him.  We traversed rapidly the chamber of the invalid lady, each inconsiderately repeating to her—­“All is lost!” We ascended a dilapidated staircase, and passing through a small trap-door, what was my astonishment, when I found myself in the Park!  There we beheld the said detachment of dragoons—­an affrighted mob; and many sinister-looking persons, who seemed well satisfied at the evidence of our fears.  The gentlemen rushed out of the adjoining cafe, the English calling for their servants and horses, (many of whom, by the way, who had never possessed any;) one of these fainted—­no heart of oak was he, when our ancient Briton, the commandant, Colonel Jones, again presented himself, vif et emporte.  The spectators exclaimed—­“que cela venoit de la trop rapide circulation de son sang.” N’importe:  the choleric Colonel, blustering, restored us to comparative tranquillity, as he brandished on high his sword, giving it an after-sweeping movement, as if to moissonner nos tetes; my valiant compatriot extended on the pavement was the only head in security.  The Colonel commanded the misled dragoons to return; and it appeared that they had encountered some miscreants, disguised as British officers, who gave them a forged official order to retreat “the battle being lost!” We descended through our trap-door, and re-assured our friend the Comtesse, who seemed to have received our intelligence (en passant) with as perfect calmness as that in which lay her new-born babe.

To add to my discomfort, deep and loud were the murmurs on Sunday against the Duke.  The merchants said his Grace ought not to have lingered in the salons of amusement one instant after he had been apprised that Napoleon had quitted Paris, whose gigantic strides all Europe had experienced during many long years.  They even denounced his life; while others, more moderate but equally incensed, had commenced a written remonstrance to the British Government:  in such an excited state were men’s minds!—­Victory silenced these despairing murmurers—­success casts its vivid radiance over the hero’s fame; what so potent as its influence!

I took leave of my Belgian friends, who promised to come for me (in case of a fatal termination), to share their safety, and partake of the good cheer they had prepared for our seclusion in the devastated caves of that palace, which in olden time were filled with the finest produce of Rhenish vintages.  At three o’clock entered the good Abbe Bernard, holding up to view a paper with large characters imprinted—­“The French flying!—­the City saved!—­Victory!” Never shall I forget my sensations at that joyful, yet awful moment of restored peace to mankind!  The bells of the different churches chimed the exhilarating note of victory!  The good priest announced that Te Deum was celebrating, and invited me to accompany them to the noble cathedral, St. Gudule.  “What signify forms?” the good man said: