to have attempted as a blind, but Ney was well known to be only too frank and impulsive.  Had the Due de Berry gone with him, had Ney carried with him such a gage of the intention of the Bourbons to defend their throne, it is probable that he would have behaved like Macdonald; and it is certain that he would have had no better success.  The Bonapartists themselves dreaded what they called the wrong-headedness of Ney.  It was, however, thought better to keep the Due de Berry in safety.

Ney found himself put forward singly, as it were, to oppose the man whom all France was joining; he found, as did every officer sent on a similar mission, that the soldiers were simply waiting to meet Napoleon; and while the Princes sought security, while the soldiers plotted against their leaders, came the calls of the Emperor in the old trumpet tone.  The eagle was to fly—­nay, it was flying from tower to tower, and victory was advancing with a rush.  Was Ney to be the one man to shoot down his old leader? could he, as he asked, stop the sea with his hands?  On his trial his subordinate, Bourmont, who had by that time shown his devotion to the Bourbons by sacrificing his military honour, and deserting to the Allies, was asked whether Ney could have got the soldiers to act against the Emperor.  He could only suggest that if Ney had taken a musket and himself charged, the men would have followed his example.  “Still,” said Bourmont, “I would not dare to affirm that he (the Marshal) would have won.”  And who was Ney to charge?  We know how Napoleon approached the forces sent to oppose him:  he showed himself alone in the front of his own troops.  Was Ney to deliberately kill his old commander? was any general ever expected to undergo such a test? and can it be believed that the soldiers who carried off the reluctant Oudinot and chased the flying Macdonald, had such a reverence for the “Rougeot,” as they called him, that they would have stood by while he committed this murder?  The whole idea is absurd:  as Ney himself said at his trial, they would have “pulverized” him.  Undoubtedly the honourable course for Ney would have been to have left his corps when he lost control over them; but to urge, as was done afterwards, that he had acted on a preconceived scheme, and that his example had such weight, was only malicious falsehood.  The Emperor himself knew well how little he owed to the free will of his Marshal, and he soon had to send him from Paris, as Ney, sore at heart, and discontented with himself and with both sides, uttered his mind with his usual freedom.  Ney was first ordered to inspect the frontier from Dunkirk to Bale, and was then allowed to go to his home.  He kept so aloof from Napoleon that when he appeared on the Champ de Mai the Emperor affected surprise, saying that he thought Ney had emigrated.  At the last moment Marshal Mortier fell ill.  Ney had already been sent for.  He hurried up, buying Mortier’s horses (presumably the ill-fated animals who died under him at Waterloo), and reached the army just in time to be given the command of the left wing.