As I sat thus watching with steadfast gaze the features of the sleeping man, I heard the clattering of a horse's hoofs on the pavement beneath, and the next moment the heavy step of some one ascending the stairs. Suddenly the door was flung wide open, and an officer in the handsome uniform of the Austrian Imperial Guard entered.

“Excuse this scant ceremony, Monsieur,” said he, bowing with much courtesy, “but I almost despaired of finding you out. I come from Holitsch with despatches for your Emperor; they are most pressing, as I believe this note will inform you.”

While I threw my eye over the few lines addressed by General Savary to the officer in waiting at Holitsch, and commanding the utmost speed in forwarding the despatch that accompanied them, the officer drew near the bed where De Beauvais was lying.

“MÈre de ciel, it is the count!” cried he, starting back with astonishment.

“Yes,” said I, interrupting him; “I found him here on my arrival. He is badly wounded, and should be removed at once. How can this be done?”

“Easily. I 'll despatch my orderly at once to Holitsch, and remain here till he return.”

“But if our troops advance?”

“No, no! we're all safe on that score; the armistice is signed. The very despatch in your hands, I believe, concludes the treaty.”

This warned me that I was delaying too long the important duty intrusted to me, and with a hurried entreaty to the Austrian not to leave De Beauvais, I hastened down the stairs, and proceeded to saddle for the road.

“One word, Monsieur,” said the officer, as I was in the act of mounting. “May I ask the name of him to whom my brother officers owe the life of a comrade much beloved?”

“My name is Burke; and yours, Monsieur?”

“Berghausen, chef d'escadron of the Imperial Guard. If ever you should come to Vienna—” But I lost the words that followed, as, spurring my horse to a gallop, I set out towards the headquarters of the Emperor.

As I rode forward, my eyes were ever anxiously bent in the direction of our camp, not knowing at what moment I might see the advance of a column along the road, and dreading lest, before the despatches should reach the Emperor's house, the advanced vedettes should capture the little party at Holitsch. At no period of his career was Napoleon more incensed against the adherents of the Bourbons; and if De Beauvais should fall into his hands, I was well aware that nothing could save him. The Emperor always connected in his mind—and with good reason, too—the machinations of the Royalists with the plans of the English Government. He knew that the land which afforded the asylum to their king was the refuge of the others also; and many of the heaviest denunciations against the “perfide Albion” had no other source than the dread, of which he could never divest himself, that the legitimate monarch would one day be restored to France.

While such were Napoleon's feelings, the death of the Duc d'Enghien had heightened the hatred of the Bourbonists to a pitch little short of madness. My own unhappy experience made me more than ever fearful of being in any way implicated with the members of this party, and I rode on as though life itself depended on my reaching the imperial headquarters some few minutes earlier.

As I approached the camp, I was overjoyed to find that no movement was in contemplation. The men were engaged in cleaning their arms and accoutrements, restoring the broken wagons and gun-carriages, and repairing, as far as might be, the disorders of the day of battle. The officers stood in groups here and there, chatting at their ease; while the only men under arms were the new conscript? just arrived from France,—a force of some thousands,—brought by forced marches from the banks of the Rhine.

The crowd of officers near the headquarters of the Emperor pressed closely about me as I descended from my horse, eager to learn what information I brought from Holitsch; for they were not aware that I had been stationed nearly half-way on the road.

“Well, Burke,” said General d'Auvergne, as he drew his arm within mine, “your coming has been anxiously looked for this morning. I trust the despatches you carry may, if not Contradict, at least explain what has occurred.”

“Is this the officer from Holitsch?” said the aide-decamp of the Emperor, coming hurriedly forward. “The despatch, sir!” cried he; and the next moment hastened to the little hut which Napoleon occupied as his bivouac.

The only other person in the open space where I stood was an officer of the lancers, whose splashed and travel-stained dress seemed to say he had been employed like myself.

“I fancy, Monsieur,” said he, bowing, “that you have had a sharp ride also this morning. I have just arrived from GÖding—four leagues—in less than an hour; and with all that, too late, I believe, to remedy what has occurred.”

“What, then, has happened?”

