"Mine, Sire," answered Marshal Ney, riding up and saluting.
"Ah, Prince," said Napoleon, riding over toward him. "Michael," he added familiarly as he drew nearer, "I am confident that the Prussians have no idea that we are nearer than Troyes to them. We must get forward with what we can at once and fall on them before they learn of our arrival and concentrate. We must move swiftly."
"To-morrow," suggested Ney.
"To-night."
"The conscripts of my young guard are in a state of great exhaustion and depression. If they could have the night to rest in——"
Napoleon shook his head.
"Advance with those who can march," he said decisively. "We must fall on Blücher in the morning or we are lost."
"Impossible!" ejaculated Ney.
"I banished that word from my vocabulary when I first went into Italy," said Napoleon. "Where are your troops?"
"Here, your Majesty," answered Ney, turning, pointing back to dark huddled ranks drooping over their muskets at parade rest.