There was something preternatural about it--it was magic at work, a
counterfeit presentment of the power of God; or rather it was a
fugitive image of a reign itself so fugitive.

And _he_ the centre of such love, such enthusiasm and devotion, and so
many prayers, he for whom the sun had driven the clouds from the sky,
was sitting there on his horse, three paces in front of his Golden
Squadron, with the grand Marshal on his left, and the Marshal-in-waiting
on his right. Amid all the outburst of enthusiasm at his presence not a
feature of his face appeared to alter.

"Oh! yes. At Wagram, in the thick of the firing, on the field of
Borodino, among the dead, always as cool as a cucumber _he_ is!" said
the grenadier, in answer to the questions with which the young girl
plied him. For a moment Julie was absorbed in the contemplation of
that face, so quiet in the security of conscious power. The Emperor
noticed Mlle. de Chatillonest, and leaned to make some brief remark to
Duroc, which drew a smile from the Grand Marshal. Then the review
began.

If hitherto the young lady's attention had been divided between
Napoleon's impassive face and the blue, red, and green ranks of
troops, from this time forth she was wholly intent upon a young
officer moving among the lines as they performed their swift
symmetrical evolutions. She watched him gallop with tireless activity
to and from the group where the plainly dressed Napoleon shone
conspicuous. The officer rode a splendid black horse. His handsome
sky-blue uniform marked him out amid the variegated multitude as one
of the Emperor's orderly staff-officers. His gold lace glittered in