overwhelming nervousness and incertitude. He waved his hands, he muttered to himself, his mouth twitched awry from time to time as he walked. 

 "Well, messieurs," he began at last, in sharp, rather high-pitched notes—even his voice sounded differently—as he lifted his eyes from perusing the latest dispatch and faced the uneasy group by the fireplace, "you are doubtless anxious to know the news."  The Emperor stepped over to the table as he spoke, and gathered up a handful of dispatches and ran over them with his hands.  "It is all set forth here: The Germans and the English have shut up Carnot in Antwerp," he continued rapidly, throwing one paper down.  "The Bourbons have entered Brussels,"—he threw another letter upon the table—"Belgium, you see, is lost. Bernadotte has taken Denmark. Macdonald is falling back on Épernay, his weak force growing weaker every hour. Yorck, who failed us once before, is hard on his heels with twice, thrice, the number of his men. Sacken is trying to head him off. The King of Naples seeks to save the throne on which I established him by withdrawing from me now—the poor fool! The way to Paris along the Marne is open, and Blücher is marching on the capital with eighty thousand Russians, Prussians and Bavarians. Schwarzenburg with many more is close at hand." 

 Something like a hollow groan broke from the breasts of the auditors as the fateful dispatches fell one by one from the Emperor's hand. The secretaries stopped writing and stared. The young officer by the door clenched his hands. 

 "Sire——," said one of the officers, the rich trappings of whose dress indicated that he was a Marshal of France. He began boldly but ended timidly.  "Before it is too late——" 

 Napoleon swung around and fixed his piercing eyes upon him, as his voice died away. The Emperor could easily finish the uncompleted sentence. 

 "What, you, Mortier!" he exclaimed. 

 "I, too, Sire," said another marshal more boldly, apparently encouraged by the fact that his brother officer had broken the ice. 

 "And you, Marmont," cried the Emperor, transfixing him in turn with a reproachful glance. 

 Both marshals stepped back abashed. 

 "Besides," said the Emperor gloomily, "it is already too late. I have reserved the best for the last," he said with grim irony.  "The courier who has just departed is from Caulaincourt."  He lifted the last 

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