the island of Lobau, and make arrangements for building new bridges.

Yes, the Emperor Napoleon was sleeping! He slept all through the night,
through the broad light of the next day--slept when his whole staff had
gone to Lobau--slept when bodies of his infuriated guards rushed into the
castle and, unheeding the emperor's presence, plundered the cellars and
storerooms[B]--slept when, in the afternoon of that day, his marshals and
generals returned to Castle Ebersdorf, in order at last to receive the
emperor's commands.

They would not, could not believe that the commander-in-chief was still
sleeping It seemed perfectly impossible that he, the illustrious
strong-brained Cæsar, could permit himself to be subjugated by the common
petty need of human nature in these hours when every second's delay might
decide the destiny of many thousands. This sleep could be no natural one;
perhaps the emperor, exhausted by fatigue and mental excitement, had fallen
into a stupor; perhaps he was sleeping never to wake again. They must see
him, they must convince themselves. They called Roustan and asked him to
take them to the emperor's couch.

He did not refuse, he only entreated them to step lightly, to hold their
breath, in order not to wake the emperor; then gliding before them to the
room, he drew back the _portières_ of the chamber. The officers followed,
stealing along on tiptoe, and gazed curiously, anxiously, into the quiet,
curtained room. Yes, there on the low camp-bed, lay the emperor. He had not
even undressed, but lay as if on parade in full uniform, with his military
cloak flung lightly across his feet. He had sunk down in this attitude
twenty-two hours before, and still lay motionless and rigid.

But he was sleeping! It was not stupor, it was not death, it was only sleep