Then his whole face changed and his eyes glittered.  He took the “Gazette” up and tore it into little pieces, and, drawing himself up, his long arms stretched out, cried, “Vive l’Empereur!” with all his might.  Immediately all the half-pay officers took up the cry, and “Vive l’Empereur!” was repeated again by the very soldiers posted outside the town hall when they heard the shout.

The commandant was carried shoulder high round the cafe, and everyone was now calling out, “Vive l’Empereur!” I saw the tears in the eyes of the commandant, tears at hearing the name he loved best acclaimed once more.

As for me, I felt as if cold water was being forced down my back.  “It’s all over,” I said to myself.  “It’s no good talking about peace.”

But M. Goulden was more hopeful, and after we got home spoke cheerfully of the blessings of liberty and a good constitution.

Aunt Gredel did not take this view.  She came to see us the morning after the scene in the cafe, when all the town was discussing the great news, and began at once, “So it seems the villain has run away from his island?”

Both M. Goulden and I were anxious to avoid a dispute, for Aunt Gredel was really angry, and she couldn’t leave the subject.

M. Goulden admitted that he preferred Napoleon to the Bourbons, with their nobles and missionary priests, because the emperor was bound to respect the national property, whereas the later would have destroyed all that the Revolution had accomplished.  “Still, I am now, and always shall be till death, for the Republic and the rights of man,” M. Goulden concluded.

The old gentleman took his hat and went out to escape further argument, and Aunt Gredel turned to me and told me that M. Goulden was an old fool and always had been, and that I should have to go to Switzerland now, unless Buonaparte was taken before he reached Paris.

In the evening, however, when Aunt Gredel had gone, and we three were together, Catherine said quietly, “M.  Goulden is right; he knows more about these things than my mother does, and we will always listen to his advice.”

I thought to myself, “Yes, that’s all very well; but it will be a horrible thing to have to put on one’s knapsack again and be off.  I would rather be in Switzerland than in Leipzig.”

Each day now brought news of Napoleon’s advance, from Grenoble to Lyons, from Lyons to Macon and Auxerre.  There was no opposition anywhere to his progress, and the only question that troubled M. Goulden’s mind was the attitude of Ney to the emperor.  Could Ney, an old soldier of the Revolution, though he had kissed the hand of Louis XVIII., betray the country to please the king?  The uneasiness disappeared when we learnt that Ney had followed the example of the army, the citizens, and of all who did not wish to go back to the customs and laws of twenty-five years earlier.

On March 21, just as it was getting dark, we knew that something decisive must have happened at Paris.  The drums were calling to arms in the market-place, and a great crowd soon assembled.