He fought like a wild cat, but he never had a chance with his shorter weapon.  I think that I must have transfixed him with that first mad lunge, for, though he struck and struck, his blows had no power in them, and presently his dagger tinkled down upon the floor.  When I was sure that he was dead, I rose up and passed out into the moonlight.  I climbed on to the heath again, and wandered across it as nearly out of my mind as a man could be.

With the blood singing in my ears, and my naked sword still clutched in my hand, I walked aimlessly on until, looking round me, I found that I had come as far as the glade of the Abbot’s Beech, and saw in the distance that gnarled stump which must ever be associated with the most terrible moment of my life.  I sat down upon a fallen trunk with my sword across my knees and my head between my hands, and I tried to think about what had happened and what would happen in the future.

The Emperor had committed himself to my care.  The Emperor was dead.  Those were the two thoughts which clanged in my head, until I had no room for any other ones.  He had come with me and he was dead.  I had done what he had ordered when living.  I had revenged him when dead.  But what of all that?  The world would look upon me as responsible.  They might even look upon me as the assassin.  What could I prove?  What witnesses had I?  Might I not have been the accomplice of these wretches?  Yes, yes, I was eternally dishonoured—­the lowest, most despicable creature in all France.  This, then, was the end of my fine military ambitions—­of the hopes of my mother.  I laughed bitterly at the thought.  And what was I to do now?  Was I to go into Fontainebleau, to wake up the palace, and to inform them that the great Emperor had been murdered within a pace of me?  I could not do it—­no, I could not do it!  There was but one course for an honourable gentleman whom Fate had placed in so cruel a position.  I would fall upon my dishonoured sword, and so share, since I could not avert, the Emperor’s fate.  I rose with my nerves strung to this last piteous deed, and as I did so, my eyes fell upon something which struck the breath from my lips.  The Emperor was standing before me!

He was not more than ten yards off, with the moon shining straight upon his cold, pale face.  He wore his grey overcoat, but the hood was turned back, and the front open, so that I could see the green coat of the Guides, and the white breeches.  His hands were clasped behind his back, and his chin sunk forward upon his breast, in the way that was usual with him.

‘Well,’ said he, in his hardest and most abrupt voice, ’what account do you give of yourself?’

I believe that, if he had stood in silence for another minute, my brain would have given way.  But those sharp military accents were exactly what I needed to bring me to myself.  Living or dead, here was the Emperor standing before me and asking me questions.  I sprang to the salute.