“So is this!” said I, as I seized his sword and smashed it across my knee.

“It’s Francois, maitre d’armes of the Fourth,” whispered Pioche; “one of the cleverest duellists of the army.”

I was hurried out to the court, one adviser counselling me to beware of Francois’s lunge in tierce, another to close on him at once, and so on.  For a long time after we had crossed swords, I remained purely on the defensive; at last, after a desperate rally, he made a lunge at my chest, which I received in the muscles of my back; and, wheeling round, I buried my blade in his body.

Francois lingered for a long time between life and death, and for several days I was incapacitated, tenderly nursed by Minette.

As soon as I was recovered the order came to advance.

Not many days passed ere the chance came to me for which I had longed—­ the chance of striking a blow for the emperor.  Hand-to-hand with the Russian dragoons on the field of Austerlitz, sweeping along afterwards with the imperial hosts in the full tide of victory, I learnt for the first time the exhilaration of military glory; and I had the good fortune to receive the emperor’s favour—­not only was I promoted, but I was appointed to the compagnie d’elite that was to carry the spoils of victory to Paris.

A few weeks after my return to Paris, the whole garrison was placed in review order to receive the wounded of Austerlitz.

As the emperor rode forward bareheaded to greet his maimed veterans, I heard laughter among the staff that surrounded him.  Stepping up, I saw my old friend Pioche, who had been dangerously wounded, with his hand in salute.

“Thou wilt not have promotion, nor a pension,” said Napoleon, smiling.  “Hast any friend whom I could advance?”

“Yes,” answered Pioche, scratching his forehead in confusion.  “She is a brave girl, and had she been a man——­”

“Whom can he mean?”

“I was talking of Minette, our vivandiere.”

“Dost wish I should make her my aide-de-camp?” said Napoleon, laughing.

“Parbleu!  Thou hast more ill-favoured ones among them,” said Pioche, with a glance at the grim faces of Rapp and Daru.  “I’ve seen the time when thou’d have said, ’Is it Minette that was wounded at the Adige and stood in the square at Marengo?  I’ll give her the Cross of the Legion!’”

“And she shall have it!” said Napoleon.  Minette advanced, and as the emperor’s own cross was attached to her buttonhole she sat pale as death, overcome by her pride.

For two hours waggon after waggon rolled on, filled with the shattered remnants of an army.  Every eye brightened as the emperor drew near, the feeblest gazed with parted lips when he spoke, and the faint cry of “Vive l’Empereur” passed along the line.

III.—­Broken Dreams

Ere I had left Paris to join in the campaign against Prussia, I had made, and broken off, another dangerous friendship.  In the compagnie d’elite was an officer named Duchesne who took a liking to me—­a royalist at heart, and a cynic who was unfailing in his sneers at all the doings of Napoleon.  His attitude was detected, and he was forced to resign his commission; and his slights upon the uniform I wore grew so unbearable that I abandoned his company—­little guessing the revenge he would take upon me.