The waves roared and danced recklessly on, wholly unmindful of the emperor’s wrathful exclamation; they sang and thundered a poem of their might, jeering him:  “Beware of offending us, for we can avenge ourselves; we hold your fate in our power.  Beware of offending us, for we are bearing you on our backs in a fragile boat, and the Caesar and his empire weigh no more than the lightest fisherman with his nets.  Beware of offending us, for you are nothing but an ordinary man; mortal as the poorest beggar, and, if we choose, we will drag you down to our cold, damp grave.  Beware of offending us!” Did he understand the song of the mocking waves?  Was that why so deep a frown of wrath rested on his brow?

He again sank into his gloomy reverie, which no one ventured to disturb—­no one save the jeering surges.

Yet he seemed to think that some one addressed him, that some one whom he must answer had spoken.

“Why, yes,” he cried, shrugging his shoulders, “yes, it is true, I have lost a battle!  But when one has gained forty victories, it really is not anything extraordinary if he loses one engagement."[A]

No one ventured to answer this exclamation.  The emperor did not seem to expect it; perhaps he did not even know that any one had heard what he answered the menacing voice in his own soul.

Now the boat touched the shore, where carriages were ready to convey the emperor and his suite to Ebersdorf.

His whole staff, all his marshals and generals, were waiting for him before the door of the castle.  With bared heads, in stiff military attitude, they received their lord and master, the august emperor, expecting a gracious greeting.  But he passed on without looking at them, without even saluting them by a wave of his hand.  They looked after him with wondering, angry eyes, and, like the glittering tail of a comet, followed him into the castle, up the steps, and into the hall.

But as they entered the reception-room where he usually talked with them, Napoleon had already vanished in his private office, whose door swiftly closed behind him.

The marshals and generals, aids and staff officers, still waited.  The emperor would surely return, they thought.  He still had to give them his commands for the next day, his orders concerning what was to be done on the island of Lobau, what provision should be made for the care of the wounded, the sustenance of the uninjured, the rescue of the remains of his army.

But they waited in vain; Napoleon did not return to them, gave them no orders.  After half an hour’s futile expectation, Roustan glided through the little door of the private room into the hall, and, with a very important air, whispered to the listening officers that the emperor had gone to bed immediately, and had scarcely touched the pillows ere he sunk into a deep sleep.

Yes, the Emperor Napoleon was sleeping, and his generals glided on tiptoe out of the hall and discussed outside the measures which they must now adopt on their own account to rescue the luckless fragment of the army from the island of Lobau, and make arrangements for building new bridges.