Every regiment that had come in had cast its lot in with Napoleon.

As the soldiers in the town heard, in the twilight, the beating of the drums--"_La Grenadiere_" the old march again!--the Colonel of the Seventh, having seized the few royalists, opened the gates, marched out at the head of the troops to receive the Emperor with arms, yes, but with open arms.

Amid the shouts of the citizens and the delirious joy of the soldiery, the Emperor entered the city; in his train, first fruits of the war, was the body of the old servant of the unfortunate King.
It was Pierre who burst into the apartment of the little Countess with the news.
"The Emperor is here, mademoiselle," he cried enthusiastically.

"The soldiers are bringing him to the palace." "And Marteau ?" "He will be free." "Thank God!" cried the girl, and then she remembered her uncle.

"And the Marquis ?" she asked.
"My dearest Laure," said the kindly, sympathetic voice of Captain Frank Yeovil, stepping out of the twilight of the hall into the bright light of the little drawing-room where last night she had bade farewell to Marteau, "prepare yourself for some dreadful----" "Yes, yes, I know," she interrupted.