we can pass a comfortable winter in Moscow. Is Moscow a cold place,
do you know?"

Marshal Ney looked out of the window.

"No, Your Majesty," he said; "I judge from appearances that it's the
hottest place in creation, just now. Look!"

Bonaparte's heart sank within him. He looked and saw the city in
flames.

"Well," he cried, "why don't you do something? What kind of
theatrical soldiers are you? Ring up the fire department! Ah,
Fouche, Fouche, if you were only here now! You could at least arrest
the flames."

It was too late. Nothing could be done, and the conquering hero of
nearly twenty years now experienced the bitterness of defeat.
Rushing through the blazing town, he ordered a retreat, and was soon
sadly wending his way back to Paris.

"We are afraid," he murmured, "that that Moscow fire has cooked our
imperial goose."

Then, finding the progress of the army too slow, and anxious to hear
the news of Paris, Napoleon left his troops under the command of Ney
and pushed rapidly on, travelling incognito, not being desirous of
accepting such receptions and fetes in his honor as the enemy had in
store for him.