A little corporal of artillery; from a cocked hat to a crown, from Corsica to St.Helena: Napoleon.
Fitzgerald, as he pressed his way along the _Boulevard des Invalides_, his umbrella swaying and snapping in the wind much like the sail of a derelict, could see in fancy that celebrated field whereon this eclipse had been supernally prearranged.

He could hear the boom of cannon, the thunder of cavalry, the patter of musketry, now thick, now scattered, and again not unlike the subdued rattle of rain on the bulging silk careening before him.

He held the handle of the umbrella under his arm, for the wind had a temper mawling and destructive, and veered into the _Place Vauban_.

Another man, coming with equal haste from the opposite direction, from the entrance of the tomb itself, was also two parts hidden behind an umbrella.

The two came together with a jolt as sounding as that of two old crusaders in a friendly joust.