“Davoust has been tricked into an armistice, and suffered the Russians to pass the bridge. The Emperor Alexander has taken advantage of the negotiations with Austria, and got his army clear through; so, at least, it would seem. I saw Napoleon tear the despatch into fragments, and stamp his foot upon them. But here he comes.”

The words were scarcely spoken when the Emperor came rapidly up, followed by his staff. He wore a gray surtout, trimmed with dark fur, and had his hands clasped within the cuffs of the coat. His face was pale as death, and save a slight contraction of his brows, there was nothing to show any appearance of displeasure.

“Who brought the despatch from GÖding?”

“I did, Sire,” said the officer.

“How are the roads, sir?”

“Much cut up, and in one place a torrent has carried away part of a bridge.”

“I knew it,—I knew it,” said he, bitterly; “it is too late. Duroc,” cried he, while the words seemed to come forth with a hissing sound, “did I not tell you, 'Grattez le Russe, et vous trouverez le Tartare!'”

The words were graven in my memory from that hour; even yet, I can recall the very accents as when I heard them.

“And you, sir,” said he, turning suddenly towards me, “you came from General Savary. Return to him with this letter. Have you written, Duroc? Well, you'll deliver this to General Savary at Holitsch. He may require you to proceed to GÖding. Are you well mounted?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Come, then, sir. I made you a captain yesterday; let us see if you can win your spurs to-day.”

From the time I received the despatch to that in which I was in the saddle not more than five minutes elapsed. The idea of being chosen by the Emperor himself for a service was a proud one, and I resolved to acquit myself with credit. With what concert does one's heart beat to the free stride of a mettled charger! how does each bold plunge warm the blood and stir up the spirits! and as, careering free over hill and valley, we pass in our flight the clouds that drift above, how does the sense of freedom, realized as it is, impart a feeling of ecstasy to our minds! Our thoughts, revelling on the wayward liberty our course suggests, rise free and untrammelled from the doubts and cares of every-day life.

Onward I went, and soon the old mill came in sight, rearing its ruined head amid the black desolation of the plain. I could not resist the impulse to see what had become of De Beauvais; and leading my horse into the kitchen, I hastened up the stairs and through the rooms. But all were deserted; the little chamber lay open, the granary too; but no one was there.

With a mind relieved, in a great measure, from anxiety, I remounted and continued my way; and soon entered the dark woods of Holitsch. The chÂteau and demesne were a private estate of the Emperor Francis, and once formed a favorite resort of Joseph the Second in his hunting excursions. The chÂteau itself was a large, irregular mass of building, but still, with all its incongruity of architecture, not devoid of picturesque effect,—and the older portion of it was even handsome. While I stood in front of a long terrace, on which several windows opened from a gallery that ran along one side of the chÂteau, I was somewhat surprised that no guard was to be seen, nor even a single sentinel on duty. I dismounted, and leading my horse, approached the avenue that led up between a double range of statues to the door. An old man, dressed in the slouched hat and light blue jacket of a Bohemian peasant, was busily engaged in wrapping matting around some shrubs, to protect them from the frost. A little boy—his second self in costume—stood beside him with his pruning-knife, and stared at me with a kind of stupid wonder as I approached. With some difficulty I made out from the old man that the Emperor occupied a smaller building called the Kaiser-Lust, about half a league distant in the forest, having given strict orders that no one was to approach the chÂteau nor its immediate grounds. It was his favorite retreat, and perhaps he did not wish it should be associated in his mind with a period of such misfortune. The old peasant continued his occupation while he spoke, never lifting his head from his work, and seeming all absorbed in the necessity of what he was engaged in. As I inquired the nearest road to the imperial quarters, he employed me to assist him for a moment in his task by holding one end of the matting, with which he was now about to envelop a marble statue of Maria Theresa.

I could not refuse a request so naturally proffered; and while I did so, a little wicket opened at a short distance off, and a tall man, in a gray surtout and a plain cocked hat without a feather, came forward. He held a riding-whip in his hand, and seemed, from his splashed equipment, to have just descended from the saddle.

“Well, Fritz,” said he, “I hope the frost has done us no mischief?”

