"Impossible," he said—"it hurts me too much!"
And he dismounted.
Jérôme ran to his side.
"Do your best," he said; "I cannot ride on horseback."
Napoleon, on his return from the isle of Elba, like François the First, had had his belle Ferronnière; the difference was, that she had not brought him the vengeance of a husband, but the advice of a diplomatist.
Man of destiny, thou hast finished thy work,—now thou must fall!
See him at the Élysée—the man with an eagle's glance, full of quick resolves, tenacious and masterful of purpose! Is this the hero of Toulon, of Lodi, of the Pyramids, of Marengo, of Austerlitz, of Jena, and of Wagram? Is this the hero of Lutzen and of Bautzen? Is this even the man of Montmirail and of Montereau? No, all his energy has been expended over his miraculous return from the isle of Elba.
At first he did not at all realise his defeat. He returned to that day unceasingly in St. Helena, drinking again the bitter cup to the dregs.
"An incomprehensible day! an unheard-of combination of misfortunes! Grouchy! Ney! d'Erlon! Had there been treason? Was it ill luck?... And though everything that skill could suggest had been done, everything failed just when it should have succeeded!"
It was the hand of Providence, sire!