At dawn Maximilian rose, dressed himself, woke Prince Salm-Salm, and they went out together, with no arms but their swords.  As they reached the gates of the convent the emperor perceived Juarist soldiers on guard, and turning to his companion, cried, “We are betrayed; here is the enemy!” At this moment Lopez, who had seen them come into the court-yard, pointed out the emperor to Colonel Rincon Gallardo, who was in command of the detachment from the army of Juarez.  Rincon was an honorable soldier and kind-hearted.  He said, loud enough to be heard by his own men:  “They are citizens; let them pass:  they are not soldiers.”  The emperor was dressed in a black frock-coat, but with military trousers and epaulettes.  He and Prince Salm-Salm then walked through the convent gates and made their way in haste to the opposite quarter of the city.  The streets were silent and empty.  Suddenly a sharp fire of musketry was heard, mingled with Juarist and Imperial war-cries.  Miramon with his troops was holding one of the widest streets of Queretaro, when a ball hit him in the face.  He fell, half blinded, and was taken prisoner.  Miramon was the son of a French father and a Spanish mother, and was one of the very few generals on either side who were of pure white blood.

The emperor, with Generals Mejia, Castillo, Avellano, and Prince Salm-Salm, retired to a little hill which commanded the city.  They had no artillery, no means of defending their position.  They stood on the bare rock where they had taken refuge, like shipwrecked sailors waiting for the fatal rising of the tide.  General Escobedo, a coarse man, who had formerly been a muleteer, prepared to charge up the hill with four battalions of infantry and a strong party of cavalry.

“Do not fire; you will shed blood to no purpose,” said the emperor to the little band of followers who surrounded him.  Then, in a low, sad voice, he ordered one of his aides-de-camp to fasten a white handkerchief on the end of a bayonet.  The Juarists, who were ascending the hill, came to a halt.  Then, amid profound silence, the emperor came forward.  He paused a moment as he stepped out of the little group of his followers and looked around him.  Then he descended the hill with a firm step, followed by several of his generals.

The Juarists saluted him by their party cry, “Viva la libertad!” They recognized the emperor.  Maximilian walked straight up to their commander, an ex-Federal United States officer, who under the name of Corona was in command of a party of Americans who had entered the service of Juarez, and were called the Legion of Honor.  This legion was composed of fifty men.  Some had worn the blue, and some the gray.  Each held rank in the Mexican army as an officer.

“General,” said Maximilian to Corona, “both men and fortune have betrayed me.  There are widows and orphans enough already in the world.  Here is my sword.”

“Sire,” said the general, forgetting that the man who addressed him was no longer emperor, “keep your sword.”  He then proposed to Maximilian to mount a horse, and escorted him, with the other prisoners, to the convent of Santa Teresita.