Ney was soon doomed to suffer the necessary consequence of his crime—­bitter and unceasing remorse.  His inward reproaches became intolerable:  he felt humbled, mortified, for he had lost that noble self-confidence, that inward sense of dignity, that unspeakable and exalted satisfaction, which integrity alone can bestow:  the man who would have defied the world in arms, trembled before the new enemy within him; he saw that his virtue, his honour, his peace, and the esteem of the wise and the good, were lost to him for ever.  In the bitterness of his heart, he demanded and obtained permission to retire for a short time into the country.  But there he could not regain his self-respect.  Of his distress, and we hope of his repentance, no better proof need be required than the reply, which, on his return to Paris, he made to the emperor, who feigned to have believed that he had emigrated:  “I ought to have done so long ago (said Ney); it is now too late.”

The prospect of approaching hostilities soon roused once more the enthusiasm of this gallant soldier, and made him for awhile less sensible to the gloomy agitation within.  From the day of his being ordered to join the army on the frontiers of Flanders, June 11, his temper was observed to be less unequal, and his eye to have regained its fiery glance.

The story of Waterloo need not be repeated here.  We shall only observe, that on no occasion did the Bravest of the Brave exhibit more impetuous though hopeless valour.  Five horses were shot under him; his garments were pierced with balls; his whole person was disfigured with blood and mud, yet he would have continued the contest on foot while life remained, had he not been forced from the field, by the dense and resistless columns of the fugitives.  He returned to the capital, and there witnessed the second imperial abdication, and the capitulation of Paris, before he thought of consulting his safety by flight.  Perhaps he hoped that by virtue of the twelfth article of that convention, he should not be disquieted; if so, however, the royal ordinance of July 24th, terribly undeceived him.  He secreted himself with one of his relatives at the chateau of Bessaris, department of Lot, in the expectation that he should soon have an opportunity of escaping to the United States.  But he was discovered, and in a very singular manner.

In former days Ney had received a rich Egyptian sabre from the hands of the First Consul.  There was but another like it known to exist, and that was possessed by Murat.  The marshal was carefully secluded both from visiters and domestics, but unluckily this splendid weapon was left on a sofa in the drawing-room.  It was perceived, and not a little admired by a visiter, who afterwards described it to a party of friends at Aurillac.  One present immediately observed, that, from the description, it must belong to either Ney or Murat.  This came to the ears of the prefect, who instantly despatched fourteen gensdarmes, and some police agents, to arrest the owner.  They surrounded the chateau; and Ney at once surrendered himself.  Perhaps he did not foresee the fatal issue of his trial; some of his friends say that he even wished it to take place immediately, that he might have an opportunity to contradict a report that Louis had presented him with half a million of francs, on his departure for Besancon.