"I do not like to leave my army in such sore straits," he said, "but
I must. I am needed at the Tuileries. The King of Rome has fallen
in love with his nurse, and I understand also that there is a
conspiracy to steal the throne and sell it. This must not be.
Reassure the army of my love. Tell them that they are, as was the
army of Egypt, my children, and that they may play out in the snow a
little while longer, but must come in before they catch cold."

With these words he was off. Paris, as usual, received him with open
arms. Things had been dull during his absence, and his return meant
excitement. The total loss of the French in this campaign was
450,000 men, nearly a thousand cannon, and seventy-five eagles and
standards.

"It's a heavy loss," said the Emperor, "but it took a snow-storm to
do it. I'd rather fight bears than blizzards; but the French must
not be discouraged. Let them join the army. The Russians have
captured three thousand and forty-eight officers whose places must be
filled. If that isn't encouragement to join the army I expect to
raise next spring I don't know what is. As for the eagles--you can
get gold eagles in America for ten dollars apiece, so why repine! On
with the dance, let joy be unconfined!"

It was too late, however. The Empire had palled. Bonaparte could
have started a comic paper and still have failed to rouse Paris from
its lethargy, and Paris is the heart of France. Storms gathered,
war-clouds multiplied, the nations of the earth united against him,
the King of Rome began cutting his teeth and destroyed the Emperor's
rest. The foot-ball of fate that chance had kicked so high came down
to earth with a sickening thud, and Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica yielded