Well, then came the invasion. Wherever Napoleon showed his lion face
the enemy retreated; and he worked more miracles in defending France
than he had shown in conquering Italy, the East, Spain, Europe, and
Russia. He wanted to bury all the invaders in France, and thus teach
them to respect the country; so he let them come close to Paris, in
order to swallow 'em all at a gulp and rise to the height of his genius
in a battle greater than all the others--a regular mother of battles!
But those cowardly Parisians were so afraid for their wretched skins and
their miserable shops that they opened the gates of the city. Then the
good times ended and the "ragusades" began. They fooled the Empress and
hung white flags out of the palace windows. Finally the very generals
whom Napoleon had taken for his best friends deserted him and went over
to the Bourbons--of whom nobody had ever before heard. Then he bade us
good-by at Fontainebleau. "Soldiers!"

I can hear him, even now. We were all crying like regular babies, and
the eagles and flags were lowered as if at a funeral. And it was a
funeral--the funeral of the Empire. His old soldiers, once so hale and
spruce, were little more than skeletons. Standing on the portico of his
palace, he said to us:

"Comrades! We have been beaten through treachery; but we shall all see
one another again in heaven, the country of the brave. Protect my child,
whom I intrust to you. Long live Napoleon II!"

Like Jesus Christ before his last agony, he believed himself deserted by
God and his star; and in order that no one should see him conquered, it
was his intention to die; but, although he took poison enough to kill a
whole regiment, it never hurt him at all--another proof, you see, that