ster he had brought it, so into the
waters of the Aube he threw it.

With cries of rage, for the Eagle was the most precious spoil of war,
and the regiment or the officer seizing it was distinguished above all
others, the Austrians would have cut him down where he stood with arms
crossed, facing the enemy, but officers who had ridden up had seen the
exploit and had interfered. He had been made a prisoner and Pierre
with him. He just had time to whisper to the boy to mark well the spot
where the Eagle had disappeared in the waters before they marched away.

While under guard with other prisoners at Salzburg he had heard the
story of the end. How Napoleon, trusting the defense of Paris to
Marmont and Mortier, had resolved on the bold move of cutting the
communications of the allies with his little army, and how the allies
had decided to disregard their rear and march on Paris; how Marmont and
Mortier had battled for the capital, how the Emperor, hearing of their
straits, had begun that mad march toward his beloved city; how he had
ordered every soldier that could be reached to march in that direction;
how he had stopped at a wayside inn one night for a few hours' rest,
after a furious day's ride, only to be told that Marmont and Mortier
had gone over to the enemy, that Paris was lost!

The prisoners had learned how the Emperor, not yet despairing, had
striven to quicken the spirits of his marshals and soldiers for a last
try; how the marshals and great officers had failed him. They had all
heard of those lonely hours at Fontainebleau, of the farewell to the
Guard, of the kiss on the Eagle, which he surrendered to General Petit,
of the abdication, of the exile to Elba, of the restoration of King
Louis.

It had made Marteau ill, frightfully so, and but for the tender nursing
and loving care of young Pierre he had died. The lad had been devotion
itself, but Marteau missed more than anything else the companionship,
the sage advice, the bon camaraderie of old Bullet-Stopper. He had
never seen him or heard from him after that day at the bridge-head at
Arcis. Where was he now?

Oh, yes, those days and their tidings would never be forgot. They all
came back to the young officer, as with his humble but devoted
companion he stood there on the heights above Grenoble looking at the
white flag.

CHAPTER XVI

THE GATE IN THE WALL

The two travelers were stopped by the guard at the main gate in the
walls that en