he gates, struck by a terror which a moment's reflection would
have dissipated. But, unfortunately, fear gives no time for reflection.

It is true, however, that a considerable number of inhabitants, less
excitable than these I have described, remained quietly at home, well
knowing that if the fleet had really been on fire, there would have been
no time to give an alarm. These persons made every effort to quiet the
excited crowd. Madame F----, the very pretty and very amiable wife of a
clockmaker, was in her kitchen making preparations for supper, when a
neighbor, thoroughly frightened, entered, and said to her, "Save yourself
Madame; you have not a moment to lose!"--"What is the matter?"--"The
fleet is on fire!"--"Ah-pshaw!"--"Fly then, Madame, fly! I tell you the
fleet is on fire." And the neighbor took Madame F---- by the arm, and
endeavored to pull her along. Madame F---- held at the moment a
frying-pan in which she was cooking some fritters. "Take care; you will
make me burn my fritters," said she, laughing. And with a few half
serious, half jesting words she reassured the poor fellow, who ended by
laughing at himself.

At last the tumult was appeased, and to this great fright a profound calm
succeeded. No explosion had been heard; and they saw that it must have
been a false alarm, so each returned home, thinking no longer of the
fire, but agitated by another fear. The robbers may have profited by the
absence of the inhabitants to pillage the houses, but as luck would have
it no mischance of this kind had taken place.

The next day the poor commandant who had so inopportunely taken and given
the alarm was brought before the council of war. He was guilty of no
intentional wrong; but the law was explicit, and he was condemned to
death. His judges, however, recommended him to the mercy of the Emperor,
who pardoned him.

CHAPTER XVII.

Many of the brave soldiers who composed the army of Boulogne had earned
the cross (of the Legion of Honor) in these last campaigns, and his
Majesty desired that this distribution should be made an impressive
occasion, which should long be remembered. He chose the day after his
fete, Aug. 16, 1804. Never has there been in the past, nor can there be
in the future, a more imposing spectacle.

At six o'clock in the morning, more than eighty thousand men left the
four camps,--at their head drums beating and bands playing,--and advanced
by divisions towards the "Hubertmill" field,