"Am I God, messieurs, to feed thousands with a few loaves and fishes?" cried the Emperor bitterly.
"No, Sire. Therefore, authorize the duke to sign the treaty, and——"
"What!" said Napoleon fiercely, sitting up on the bed and facing them. "You would have me sign a treaty like that? Trample under foot my coronation oath? Unheard-of disaster may have snatched from me the promise to renounce my own conquests, but give up those before me, never! Leave France smaller, weaker than I found her! God keep me from such a disgrace. Reply to Caulaincourt, since you wish it, but tell him I reject this treaty. We must have better terms. I prefer to run the uttermost risks of war."
Berthier opened his mouth to speak again, but Napoleon silenced him with word and gesture.
"No more," he said. "Go."
The two marshals bowed and left the room with downcast heads and resentful hearts. As they disappeared Napoleon called after them.
"Send me that boy at the door. Lights," he cried, as the young officer, not waiting for the order to be repeated, promptly entered the inner room and saluted. "The maps on the table, bring them here, and the table, too," commanded the Emperor.
Even as the lights which were placed on the table dispelled the dusk of the room, so something had dispelled the gloom of the great man's soul. For a moment he looked almost young again. The gray pallor left his cheeks. Fire sparkled in his eyes.
"Not yet—not yet," he muttered, spreading the maps upon the table. "We will have one more try with fortune. My star is low on the horizon, but it has not set yet."
"Nor shall it set, Sire, while I and my comrades live," returned Marteau.