en, too actual to ignore,
Have strained him hour by hour, and more and more.
He takes the sea to Florence, to declare
His doubts to Austria's ministrator there.

SPIRIT IRONIC

When he returns, Napoleon will be--where?

Boats put off from these ships to the quay, where are now discovered
to have silently gathered a body of grenadiers of the Old Guard. The
faces of DROUOT and CAMBRONNE are revealed by the occasional fleck of
a lantern to be in command of them. They are quietly taken aboard
the brig, and a number of men of different arms to the other vessels.

CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]

Napoleon is going,
And nought will prevent him;
He snatches the moment
Occasion has lent him!

And what is he going for,
Worn with war's labours?
--To reconquer Europe
With seven hundred sabres.

About eight o'clock we observe that the windows of the Palace of
the Mulini are lighted and open, and that two women sit at them:
the EMPEROR'S mother and the PRINCESS PAULINE. They wave adieux
to some one below, and in a short time a little open low-wheeled
carriage, drawn by the PRINCESS PAULINE'S two ponies, descends
from the house to the port. The crowd exclaims "The Emperor!"
NAPOLEON appears in his grey great-coat, and is much fatter than
when he left France. BERTRAND sits beside him.

He quickly alights and enters the waiting boat. It is a tense
moment. As the boat rows off the sailors sing the Marseillaise,
and the gathered inhabitants join in. When the boat reaches the
brig its sailors join in also, and shout "Paris or death!" Yet
the singing has a melancholy cadence. A gun fires as a signal
of departure. The night is warm and balmy for the season. Not
a breeze is there to stir a sail, and the ships are motionless.

CHORUS OF RUMOURS

Haste is salvation;
And still he stays waiting:
The calm plays the tyrant,
His venture belating!

Should the corvette return
With the anxious Scotch colonel,
Escape would be frustrate,
Retention eternal.

Four aching hours are spent thus. NAPOLEON remains silent on the
deck, looking at the town lights, whose reflections bore like augers
into the water of the bay. The sails hang flaccidly. Then a feeble
breeze, then a strong south wind, begins to belly the sails;