have conquered me," he cried in a loud, angry voice. "Ay, all Nature must
rise in rebellion and wrath to wrest a victory from me. Nature, not
Archduke Charles, has vanquished me!"

The waves roared and danced recklessly on, wholly unmindful of the
emperor's wrathful exclamation; they sang and thundered a poem of their
might, jeering him: "Beware of offending us, for we can avenge ourselves;
we hold your fate in our power. Beware of offending us, for we are bearing
you on our backs in a fragile boat, and the Cæsar and his empire weigh no
more than the lightest fisherman with his nets. Beware of offending us, for
you are nothing but an ordinary man; mortal as the poorest beggar, and, if
we choose, we will drag you down to our cold, damp grave. Beware of
offending us!" Did he understand the song of the mocking waves? Was that
why so deep a frown of wrath rested on his brow?

He again sank into his gloomy reverie, which no one ventured to
disturb--no one save the jeering surges.

Yet he seemed to think that some one addressed him, that some one whom he
must answer had spoken.

"Why, yes," he cried, shrugging his shoulders, "yes, it is true, I have
lost a battle! But when one has gained forty victories, it really is not
anything extraordinary if he _loses_ one engagement."[A]

No one ventured to answer this exclamation. The emperor did not seem to
expect it; perhaps he did not even know that any one had heard what he
answered the menacing voice in his own soul.

Now the boat touched the shore, where carriages were ready to convey the