Yes, the Emperor Napoleon was sleeping!  He slept all through the night, through the broad light of the next day—­slept when his whole staff had gone to Lobau—­slept when bodies of his infuriated guards rushed into the castle and, unheeding the emperor’s presence, plundered the cellars and storerooms[B]—­slept when, in the afternoon of that day, his marshals and generals returned to Castle Ebersdorf, in order at last to receive the emperor’s commands.

They would not, could not believe that the commander-in-chief was still sleeping It seemed perfectly impossible that he, the illustrious strong-brained Caesar, could permit himself to be subjugated by the common petty need of human nature in these hours when every second’s delay might decide the destiny of many thousands.  This sleep could be no natural one; perhaps the emperor, exhausted by fatigue and mental excitement, had fallen into a stupor; perhaps he was sleeping never to wake again.  They must see him, they must convince themselves.  They called Roustan and asked him to take them to the emperor’s couch.

He did not refuse, he only entreated them to step lightly, to hold their breath, in order not to wake the emperor; then gliding before them to the room, he drew back the portieres of the chamber.  The officers followed, stealing along on tiptoe, and gazed curiously, anxiously, into the quiet, curtained room.  Yes, there on the low camp-bed, lay the emperor.  He had not even undressed, but lay as if on parade in full uniform, with his military cloak flung lightly across his feet.  He had sunk down in this attitude twenty-two hours before, and still lay motionless and rigid.

But he was sleeping!  It was not stupor, it was not death, it was only sleep which held him captive.  His breath came slowly, regularly; his face was slightly flushed, his eyes were calmly closed.  The emperor was sleeping!  His generals need feel no anxiety; they might return to the drawing-room with relieved hearts.  They did so, stealing noiselessly again through the private office into the hall, whose door had been left ajar that the noise might not rouse the sleeper.

Yet, once within the hall, they looked at each other with wondering eyes, astonished faces.

He was really asleep; he could sleep.

He was untroubled, free from care.  Yet if the Archduke Charles desired it, the whole army was lost.  He need only remain encamped with his troops on the bank of the Danube to expose the entire force to hunger, to destruction.

As they talked angrily, with gloomy faces, they again gazed at each other with questioning eyes, and looked watchfully around the drawing-room.  No one was present except the group of marshals, generals and colonels.  No one could overhear them, no one could see how one, Colonel Oudet, raised his right hand and made a few strange, mysterious gestures in the air.

Instantly every head bowed reverently, every voice whispered a single word:  “Master.”