to the enemy.  There is not a moment to be lost.”  Urging his advance accordingly with renewed eagerness—­Buonaparte reached Troyes on the night of the 29th—­his men having marched fifteen leagues since the daybreak.  On the 30th, Macdonald in vain attempted to convince him that the fate of Paris must have been decided ere he could reach it, and advised him to march without further delay so as to form a conjunction with Augereau.  “In that case,” said the marshal, “we may unite and repose our troops, and yet give the enemy battle on a chosen field.  If Providence has decreed our last hour, we shall, at least, die with honour, instead of being dispersed, pillaged, and slaughtered by Cossacks.”  Napoleon was deaf to all such counsel.  He continued to advance.  Finding the road beyond Troyes quite clear, he threw himself into a postchaise, and travelled on before his army at full speed, with hardly any attendance.  At Villeneuve L’Archeveque he mounted on horseback, and galloping without a pause, reached Fontainebleau late in the night.  He there ordered a carriage, and taking Caulaincourt and Berthier into it, drove on towards Paris.  Nothing could shake his belief that he was yet in time—­until, while he was changing horses at La Cour de France, but a few miles from Paris, General Belliard came up, at the head of a column of cavalry—­weary and dejected men, marching towards Fontainebleau, in consequence of the provisions of Marmont’s capitulation, from the fatal field of Montmartre.

Even then Napoleon refused to halt.  Leaping from his carriage, he began:  “What means this?  Why here with your cavalry, Belliard?  And where are the enemy?  Where are my wife and my boy?  Where Marmont?  Where Mortier?” Belliard walking by his side, told him the events of the day.  He called out for his carriage—­and insisted on continuing his journey.  The general in vain informed him that there was no longer an army in Paris; that the regulars were all coming behind, and that neither they nor he himself, having left the city in consequence of a convention, could possibly return to it.  The Emperor still demanded his carriage, and bade Belliard turn with the cavalry and follow him.  “Come,” said he, “we must to Paris—­nothing goes aright when I am away—­they do nothing but blunder.”  He strode on, crying, “You should have held out longer—­you should have raised Paris—­they cannot like the Cossacks—­they would surely have defended their walls—­Go! go!  I see every one has lost his senses.  This comes of employing fools and cowards.”  With such exclamations Buonaparte hurried onwards, dragging Belliard with him, until they were met, a mile from La Cour de France, by the first of the retreating infantry.  Their commander, General Curial, gave the same answers as Belliard.  “In proceeding to Paris,” said he, “you rush on death or captivity.”  Perceiving at length that the hand of necessity was on him, the Emperor then abandoned his design.  He sank at once into perfect composure; gave orders that the troops, as they arrived, should draw up behind the little river Essonne; despatched Caulaincourt to Paris, with authority to accept whatever terms the Allied Sovereigns might be pleased to offer; and turned again towards Fontainebleau.