"They think that I am as great a fool as they are, with their talk of Mme. la d.u.c.h.esse's journey north, directly after the wedding! Bah! any dolt can put two and two together: the Comte tells me in one breath that he had a visit from Fourier in the afternoon, and that the d.u.c.h.esse--who only arrived in Brestalou yesterday--would leave again for Paris on the day after to-morrow, and he tells it me with a mysterious air, and adds a knowing wink, and a promise that he would explain himself more fully later on. I could have laughed--if it were not all so miserably stupid."

He paused for want of breath and tried to peer through the window of the coach.

"It is pitch-dark," he said, "but we can't be very far from the city now."

"I don't see," rejoined Clyffurde, ostentatiously smothering a yawn, "what M. le prefet's visit to Brestalou had to do with the d.u.c.h.esse's journey to the north. You have got intrigues on the brain, my good de Marmont."

And with well-feigned indifference, he settled himself more cosily into the dark corner of the carriage.

De Marmont laughed. "What Fourier's afternoon visit has to do with Mme.

d'Agen's journey?" he retorted, "I'll tell you, my good Clyffurde.

Fourier went to see M. le Comte de Cambray this afternoon because he is a poltroon. He is terrified at the thought that the unfortunate Empress'

money and treasure are still lying in the cellars of the Hotel de Ville and he went out to Brestalou in order to consult with the Comte what had best be done with the money."

"I didn't know the ex-Empress' money was lying in the cellar of the Hotel de Ville," remarked Clyffurde with well-a.s.sumed indifference.

"Nor did I until Emery told me," rejoined de Marmont. "The money is there though: stolen from the Empress Marie Louise by that arch-intriguer Talleyrand. Twenty-five millions in notes and drafts! the Emperor reckons on it for current expenses until he has reached Paris and taken over the Treasury."

"Even then I don't see what Mme. la d.u.c.h.esse d'Agen has to do with it."

"You don't," said de Marmont drily: "but I did in a moment. Fourier wouldn't keep the money at the Hotel de Ville: the Comte de Cambray would not allow it to be deposited in his house. They both want the Bourbon to have it. So--in order to lull suspicion--they have decided that Madame la d.u.c.h.esse shall take the money to Paris."

"Well!--perhaps!--" said Clyffurde with a yawn. "But are we not in Gren.o.ble yet?"

Once more he lapsed into silence, closed his eyes and to all intents and purposes fell asleep, for never another word did de Marmont get out of him, until Gren.o.ble was reached and the rue Montorge.

Here de Marmont had his lodgings, three doors from the "Hotel des Trois-Dauphins," where fortunately Clyffurde managed to secure a comfortable room for himself.

He parted quite amicably from de Marmont, promising to call in upon him in the morning. It would be foolish to quarrel with that young wind-bag now. He knew some things, and talked of a great many more.

II

Preparations against the arrival of the Corsican ogre were proceeding apace. General Marchand had been overconfident throughout the day--which was the 5th of March: "The troops," he said, "were loyal to a man. They were coming in fast from Chambery and Vienne; the garrison would and could repulse that band of pirates, and take upon itself to fulfil the promise which Ney had made to the King--namely to bring the ogre to His Majesty bound and gagged in an iron cage."

But the following day, which was the 6th, many things occurred to shake the Commandant's confidence: Napoleon's proclamation was not only posted up all over the town, but the citizens were distributing the printed leaflets among themselves: one of the officers on the staff pointed out to General Marchand that the 4th regiment of artillery quartered in Gren.o.ble was the one in which Bonaparte had served as a lieutenant during the Revolution--the men, it was argued, would never turn their arms against one whom they had never ceased to idolize: it would not be safe to march out into the open with men whose loyalty was so very doubtful.

There was a rumour current in the town that when the men of the 5th regiment of engineers and the 4th of artillery were told that Napoleon had only eleven hundred men with him, they all murmured with one accord: "And what about us?"

Therefore General Marchand, taking all these facts into consideration, made up his mind to await the ogre inside the walls of Gren.o.ble. Here at any rate defections and desertions would be less likely to occur than in the field. He set to work to organise the city into a state of defence; forty-seven guns were put in position upon the ramparts which dominate the road to the south, and he sent a company of engineers and a battalion of infantry to blow up the bridge of Ponthaut at La Mure.

The royalists in the city, who were beginning to feel very anxious, had a.s.sembled in force to cheer these troops as they marched out of the city. But the att.i.tude of the sapeurs created a very unpleasant impression: they marched out in disorder, some of them tore the white c.o.c.kade from their shakos, and one or two cries of "Vive l'Empereur!"

were distinctly heard in their ranks.

At La Mure, M. le Maire argued very strongly against the destruction of the bridge of Ponthaut: "It would be absurd," he said, "to blow up a valuable bridge, since not one kilometre away there was an excellent ford across which Napoleon could march his troops with perfect ease."

The sapeurs murmured an a.s.sent, and their officer, Colonel Delessart, feeling the temper of his men, did not dare insist.

He quartered them at La Mure to await the arrival of the infantry, and further orders from General Marchand. When the 5th regiment of infantry was reported to have reached Laffray, Delessart had the sapeurs out and marched out to meet them, although it was then close upon midnight.

While Delessart and his troops encamped at Laffray, Cambronne--who was in command of Napoleon's vanguard--himself occupied La Mure. This was on the 7th. The Mayor--who had so strongly protested against the destruction of the bridge of Ponthaut--gathered the population around him, and in a body men, women and children marched out of the borough along the Corps-Sisteron road in order to give "the Emperor" a rousing welcome.

