"Before it is too late----" Napoleon swung around and fixed his piercing eyes upon him, as his voice died away.

The Emperor could easily finish the uncompleted sentence.
"What, you, Mortier!" he exclaimed.
"I, too, Sire," said another marshal more boldly, apparently encouraged by the fact that his brother officer had broken the ice.
"And you, Marmont," cried the Emperor, transfixing him in turn with a reproachful glance.
Both marshals stepped back abashed.
"Besides," said the Emperor gloomily, "it is already too late.

I have reserved the best for the last," he said with grim irony.

"The courier who has just departed is from Caulaincourt." He lifted the last dispatch, which he had torn open a moment or two since.

He shook it in the air, crushed it in his hand, laughed, and those who heard him laugh shuddered.
"What does the Duke of Vicenza say, Sire ?" chimed in another marshal.
"It is you, Berthier," said the Emperor.