As Bazaine at the army’s head rode through the Zócalo, he looked up to find the palatial shutters closed. The Mexican Empire was sulking like a spiteful child. The marshal wearily shrugged his shoulders, and thought on the ingratitude of princes. But the silence of the Palace was only a pose, mean and despicable. Maximilian himself was peeping through the 357shutters down upon the gallant, moving sea of color. It was a stream of gleaming bayonets, of champing horses, of lumbering artillery. His eyes would single out and cling to this or that figure till it was lost in the street beyond, and then he would try to realize that it was lost to him forever. For the street beyond lay toward the coast, where many ships awaited. The archducal petulance gave way to vague melancholy.
Finally he looked upon the last swinging foot, then at the dust settling. Below, in the Zócalo, what had been a fringe of mourning around the troops, became a scurrying of human creatures. They were his subjects. Not a French uniform remained, but the prince sighed heavily as he turned from his ignoble peep-hole. Courtiers and counselors glanced at each other significantly. By tacit consent one among them spoke.
“Free at last, sire, free at last! Ah, see them, there below. They know their shackles are broken, they know that the foreign invader who chilled their allegiance is gone. Nay more, their loyalty has already borne fruit. In the north, sire––”
“How, father? You do not mean––”
“Yes, sire, yes, the mother of God be praised! I mean victory, and death to many traitors. The news has just come. Miramon has won a decisive battle and taken Zacatecas.”
“Zacatecas! But Juarez was there?”
“Yes, sire, and Miramon entered so suddenly the arch rebel surely could not have escaped.”
“Juarez taken, that man taken!”
“Even so, sire, And”–Fischer’s interlaced fingers tightened until the veins grew large–“and, it only remains for Your Majesty to dispose of him, according to the law.”
Maximilian trembled with joy. He was master of the situation. His people had made him master. Here was divine right vindicated. It was–Destiny! He had but to follow whither the heavenly finger pointed. And in rapture, he seized his pen.