and men were fresh; whereas St. Just's were blown. Blindly and madly, they rushed upon the Germans, but their foe stood firm. They retired and charged again, but not the least impression could they make upon the serried mass before them; St. Just's men were beaten back with frightful loss. Seeing the hopelessness of further fighting, St. Just ordered a retreat. At a short distance on the left was a glade with trees, and to these the discomfited Dragoons betook themselves, in the hope of finding temporary shelter. But the Brunswickers swooped down upon them with shouts of triumph.

In and out between the trees they fought with desperation, dyeing the ground crimson with their blood. More of the victorious Belgians came up, and the glade rang with oaths and shrieks, the clash of arms and the crack of pistol shots; and mingled with them, the cries of the wounded and the dying.

St. Just's horse was killed under him and, in falling, brought his rider to the ground, entangling his leg in the stirrup, so that he could not rise. Thus he was taken prisoner. His captors hurried him through the wood till they came to the highway leading from Brussels to Quatre Bras.

At this point, a mounted general officer with a prominent Roman nose, and dressed in a plain uniform and wearing a cocked hat devoid of plumes, confronted them. He was accompanied by an aide-de-camp.

"Who are you, Sir?" he asked sharply, addressing the prisoner.

St. Just drew himself up and saluted.

"Colonel St. Just," he answered, "of the Emperor's Imperial Guard."