ights of man," M. Goulden
concluded.

The old gentleman took his hat and went out to escape further argument,
and Aunt Gredel turned to me and told me that M. Goulden was an old fool
and always had been, and that I should have to go to Switzerland now,
unless Buonaparte was taken before he reached Paris.

In the evening, however, when Aunt Gredel had gone, and we three were
together, Catherine said quietly, "M. Goulden is right; he knows more
about these things than my mother does, and we will always listen to his
advice."

I thought to myself, "Yes, that's all very well; but it will be a
horrible thing to have to put on one's knapsack again and be off. I
would rather be in Switzerland than in Leipzig."

Each day now brought news of Napoleon's advance, from Grenoble to Lyons,
from Lyons to Macon and Auxerre. There was no opposition anywhere to his
progress, and the only question that troubled M. Goulden's mind was the
attitude of Ney to the emperor. Could Ney, an old soldier of the
Revolution, though he had kissed the hand of Louis XVIII., betray the
country to please the king? The uneasiness disappeared when we learnt
that Ney had followed the example of the army, the citizens, and of all
who did not wish to go back to the customs and laws of twenty-five years
earlier.

On March 21, just as it was getting dark, we knew that something
decisive must have happened at Paris. The drums were calling to arms in
the market-place, and a great crowd soon assembled.

The soldiers fell into their ranks, Commandant Gemeau, who had only just
recovered from his wounds, drew his sword, and gave the order to form
square.

M. Goulden and I got on a bench to listen; we knew that the fate of
France depended on the message we were to hear.

"Present arms!" called out the commandant in the same clear voice which
had bidden us at Luetzen and Leipzig, "Close up your ranks!"

Then came the news we had been waiting for.

"Soldiers, his Majesty Louis XVIII. left Paris on March 20, and the
Emperor Napoleon entered the capital the same day."

For a second there was a dead silence, and then the commandant spoke of
the banner of France, the banner of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Jena,
stained with our blood; and the old sergeant drew out the tattered
tricolour flag from its case.

"I know no other flag!" cried the commandant, raising his sword. "Vive
la France! Vive l'Empereur!"

What a shout there was of "Vive l'Empereur! Vive la Franc