So firmly had I persuaded myself, on my way homeward, that Duchesne intended a duel with me, that I dreamed of it all night, and awoke in the morning perfectly convinced that the event was prearranged between us. Now, although the habits of the service I lived in had, in a great measure, blunted the feelings I once entertained towards duelling, still enough of detestation of the practice remained to make my anticipations far from satisfactory; besides, I knew that Duchesne had in reality no cause of quarrel with me, but from misapprehension alone could demand a meeting, which our military code of honor always decided should be accepted first, and inquired into afterwards. I regretted also, and deeply too, that I should appear to his eyes in an unworthy part, as though betraying the interests he had confided to me.

There were, as I have said, many things I liked not in the chevalier: the insatiable desire he felt for revenge where he had once been injured; the spirit of intrigue he cherished; and, perhaps more than either, I shunned the scoffing habit he had of depreciating what every one around him loved or respected,—of stripping off every illusion which made life valuable, and reducing to the miserable standard of mere selfish gratification all that was great, or noble, or venerable. Already had his evil influence done me injury in this way. Even now I felt, that of the few daydreams I once indulged in he had robbed me of the best, and reduced me to the sad reflection which haunted me throughout my whole career, and imbittered every passing enjoyment of my life: I mean, the sorrowful thought of being an alien, of having but the hireling's part in that career of glory which others followed; that I alone could have no thrill of patriotism, when all around me were exulting in its display; that I had neither home nor country! Oh! if they who feel, or fancy that they feel, the wrongs and oppressions of misgovernment at home,—who, with high aspirations after liberty and holy thoughts for the happiness of their fellow-men, war against the despotism which would repress the one or the cruelty which would despise the other; if they could only foresee, that in changing allegiance they did but shift the burden, not rid themselves of the load; that the service of a foreign land is no requital for the loss of every feeling which ties a man to kindred and to friends,—which links his manhood with his youth, his age with both,—which gives him, in the language of his forefathers, a sympathy with the land that bore them; if they could know and feel these things; if they could learn how, in surrendering them, they have made themselves such mere waifs and strays upon life's ocean that objects of purely selfish and personal advancement must be to them for evermore in place of the higher and more ennobling thoughts which mix with other men's ambitions: they might hesitate ere they left home and country to fight for the cause of the stranger.

If such thoughts found entrance into my heart, how must they have dwelt in many another's? I, who had neither family nor kindred,—who from earliest childhood had never tasted the sweets of affection nor known the blessings of a father's love; and yet scarce a day crept by without some thought of the far-away land of my birth,—some memory of its hills and valleys, of its green banks and changeful skies: and in my dreams, some long-forgotten air would bring me back in memory to the cottier's fireside, where around the red blazing turf were seated the poor but happy peasantry, beguiling the time with song or story,—now telling of the ancient greatness of their country, now breathing a hope of its one day prosperity.

“Captain Burke's quarters?” said a voice without. At the same instant, the jingling of spurs and the clank of a sabre bespoke the questioner as a soldier. My door opened, and an officer in the full dress of the staff entered. As I requested him to be seated, I already anticipated the object of his visit, which he seemed determined to open in most diplomatic fashion; for, the first salutations over, he began coolly to ransack his sabretasche, and search among a heap of papers which crowded it.

“Ah! here it is,” said he at length. “I ask your pardon for all this delay. But, of course, you guess the reason of my being here?”

“I must confess I suspect it,” said I, with a smile.

“Oh, that I am certain of. These things never are secrets very long; nor, for my part, do I think there is any need they should be. I conclude you are quite prepared?”

“You shall find me so.”

“So the minister said,” replied he; while, once more, his eyes were buried in the recesses of the sabretasche, leaving me in the most intense astonishment at the last few words. That the minister, whoever he might be, should know of, and, as it seemed, acquiesce in my fighting a duel, was a puzzle I could make nothing of.

“Here is the note I looked for,” said he as he took forth a small slip of paper, written on both sides. “May I beg you will take down the details; they are brief, but important.”

“You may trust my memory with them,” said I, rather surprised at the circumstantial style of his conduct.

“As you please; so pay attention for one moment, while I read: 'Captain Burke of the Eighth, will proceed by extra post to Mayence, visiting the following garrisons en route '(here come the names, which you can copy), where his attention will be specially directed to the points marked A. B. and—'”

“Forgive my interrupting you; but really I am unaware of what you are alluding to. You are not here on the part of the Chevalier Duchesne?”

“The Chevalier Duchesne? Duchesne? No; this is a war despatch from the minister. You must set out in two hours. I thought you said you were prepared.”

“Hem! there has been a mistake here,” said I, endeavoring to remember how far I might have committed myself by any unguarded expression.

“All my fault, Captain Burke,” said he, frankly. “I should have been more explicit at first. But I really thought from something—I forget precisely what now—that you knew of the movement on the frontier, and were, in fact, prepared for your orders. Heaven knows how far our mystification might have gone on; for when you spoke of Duchesne—the ex-captain of the Imperial Guard, I suppose—

“Yes! what of him?”

