beyond the Rhine.

After that, we saw more lancers, sabres, and helmets file past. All
flowed through the French gate, crossed the Place d'Armes, and streamed
out at the German gate.

At last, on the 10th of May, in the year 1812, in the early morning,
the guns of the arsenal announced the coming of the master of all. I
was yet sleeping when the first shot shook the little panes of my
window till they rattled like a drum, and Monsieur Goulden, with a
lighted candle, opened my door, saying, "Get up, he is here!"

We opened the window. Through the night I saw a hundred dragoons, of
whom many bore torches, enter at a gallop under the French gate; they
shook the earth as they passed; their lights glanced along the
house-fronts like dancing flames, and from every window we heard
ceaseless shouts of "_Vive l'Empereur!_"

I was gazing at the carriage, when a horse crashed against the post to
which the butcher Klein was accustomed to fasten his cattle. The
dragoon fell heavily, his helmet rolled in the gutter, and immediately
a head leaned out of the carriage to see what had happened--a large
head, pale and fat, with a tuft of hair on the forehead: it was
Napoleon; he held his hand up as if about taking a pinch of snuff, and
said a few words roughly. The officer galloping by the side of the
coach bent down to reply; and his master took his snuff and turned the
corner, while the shouts redoubled and the cannons roared louder than
ever.

[Illustration: The dragoon fell heavily.]

This was all that I saw.

The Emperor did not stop at Phalsbourg, and, when he was on the road to
Saverne, the guns fired their last shot, and silence reigned once more.
The guards at the French gate raised the drawbridge, and the old
watchmaker said:

"You have seen him?"

"I have, Monsieur Goulden."

"Well," he continued, "that man holds all our lives in his hand; he
need but breathe upon us and we are gone. Let us bless Heaven that he
is not evil-minded; for if he were, the world would see again the
horrors of the days of the barbarian kings and the Turks."

He seemed lost in thought, but in a moment he added:

"You can go to bed again. The clock is striking three."

He returned to his room, and I to my bed. The deep silence without
seemed strange after such a tumult, and until daybreak I never ceased
dreaming of the Emperor. I dreamed, too, of the dragoon, and wanted to
know if he were killed. The next day we learned that