his ignoble peep-hole. Courtiers and counselors
glanced at each other significantly. By tacit consent one among them
spoke.

"Free at last, sire, free at last! Ah, see them, there below. They know
their shackles are broken, they know that the foreign invader who
chilled their allegiance is gone. Nay more, their loyalty has already
borne fruit. In the north, sire----"

"How, father? You do not mean----"

"Yes, sire, yes, the mother of God be praised! I mean victory, and death
to many traitors. The news has just come. Miramon has won a decisive
battle and taken Zacatecas."

"Zacatecas! But Juarez was there?"

"Yes, sire, and Miramon entered so suddenly the arch rebel surely could
not have escaped."

"Juarez taken, that man taken!"

"Even so, sire, And"--Fischer's interlaced fingers tightened until the
veins grew large--"and, it only remains for Your Majesty to dispose of
him, according to the law."

Maximilian trembled with joy. He was master of the situation. His people
had made him master. Here was divine right vindicated. It was--Destiny!
He had but to follow whither the heavenly finger pointed. And in
rapture, he seized his pen.

Palace of Mexico, Feb. 5th, 1867.

My dear General Miramon:

I charge you particularly, in case you do capture Don Benito
Juarez, Don Sebastian Lerdo de Tejado, and others of his suite,
to have them tried and condemned by a council of war ... but
the sentence is not to be executed before receiving Our
approbation....
Your affectionate
Maximiliano.

Bazaine and the French camped the first night, the next day, and yet
another night outside the City, waiting. They did not reach Puebla until
the tenth. The rear guard fell farther and farther behind, keeping the
road open. At last there was news. Juarez had escaped Miramon at
Zacatecas, warned in time through some mysterious agency. And farther,
Miramon had encountered another Republican army, by whom he was not only
defeated, but routed completely. In panic he was fleeing to Queretero.

"Maximilian must surely abdicate now," thought Bazaine, and he sent back
a message. "I can," he wrote, "yet extend a hand to His Majesty to help
him retire."

In Vera Cruz the marshal waited for an answer. Day after day passed, and
then the answer came. Too late, was its refrain. Maximilian had left his
capital with what troops he could spare.