nct.

MURAT--1815

I--TOULON

On the 18th June, 1815, at the very moment when the destiny of Europe was
being decided at Waterloo, a man dressed like a beggar was silently
following the road from Toulon to Marseilles.

Arrived at the entrance of the Gorge of Ollioulles, he halted on a little
eminence from which he could see all the surrounding country; then either
because he had reached the end of his journey, or because, before
attempting that forbidding, sombre pass which is called the Thermopylae
of Provence, he wished to enjoy the magnificent view which spread to the
southern horizon a little longer, he went and sat down on the edge of the
ditch which bordered the road, turning his back on the mountains which
rise like an amphitheatre to the north of the town, and having at his
feet a rich plain covered with tropical vegetation, exotics of a
conservatory, trees and flowers quite unknown in any other part of
France.

Beyond this plain, glittering in the last rays of the sun, pale and
motionless as a mirror lay the sea, and on the surface of the water
glided one brig-of-war, which, taking advantage of a fresh land breeze,
had all sails spread, and was bowling along rapidly, making for Italian
seas. The beggar followed it eagerly with his eyes until it disappeared
between the Cape of Gien and the first of the islands of Hyeres, then as
the white apparition vanished he sighed deeply, let his head fall into
his hands, and remained motionless and absorbed in his reflections until
the tramplings of a cavalcade made him start; he looked up, shook back
his long black hair, as if he wished to get rid of the gloomy thoughts
which were overwhelming him, and, looking at the entrance to the gorge
from whence the noise came, he soon saw two riders appear, who were no
doubt well known to him, for, drawing himself up to his full height, he
let fall the stick he was carrying, and folding his arms he turned
towards them. On their side the new-comers had hardly seen him before
they halted, and the foremost dismounted, threw his bridle to his
companion, and uncovering, though fifty paces from the man in rags,
advanced respectfully towards him. The beggar allowed him to approach
with an air of sombre dignity and without a single movement; then, when
he was quite near--

"Well, marshal, have, you news for me?" said the beggar.

"Yes, sire," said the other sadly.

"And what are they?"

"Such that I could wish it