of evil omen, and all among the most influential
of the generals had cast their vote for the march on Paris, for which
they would be the relieving army. And Maurice, happy in the conviction
that the retrograde movement would commence not later than the morrow,
since the orders for it were said to be already issued, thought he would
gratify a boyish longing that had been troubling him for some time past,
to give the go-by for one day to soldier's fare, to wit and eat his
breakfast off a cloth, with the accompaniment of plate, knife and fork,
carafe, and a bottle of good wine, things of which it seemed to him that
he had been deprived for months and months. He had money in his pocket,
so off he started with quickened pulse, as if going out for a lark, to
search for a place of entertainment.

It was just at the entrance of the village of Courcelles, across the
canal, that he found the breakfast for which his mouth was watering. He
had been told the day before that the Emperor had taken up his quarters
in one of the houses of the village, and having gone to stroll there
out of curiosity, now remembered to have seen at the junction of the two
roads this little inn with its arbor, the trellises of which were loaded
with big clusters of ripe, golden, luscious grapes. There was an array
of green-painted tables set out in the shade of the luxuriant vine,
while through the open door of the vast kitchen he had caught glimpses
of the antique clock, the colored prints pasted on the walls, and the
comfortable landlady watching the revolving spit. It was cheerful,
smiling, hospitable; a regular type of the good old-fashioned French
hostelry.

A pretty, white-necked waitress came up and asked him with a great
display of flashing teeth:

"Will monsieur have breakfast?"

"Of course I will! Give me some eggs, a cutlet, and cheese. And a bottle
of white wine!"

She turned to go; he called her back. "Tell me, is it not in one of
those houses that the Emperor has his quarters?"

"There, monsieur, in that one right before you. Only you can't see it,
for it is concealed by the high wall with the overhanging trees."

He loosed his belt so as to be more at ease in his capote, and entering
the arbor, chose his table, on which the sunlight, finding its way
here and there through the green canopy above, danced in little golden
spangles. And constantly his thoughts kept returning to that high wall
behind which was the Emperor. A most myster