at day were assembled. The bearded warriors looked surprised at
the grand marshal--whose face was graver than they had ever seen it in
battle--and at this lady, hanging on his arm, as beautiful and pale as a
lily. Duroc, who generally had a smile and a pleasant word for the
soldiers of the guard, the faithful companions of so many battles, took
no notice of them. He hastened with the princess through the hall into
the corridor, and down the broad winding stairs opening immediately into
the second court-yard of the palace. He then conducted her across
through the inside portal to the splendidly-carpeted principal staircase
in the rear of the vestibule.

"Await the emperor here," said Duroc, drawing a deep breath. "He will go
up this staircase, and he cannot, therefore, avoid meeting you. But he
has a sharp eye, and if he should see you from afar, he might, divining
your intention, turn around and go the other way. Ascend as far as the
first landing. The emperor cannot see you there before he mounts the
first steps, and then he will not turn hack."

The princess hastily ascended the steps, which she had so often done
with a joyous heart, and in a brilliant toilet, when repairing to the
festivals of the royal court. Duroc followed her, and told the sentinel
posted at the staircase and presenting arms to the grand marshal, that
the lady had received orders to wait there for the emperor, who--

Just then the drums rolled, and the guard in the court-yard was called
out.

"The emperor!" whispered the princess, sinking down on her knees,
clasping her hands and praying silently.

"The emperor!" said Duroc, hastening down-stairs into the second
court-yard.

Napoleon rode in at that moment, and Duroc, glancing uneasily at him,
saw that his mien was even gloomier than previous to his ride; he saw
that flashes of anger darted from his eyes, ready to wither the first
being that should come near them. On riding up the Linden to-day, he had
again missed the wonted music of "_Vive l'Empereur_!" and noticed that
the people, standing here and there in groups in the street, when he
passed them, had frowned instead of greeting him with the usual cheers.
This want of respect, this visible defiance had darkened his countenance
and embittered his soul. Just as he alighted from his horse, and threw
the bridle to Koustan, the Mameluke, the grand marshal, pale, panting,
and in visible emotion, stepped up to him. Napoleon noticed it, and his