The old gardener turned round at the words, and, touching his hat respectfully, continued his work, while he replied,—

“No, Mein Herr; it was but a white hoar, and everything has escaped well.”

“And whom have you got here for an assistant, may I ask?” said he, pointing to me, whom he now saw for the first time.

As the question was asked in German, although I understood it I left the reply to the gardener.

“God knows!” said the old fellow, in a tone of easy indifference; “I think he must be a soldier of some sort.”

The other smiled at the remark, and, turning towards me, said, in French,—

“You are, perhaps, unaware, sir, being a stranger, that it is the Emperor of Austria's desire this chÂteau should not be intruded on.”

“My offending, sir,” interrupted I, “was purely accidental. I am the bearer of despatches for General Savary; and having stopped to inquire from this honest man—”

“The general has taken his departure for GÖding,” he broke in, without paying further attention to my explanation.

“For Goding! and may I ask what distance that may be?”

“Scarcely a league, if you can hit upon the right path; the road lies yonder, where you see that dead fir-tree.”

“I thank you, sir,” said I, touching my hat; “and must now ask my friend here to release me,—my orders are of moment.”

“You may find some difficulty in the wood, after all,” said he; “I 'll send my groom part of the way with you.”

Before I could proffer my thanks suitably for such an unexpected politeness, he had disappeared in the garden through which he entered a few minutes before.

“I say, my worthy friend, tell me the name of that gentleman; he's one of the Emperor's staff, if I mistake not. I 'm certain I 've seen the face before.”

“If you had,” said the old fellow, laughing, “you could scarcely forget him; old Frantzerl is just the same these twenty years.”

“Whom did you say?”

Before he could reply, the other was at my side.

“Now, sir,” said he, “he will conduct you to the highroad. I wish you a good journey.”

These words were uttered in a tone somewhat more haughty than his previous ones; and contenting myself with a civil acknowledgment of his attention, I bowed and returned to my horse, which the little peasant child had been holding.

“This way, Monsieur,” said the groom, who, dressed in a plain dark brown livery, was mounted on a horse of great size and symmetry.

As he spoke, he dashed forward at a gallop which all my efforts could not succeed in overtaking. In less than ten minutes the man halted, and, waiting till I came up, he pointed to a gentle acclivity before me, across which the highroad led.

“There lies the road, sir; continue your speed, and in twenty minutes you reach GÖding.”

“One word,” said I, drawing forth my purse as I spoke,—“one word. Tell me, who is your master?”

The groom smiled, slightly touched his hat, and without uttering a word, wheeled round his horse, and before I could repeat my question, was far on his road back to the chÂteau.

Before me lay the river, and the little bridge of GÖding, across which now the Russian columns were marching in rapid but compact order. Their cavalry had nearly all passed, and was drawn with some field-guns along the bank; while at half-cannon-shot distance, the corps of Davoust were drawn up in order of battle, and standing spectators of the scene. On an eminence of the field a splendid staff were assembled, accompanied by a troop of Tartar horsemen, whose gay colors and strange equipment were a remarkable feature of the picture; and here, I learned, the Emperor Alexander then was, accompanied by General Savary.

As I drew near, my French uniform caught the eye of the latter, and he cantered forward to meet me. Tearing open the despatch with eagerness, he rapidly perused the few lines it contained; then, seizing me by the arm in his-strong grasp, he exclaimed,—

“Look yonder, sir! You see their columns extending to Serritz. Go back and tell his Majesty. But no; my own mission here is ended. You may return to Austerlitz.”

So saying, he rode back to the group around the Emperor, where I saw him a few minutes after addressing his Majesty; and then, after a formal leave-taking, turn his horse's head and set out towards Brunn.

As I retraced my steps towards the camp, I began to muse over the events which had just occurred; and even by the imperfect glimpses I could catch of the negotiations, could perceive that the Czar had out-manoeuvred Napoleon. It is true, I was not aware by what means the success had been obtained; nor was it for many a year after that I became cognizant of the few autograph lines by which Alexander induced Davoust to suspend his operations, under the pretence that the Austrian armistice included the Russian army. It was an unworthy act and ill befitting one whose high personal courage and chivalrous bearing gave promise of better things.