of his imagination, and with them would have vanished all his immense
schemes for the future of France. He saw the danger, but was not
intimidated by it; and trusting to his accustomed good fortune, and to
the courage and fidelity of his troops, he said, "I have, it is true,
many conscripts in my army, but they are Frenchmen. Four years ago did I
not with a feeble army drive before me hordes of Sardinians and
Austrians, and scour the face of Italy? We shall do so again. The sun
which now shines on us is the same that shone at Arcola and Lodi. I rely
on Massena. I hope he will hold out in Genoa. But should famine oblige
him to surrender, I will retake Genoa in the plains of the Scrivia. With
what pleasure shall I then return to my dear France! Ma belle France."

At this moment, when a possible, nay, a probable chance, might for ever
have blasted his ambitious hopes, he for the first time spoke of France
as his. Considering the circumstances in which we then stood, this use
of the possessive pronoun "my" describes more forcibly than anything that
can be said the flashes of divination which crossed Bonaparte's brain
when he was wrapped up in his chimerical ideas of glory and fortune.

In this favourable disposition of mind the First Consul arrived at
Martigny on the 20th of May. Martigny is a convent of Bernardins,
situated in a valley where the rays of the sun scarcely ever penetrate.
The army was in full march to the Great St. Bernard. In this gloomy
solitude did Bonaparte wait three days, expecting the fort of Bard,
situated beyond the mountain and covering the road to Yvree, to
surrender. The town was carried on the 21st of May, and on the third day
he learned that the fort still held out, and that there were no
indications of its surrender. He launched into complaints against the
commander of the siege, and said, "I am weary of staying in this convent;
those fools will never take Bard; I must go myself and see what can be