“Why, it so chanced that he was closeted with the minister this morning, and only left five minutes before your orders were made out. But come, neither of us can well spare more time. This is your despatch for the commandant of the troops at Mayence, to whom you will report verbally on the equipment of the smaller bodies of men visited en route. I shall give you my note, which, though hurriedly written, will assist your memory. Above all things, get speedily on the road, and reach Mayence by Wednesday. Half an hour's speed in times like these is worth a whole year in one's way to promotion. And so, now, good-by!”

I stood for several minutes after he left the room so confused and astonished, that had not the huge envelope, with its great seal of office, confirmed the fact, I could have believed the whole a mere trick of my imagination.

The jingle of the postilion's equipment in the court beneath now informed me that a Government calÈche stood awaiting me, and I speedily began my preparations for the road.

One thought filled my mind to the exclusion of all others. It was Duchesne's influence on which my fortune now rested. The last few words he uttered as I left the salon were ringing in my ears, and here was their explanation. This rapid journey was planned by him to remove me from Paris, where possibly he supposed my knowledge of him might be inconvenient, and where in my absence his designs might be prosecuted with more success. Happy as I felt to think that a personal rencontre was not to occur between us, my self-love was deeply wounded at the thought of how much I was in this man's power, and how arbitrarily he decided on the whole question of my destiny. If my pride were gratified on the one hand by my having excited the chevalier's vengeance, it was offended on the other by feeling how feeble would my efforts prove to oppose the will of an antagonist who worked with such secret and such powerful means. The same philosophy which so often stood my part in life here came to my aid,—to act well my own part, and leave the result to time. And so, with this patient resolve, I mentally bade defiance to my adversary, and set out from Paris.

The ardent feeling which filled my heart on the approach of my first campaign was now changed into a soldierly sense of duty, which, if less enthusiastic, was a steadier and more sustaining motive. I felt whatever distinctions it should be my lot to win must be gained in the camp, not in the Court-, that my place was rather where squadrons were charging and squares were kneeling, than among the intrigues of the capital, its wiles and its plottings. In the one, I might win an honorable name; in the other, I should be but the dupe of more designing heads and less scrupulous hearts than my own.

Early on the third morning from the time of my leaving Paris, I reached Mayence. The garrisons which I visited on the road seldom detained me above half an hour. The few questions which I had to ask respecting the troops were soon and easily answered; and in most instances the officers in command had been apprised that their reports would be required, and came ready at once to afford the information.

The disposable force at that time was not above eighty thousand new levies,—the conscripts of the past year,—who, although well drilled and equipped, had never undergone the fatigues of a campaign nor met an enemy in the field. But beyond the frontier were the veteran legions of the Austrian campaign, who, while advancing on their return to France, were suddenly halted, and now only awaited the Emperor's orders whither they should carry their victorious standards.

As at the outbreak of all Napoleon's wars, the greatest uncertainty prevailed regarding the direction of the army, and in what place and against what enemy the first blow was to be struck. The Russian army, defeated and routed at Austerlitz, was said to be once more in the field, reorganized and strengthened; Austria, it was rumored, was faltering in her fealty; but the military preparations of Prussia were no longer a secret, and to many it seemed as if, as in the days of the Republic, France was about to contend single-handed against the whole of Europe.

In Prussia the warlike enthusiasm of the people was carried to the very highest pitch. The Court, the aristocracy, but more powerful than either, the press, stimulated national courage by recalling to their minds the famous deeds of the Great Frederick, and bidding them remember that Rossbach was won against an army of Frenchmen. The students—a powerful and an organized class—stood foremost in this patriotic movement. Their excited imaginations warmed by the spirit-stirring songs of KËrner and Uhland, and glowing with the instincts of that chivalry which is a German's birthright, they spread over the country, calling upon their fellow-subjects to arise and defend the “Vaterland” against the aggression of the tyrant. So unequivocally was this feeling expressed, that even before the negotiations had lost their pacific character, the youthful aristocracy of Berlin used to go and sharpen their swords at the door-sill of the French ambassador at Berlin.

To the exalted tone of patriotic enthusiasm the beautiful Queen of Prussia most powerfully contributed. The crooked and tortuous windings of diplomatic intrigue found no sympathy in her frank and generous nature. Belying on the native energy of German character, she bade an open and a bold defiance to her country's enemy, and was content to stake all on the chances of a battle. The colder and less confident mind of the king was rather impelled by the current of popular opinion than induced by conviction to the adoption of this daring policy. But once engaged in it, he exhibited the rarest fortitude and the most unyielding courage.

Such, in brief, was the condition of that people, such the warlike spirit they breathed, when in the autumn of 1806 the cry of war resounded from the shores of the Baltic to the frontiers of Bohemia. Never was the effective strength of the Prussian army more conspicuous. Their cavalry, in number and equipment, was confessedly among the first, if not the very first, in Europe; while the artillery maintained a reputation which, since the days of Frederick, had proclaimed it the most perfect arm of the service.

The Emperor knew these things well, and did not undervalue them; and it was with a very different impression of his present enemy from that which filled his mind in the Austrian campaign, that he remarked to Soult, “We shall want the mattock in this war,”—thereby implying that, against such an adversary, fieldworks and intrenchments would be needed, as well as the dense array of squadrons and the bristling walls of infantry.