the divided counsels of the chiefs and the increasing
demoralization of the troops. This they both well knew; why, then, did
they obey those merciless drivers who were flogging them onward in their
irresolution? why did they hearken to those furious passions that
were spurring them forward? The marshal's, it might be said, was the
temperament of the soldier, whose duty is limited to obedience to his
instructions, great in its abnegation; while the Emperor, who had ceased
entirely to issue orders, was waiting on destiny. They were called on to
surrender their lives and the life of the army; they surrendered them.
It was the accomplishment of a crime, the black, abominable night that
witnessed the murder of a nation, for thenceforth the army rested in the
shadow of death; a hundred thousand men and more were sent forward to
inevitable destruction.

While pursuing this train of thought Maurice was watching the shadow
that still kept appearing and vanishing on the muslin of good Madame
Desvallieres' curtain, as if it felt the lash of the pitiless voice that
came to it from Paris. Had the Empress that night desired the death of
the father in order that the son might reign? March! forward ever! with
no look backward, through mud, through rain, to bitter death, that the
final game of the agonizing empire may be played out, even to the last
card. March! march! die a hero's death on the piled corpses of your
people, let the whole world gaze in awe-struck admiration, for the honor
and glory of your name! And doubtless the Emperor was marching to his
death. Below, the fires in the kitchen flamed and flashed no longer;
equerries, aides-de-camp and chamberlains were slumbering, the whole
house was wrapped in darkness, while ever the lone shade went and came
unceasingly, accepting with resignation the sacrifice that was to be,
amid the deafening uproar of the 12th corps, that was defiling still
through the black night.

Maurice suddenly reflected that, if the advance was to be resumed,
the 7th corps would not pass through Chene, and he beheld himself left
behind, separated from his regiment, a deserter from his post. His foot
no longer pained him; his friend's dressing and a few hours of complete
rest had allayed the inflammation. Combette gave him a pair of easy
shoes of his own that were comfortable to his feet, and as soon as he
had them on he wanted to be off, hoping that he might yet be able to
overtake the 106th somewhere on