But as no other place could be found, it was necessary to make the best of it.  The marshal bore the amputation of his limb with heroic courage; but the fever which came on immediately was so violent that, fearing he would die under the operation, the surgeons postponed cutting off his other leg.  This fever was caused partly by exhaustion, for at the time he was wounded the marshal had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours.  Finally Messieurs Larrey,

[Baron Dominique Jean Larrey, eminent surgeon, born at Bagneres-de -Bigorre, 1766.  Accompanied Napoleon to Egypt.  Surgeon-in-chief of the grand army, 1812.  Wounded and taken prisoner at Waterloo.  In his will the Emperor styles him the best man he had ever known.  Died 1842.]

Yvan, Paulet, and Lannefranque decided on the second amputation; and after this had been performed the quiet condition of the wounded man made them hopeful of saving his life.  But it was not to be.  The fever increased, and became of a most alarming character; and in spite of the attentions of these skillful surgeons, and of Doctor Frank, then the most celebrated physician in Europe, the marshal breathed his last on the 31st of May, at five o’clock in the morning, barely forty years of age.

During his week of agony (for his sufferings may be called by that name) the Emperor came often to see him, and always left in deep distress.  I also went to see the marshal each day for the Emperor, and admired the patience with which he endured these sufferings, although he had no hope; for he knew well that he was dying, and saw these sad tidings reflected in every face.  It was touching and terrible to see around his house, his door, in his chamber even, these old grenadiers of the guard, always stolid and unmoved till now, weeping and sobbing like children.  What an atrocious thing war seems at such moments.

The evening before his death the marshal said to me, “I see well, my dear Constant, that I must die.  I wish that your master could have ever near him men as devoted as I. Tell the Emperor I would like to see him.”  As I was going out the Emperor entered, a deep silence ensued, and every one retired; but the door of the room being half open we could hear a part of the conversation, which was long and painful.  The marshal recalled his services to the Emperor, and ended with these words, pronounced in tones still strong and firm:  “I do not say this to interest you in my family; I do not need to recommend to you my wife and children.  Since I die for you, your glory will bid you protect them; and I do not fear in addressing you these last words, dictated by sincere affection, to change your plans towards them.  You have just made a great mistake, and although it deprives you of your best friend you will not correct it.  Your ambition is insatiable, and will destroy you.  You sacrifice unsparingly and unnecessarily those men who serve you best; and when they fall you do not regret them.  You have around you only flatterers; I see no friend who dares to tell you the truth.  You will be betrayed and abandoned.  Hasten to end this war; it is the general wish.  You will never be more powerful, but you may be more beloved.  Pardon these truths in a dying man—­who, dying, loves you.”