charger--he with the pale face and
expansive forehead, crowned with light-brown hair; with impenetrable
features, a cold, compressed mouth, and large, gloomy eyes--that man is
Napoleon, Emperor of the French. Duroc, Berthier, Bessieres, and
Caulaincourt, form his suite, and follow him at a full gallop to the
bank of the river.

That slender young man on the richly caparisoned black horse--that tall
figure with smiling and handsome face, full of vigor, health, and
vivacity--with soft, restless features; blue eyes radiant with
enthusiasm, and crimson lips--is Alexander, Emperor of Russia. The
Grand-duke Constantine, Generals Benningsen and Ouwaroff, Prince
Labanoff, and Count Lieven, accompany him.

The two emperors dismount at the same time, and embark with their suites
in the gondolas that are to convey them to the pavilion. The oarsmen
keep time with their oars and the boats approach each other, reaching
simultaneously the two staircases leading from the platform to the
water. The two monarchs disembark at the same moment. Alexander and
Napoleon stand face to face. For a moment they look at each other with
inquiring glances, and then embrace in the most cordial manner.

This testimony of a frank reconciliation excited vehement applause among
the spectators who lined the river; the French as well as the Russians
stretched out their arms toward their newly-won friends on the other
bank. "Peace!" shouted thousands. "Hail, ye friends and brethren! our
enmity is over; our emperors have affectionately embraced each other,
and like them their subjects will meet in love and peace! No more
shedding of blood! Peace! peace!" The music joined with the exultant
cries of the two nations, and the emperors stepped, keeping time with
the bands, through the doors leading into the pavilion. They were alone.
Only the eye of God could behold them. For a few moments they stood face
to face, silent, and undecided which of them was to speak first, while
the echoes of the music penetrated the heavily-curtained walls of the
pavilion. Each of them seemed to be anxious to read the thoughts of the
other in his face, and to look into the depths of his soul.

Napoleon's sonorous voice was the first to break the silence. "Why are
we at war?" he asked with an inimitable smile, offering his hand to
Alexander.

"It is true," exclaimed Alexander, as if awaking from a dream; "why are
we at war? If your grudge is against England, and against her alon