It was still early morning. Napoleon at the head of his Old Guard entered La Mure; a veritable ovation greeted him, everyone pressed round him to see him or touch his horse, his coat, his stirrups; he spoke to the people and held the Mayor and munic.i.p.al officials in long conversation.

Just as practically everywhere else on his route, he had won over every heart; but his small column which had been eleven hundred strong when he landed at Jouan, was still only eleven hundred strong: he had only rallied four recruits to his standard. True, he had met with no opposition, true that the peasantry of the Dauphine had loudly acclaimed him, had listened to his harangues and presented him with flowers, but he had not had a single encounter with any garrison on his way, nor could he boast of any defections in his favour; now he was nearing Gren.o.ble--Gren.o.ble, which was strongly fortified and well garrisoned--and Gren.o.ble would be the winning or losing cast of this great gamble for the sovereignty of France.

It was close on eleven when the great adventurer set out upon this momentous stage of his journey: the Polish Lancers leading, then the cha.s.seurs of his Old Guard with their time-worn grey coats and heavy bear-skins; some of them were on foot, others packed closely together in wagons and carts which the enthusiastic agriculturists of La Mure had placed at the disposal of "the Emperor."

Napoleon himself followed in his coach, his horse being led along.

Amidst thundering cries of "G.o.d speed" the small column started on its way.

As for the rest, 'tis in the domain of history; every phase of it has been put on record:--Delessart--worried in his mind that he had not been able to obey General Marchand's orders and destroy the bridge of Ponthaut--his desire to communicate once more with the General; his decision to await further orders and in the meanwhile to occupy the narrow defile of Laffray as being an advantageous position wherein to oppose the advance of the ogre: all this on the one side.

On the other, the advance of the Polish Lancers, of the carts and wagons wherein are crowded the soldiers of the Old Guard, and Napoleon himself, the great gambler, sitting in his coach gazing out through the open windows at the fair land of France, the peaceful valley on his left, the chain of ice-covered lakes and the turbulent Drac; on his right beyond the hills frowning Taillefer, snow-capped and pine-clad, and far ahead Gren.o.ble still hidden from his view as the future too was still hidden--the mysterious gate beyond which lay glory and an Empire or the ignominy of irretrievable failure.

History has made a record of it all, and it is not the purpose of this true chronicle to do more than recall with utmost brevity the chief incident of that memorable encounter, the Polish Lancers galloping back with the report that the narrow pa.s.s was held against them in strong force: the Old Guard climbing helter-skelter out of carts and wagons, examining their arms, making ready: Napoleon stepping quickly out of his coach and mounting his charger.

On the other side Delessart holding hurried consultation with the Vicomte de St. Genis whom General Marchand has despatched to him with orders to shoot the brigand and his horde as he would a pack of wolves.

Napoleon is easily recognisable in the distance, with his grey overcoat, his white horse and his bicorne hat; presently he dismounts and walks up and down across the narrow road, evidently in a state of great mental agitation.

Delessart's men are sullen and silent; a crowd of men and women from Gren.o.ble have followed them up thus far; they work their way in and out among the infantrymen: they have printed leaflets in their hands which they cram one by one into the hands or pockets of the soldiers--copies of Napoleon's proclamation.

Now an officer of the Old Guard is seen to ride up the pa.s.s. Delessart recognises him. They were brothers in arms two years ago and served together under the greatest military genius the world has ever known.

Napoleon has sent the man on as an emissary, but Delessart will not allow him to speak.

"I mean to do my duty," he declares.

But in his voice too there has already crept that note of sullenness which characterised the sapeurs from the first.

Then Captain Raoul, own aide-de-camp to Napoleon, comes up at full gallop: nor does he draw rein till he is up with the entire front of Delessart's battalion.

"Your Emperor is coming," he shouts to the soldiers, "if you fire, the first shot will reach him: and France will make you answerable for this outrage!"

While he shouts and harangues the men are still sullen and silent. And in the distance the lances of the Polish cavalry gleam in the sun, and the s.h.a.ggy bear-skins of the Old Guard are seen to move forward up the pa.s.s. Delessart casts a rapid piercing glance over his men. Sullenness had given place to obvious terror.

"Right about turn! . . . Quick! . . . March!" he commands.

Resistance obviously would be useless with these men, who are on the verge of laying down their arms. He forces on a quick march, but the Polish Lancers are already gaining ground: the sound of their horses'

hoofs stamping the frozen ground, the snorting, the clanging of arms is distinctly heard. Delessart now has no option. He must make his men turn once more and face the ogre and his battalion before they are attacked in the rear.

As soon as the order is given and the two little armies stand face to face the Polish Lancers halt and the Old Guard stand still.

And it almost seems for the moment as if Nature herself stood still and listened, and looked on. The genial midday sun is slowly melting the snow on pine trees and rocks; one by one the glistening tiny crystals blink and vanish under the warmth of the kiss; the hard, white road darkens under the thaw and slowly a thin covering of water spreads over the icy crust of the lakes.

Napoleon tells Colonel Mallet to order the men to lower their arms.

Mallet protests, but Napoleon reiterates the command, more peremptorily this time, and Mallet must obey. Then at the head of his old cha.s.seurs, thus practically disarmed, the Emperor--and he is every inch an Emperor now--walks straight up to Delessart's opposing troops.

Hot-headed St. Genis cries: "Here he is!--Fire, in Heaven's name!"