morning, closing their rent, torn, and bloody ranks, bearing above them their eagle, and fixing their eyes on the iron Macdonald, while upon them from every side is poured a hail of shot and shell, they go to the very heights of Deutsch-Wagram, where, through the smoke and the flame they can see the white coats of Imperial Austria. Shall they pause here? No! No! The Austrian centre still stands firm! While life shall last, march on!

See! See! upon the right, beyond the towers of Neusiedel appear the fires of Davout; Friant, Gudin, and Morand are driving back the Austrian left. And on the left, Massena, with Boudet, Legrand, and Molitor, is crushing out the Austrian right. While in the centre, far in advance, in the very heart of the Austrian position, surrounded by the torn and bleeding remnants of his regiments, under the tattered shreds of a tricolor, floats the white plume of Macdonald. The Emperor lowered his spy-glass, and turned to the Prince of Neufchatel, saying, "The battle is won!"

CHAPTER XIX

A Marshal Of France

Great is the glory, for the strife is hard.

—Wordsworth, To Haydon.

"Tis o'er! and France, foredoom'd to sway
Where'er her flashing eagle shone,

Hears the proud victor named that day
In victory's shout- Napoleon!'"

ON the following morning the Emperor, surrounded by his staff, rode over the battlefield to superintend, according to his custom, the removal of the wounded. Then he rode to the bivouac of Macdonald's corps, and, when he saw the General Macdonald, he held out his hand and said, "You have behaved valiantly and have rendered me the greatest services. On the battlefield of your glory, where I owe you so large a part of yesterday's success, I make you a Marshal of France."

"Sire," answered the Marshal Macdonald, "since you are satisfied with us, let the rewards and recompenses be apportioned and distributed among my army corps, beginning with Generals Lamarque, Broussier and others, who so ably seconded me."

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Anything you please," replied the Emperor, "I have nothing to refuse you."

So it was.

And the Marshal Berthier, Prince of Neufchatel, the Duke of Bassano, Secretary of State,

the Marshal Massena, the Viceroy Prince Eugene, generals, colonels and Imperial aides-de-camp came and grasped the hands of Macdonald and embraced him. And some of these had, and would have, passed coldly by the General Macdonald, but they threw their arms about the neck of Macdonald, Marshal of France.

So the rewards were distributed. Macdonald was made Marshal, Oudinot was made Marshal, Marmont was made Marshal, Massena was made Prince of Essling, Berthier was made Prince of Wagram, privates became corporals, lieutenants became captains, captains became chefs-de-bataillon, Boudet rose in rank, Andre Marceau got the cross, hundreds of others got this and hundreds of others got that, and Pierre—got nothing! Well, it was just as the poor mother had said, "The Pasquins were not lucky."

And after the summer had passed in diplomatic fencing, the Treaty of Vienna was signed, and, in October, Napoleon and his army bade adieu to the capital of Imperial Austria and took the road to France.

CHAPTER XX

The Study Of The Emperor

This hath been

Your faithful servant; I dare lay mine honour

He will remain so.

—Shakespeare, Cymbeline.

THEY had a triumphal march through Bavaria, Wurtemberg and the states of the Rhine Confederation. The people in all the little towns turned out, hung flags, erected arches and gave them as warm a welcome as the French could have done. And their Majesties of Bavaria and of Wurtemberg could well afford to encourage such demonstrations, for both had been gainers by the Treaty of Vienna in territory and in population. So they reached Strassburg, where the Boudet division took the route through Luneville and Nancy. The Marshal Massena was with them, and when they reached Luneville, about five o'clock in the morning and sooner than they were expected, all the people came out in a hurry in somewhat abbreviated costumes. The red-faced sub-prefect stood by the door of the Marshal's carriage with his coat under his arm, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his feet in his slippers, and his hat on his head. He was too busy to take it off, for he was trying to get his sword in place, fasten his necktie, and think of his speech of welcome. Pierre laughed when he saw him in this predicament—it was

the first time he had laughed for quite a while--but the Marshal spared the industrious prefect the trouble of remembering his brilliant harangue, by ordering the postillions to drive on.

For some months the Boudet division was stationed at Metz, where life went slowly enough. Not that there was not plenty to do—drill and guard duty and work of various kinds—but they did the same things over and over every day. Finally, on the 5th of January, the division was ordered to Paris and went into barracks there. It was near the end of the month of January, either the 30th or the 31st. The rain had been falling hard all day, and the stone-paved courtyard of the barrack was glistening and slippery, while the gutters were running full of water. Pierre had been on guard duty for three hours, and he had three hours more. It was not cheerful work, pacing up and down that wet courtyard, but he had become used to things that were not cheerful. In fact, the whole winter, gay enough for others, had seemed gloomy to him. Yet he often reasoned with himself that it should not be so. If he had failed to gain honor as a reward of his labors, no matter he had done his duty and had fought for France.

One thing he had tried to do and that was to send cheerful letters to Marie. He had constantly alluded to the hope he had that soon he could pay a visit to Grenoble, if only for a day or two. But he thought when he wrote it that his return would be rather different from what he had anticipated when he set out. To go away a simple private and come back one! Why, it was like wearing a tag on your coat front— "The Pasquins are not lucky."