c spectacle of an attack by the army of Napoleon. But
alas! the attack was vain; I heard the trumpet sound a retreat. And as I
turned, I saw the body of an aged general officer among a heap of slain.
With a shriek of horror, I recognized the friend of my heart, General
d'Auvergne. Round his neck he wore a locket with a portrait of his
wife--Marie de Meudon. I detached the locket, and bade the dead a last
adieu.

Why should I dwell on a career of disaster? Retreat followed retreat,
until the fate of Napoleon's empire depended on the capture of the
bridge of Montereau. Regiment after regiment strove to cross, only to be
shattered and mangled by the tremendous fire of the enemy. Four sappers
at length laid a petard beneath the gate at the other side of the
bridge. But the fuse went out.

"This to the man who lights the fuse!" cried Napoleon, holding up his
great Cross of the Legion.

I snatched a burning match from a gunner beside me, and rushed across
the bridge. Partly protected by the high projecting parapet, I lit the
fuse, and then fell, shot in the chest. My senses reeled; for a time I
knew nothing; then I felt a flask pressed to my lips. I looked up, and
saw Minette. "Dear, dear girl, what a brave heart is thine!" said I, as
she pressed her handkerchief to my wound.

Her fingers became entangled in the ribbon of the general's locket that
I had tied round my neck, and by accident the locket opened. She became
deathly pale as she saw its contents; then, springing to her feet, she
gave me one glance--fleeting, but how full of sorrow!--and ran to the
middle of the bridge. The petard had done its work. She beckoned to the
column to come on; they answered with a cheer. Presently four grenadiers
fell to the rear, carrying between them the body of Minette.

They gave her a military funeral; and I was told that a giant soldier, a
corporal it was thought, kneeled down to kiss her before she was covered
with the earth, then lay quietly down in the grass. When they sought to
move him, he was stone dead.

When I had recovered from my wound, it was nothing to me that Napoleon,
besides giving me his Grand Cross, had made me general of brigade. For
Napoleon was no longer emperor, and I would not serve the king who
succeeded him. But ere I left France I saw Marie de Meudon, it might be,
I thought, for the last time. At the sight of her my old passion
returned, and I dared to utter it. I know not how incoherently the tale
was