The general's strong lean form, with his animated, expressive countenance, large moustache, and Henri Quatre beard, appeared a moment afterwards in the cabinet.
"Are the marshals assembled?" asked Napoleon.
"At your majesty's command."
Drouyn de Lhuys gazed with surprise at the emperor.
He responded with a smile.
"You shall be convinced, my dear minister," said he, "that I have not been idle, and that I have thought of preparing for the action you hold to be needful. You will, I hope, be satisfied with me. I beg you to accompany me."
And leaving the cabinet, followed by the minister, he walked through an anteroom, and entered a large salon richly yet simply decorated, in the midst of which stood a table surrounded by fauteuils.
Here were assembled the highest dignitaries of the French army, the bearers of that honour, so highly prized for centuries, wrestled for with so much blood--the marshal's baton of France.
There was the grey-haired Marshal Vaillant, looking more like a courtier than a soldier; the snow-white, brave, and military-looking Count Regnault de St. Jean d'Angely; Canrobert, with his long hair, resembling a philosopher rather than a warrior; Count Baraguay d'Hilliers, elegant and chivalrous, notwithstanding his age; the minister of war, Count Randon; the slender MacMahon, all muscle and nerve, with his gentle face and quick bright eyes; there was Niel, with his earnest, intelligent countenance, showing signs of sickness and suffering, but bearing also the stamp of unyielding energy and of an iron will; there was Marshal Forey, with his stiff, military carriage.
The youngest of the marshals, Bazaine, was wanting: he was in Mexico, preparing to leave the unhappy Emperor Maximilian to his tragic fate. All the marshals were in plain black civilian dress.