pillar。
  But　for　his　prompt　action；　his　gazing　kinswoman　would　have　come　into　collision　with　the　hindquarters　of　a　white　horse　which　Napoleon's　Mameluke　held　by　the　bridle；　the　animal　in　its　trappings　of　green　velvet　and　gold　stood　almost　under　the　arcade；　some　ten　paces　behind　the　rest　of　the　horses　in　readiness　for　the　Emperor's　staff。
  The　young　officer　placed　the　father　and　daughter　in　front　of　the　crowd　in　the　first　space　to　the　right；　and　recommended　them　by　a　sign　to　the　two　veteran　grenadiers　on　either　side。　Then　he　went　on　his　way　into　the　palace；　a　look　of　great　joy　and　happiness　had　succeeded　to　his　horror…struck　expression　when　the　horse　backed。　Julie　had　given　his　hand　a　mysterious　pressure；　had　she　meant　to　thank　him　for　the　little　service　he　had　done　her；　or　did　she　tell　him；　〃After　all；　I　shall　really　see　you？〃　She　bent　her　head　quite　graciously　in　response　to　the　respectful　bow　by　which　the　officer　took　leave　of　them　before　he　vanished。
  The　old　man　stood　a　little　behind　his　daughter。　He　looked　grave。　He　seemed　to　have　left　the　two　young　people　together　for　some　purpose　of　his　own；　and　now　he　furtively　watched　the　girl；　trying　to　lull　her　into　false　security　by　appearing　to　give　his　whole　attention　to　the　magnificent　sight　in　the　Place　du　Carrousel。　When　Julie's　eyes　turned　to　her　father　with　the　expression　of　a　schoolboy　before　his　master；　he　answered　her　glance　by　a　gay；　kindly　smile；　but　his　own　keen　eyes　had　followed　the　officer　under　the　arcade；　and　nothing　of　all　that　passed　was　lost　upon　him。
  〃What　a　grand　sight！〃　said　Julie　in　a　low　voice；　as　she　pressed　her　father's　hand；　and　indeed　the　pomp　and　picturesquesness　of　the　spectacle　in　the　Place　du　Carrousel　drew　the　same　exclamation　from　thousands　upon　thousands　of　spectators；　all　agape　with　wonder。　Another　array　of　sightseers；　as　tightly　packed　as　the　ranks　behind　the　old　noble　and　his　daughter；　filled　the　narrow　strip　of　pavement　by　the　railings　which　crossed　the　Place　du　Carrousel　from　side　to　side　in　a　line　parallel　with　the　Palace　of　the　Tuileries。　The　dense　living　mass；　variegated　by　the　colors　of　the　women's　dresses；　traced　out　a　bold　line　across　the　centre　of　the　Place　du　Carrousel；　filling　in　the　fourth　side　of　a　vast　parallelogram；　surrounded　on　three　sides　by　the　Palace　of　the　Tuileries　itself。　Within　the　precincts　thus　railed　off　stood　the　regiments　of　the　Old　Guard　about　to　be　passed　in　review；　drawn　up　opposite　the　Palace　in　imposing　blue　columns；　ten　ranks　in　depth。　Without　and　beyond　in　the　Place　du　Carrousel　stood　several　regiments　likewise　drawn　up　in　parallel　lines；　ready　to　march　in　through　the　arch　in　the　centre；　the　Triumphal　Arch；　where　the　bronze　horses　of　St。　Mark　from　Venice　used　to　stand　in　those　days。　At　either　end；　by　the　Galeries　du　Louvre；　the　regimental　bands　were　stationed；　masked　by　the　Polish　Lancers　then　on　duty。
  The　greater　part　of　the　vast　graveled　space　was　empty　as　an　arena；　ready　for　the　evolutions　of　those　silent　masses　disposed　with　the　symmetry　of　military　art。　The　sunlight　blazed　back　from　ten　thousand　bayonets　in　thin　points　of　flame；　the　breeze　ruffled　the　men's　helmet　plumes　till　they　swayed　like　the　crests　of　forest…trees　before　a　gale。　The　mute　glittering　ranks　of　veterans　were　full　of　bright　contrasting　colors；　thanks　to　their　different　uniforms；　weapons；　accoutrements；　and　aiguillettes；　and　the　whole　great　picture；　that　miniature　battlefield　before　the　combat；　was　framed　by　the　majestic　towering　walls　of　the　Tuileries；　which　officers　and　men　seemed　to　rival　in　their　immobility。　Involuntarily　the　spectator　made　the　comparison　between　the　walls　of　men　and　the　walls　of　stone。　The　spring　sunlight；　flooding　white　masonry　reared　but　yesterday　and　buildings　centuries　old；　shone　full　likewise　upon　thousands　of　bronzed　faces；　each　one　with　its　own　tale　of　perils　passed；　each　one　gravely　expectant　of　perils　to　come。
  The　colonels　of　the　regiments　came　and　went　alone　before　the　ranks　of　heroes；　and　behind　the　masses　of　troops；　checkered　with　blue　and　silver　and　gold　and　purple；　the　curious　could　discern　the　tricolor　pennons　on　the　lances　of　some　half…a…dozen　indefatigable　Polish　cavalry；　rushing　about　like　shepherds'　dogs　in　charge　of　a　flock；　caracoling　up　and　down　between　the　troops　and　the　crowd；　to　keep　the　gazers　within　their　proper　bounds。　But　for　this　slight　flutter　of　movement；　the　whole　scene　might　have　been　taking　place　in　the　courtyard　of　the　palace　of　the　Sleeping　Beauty。　The　very　spring　breeze；　ruffling　up　the　long　fur　on　the　grenadiers'　bearskins；　bore　witness　to　the　men's　immobility；　as　the　smothered　murmur　of　the　crowd　emphasized　their　silence。　Now　and　again　the　jingling　of　Chinese　bells；　or　a　chance　blow　to　a　big　drum；　woke　the　reverberating　echoes　of　the　Imperial　Palace　with　a　sound　like　the　far…off　rumblings　of　thunder。
  An　indescribable；　unmistakable　enthusiasm　was　manifest　in　the　expectancy　of　the　multitude。　France　was　about　to　take　farewell　of　Napoleon　on　the　eve　of　a　campaign　of　which　the　meanest　citizen　foresaw　the　perils。　The　existence　of　the　French　Empire　was　at　staketo　be；　or　not　to　be。　The　whole　citizen　population　seemed　to　be　as　much　inspired　with　this　thought　as　that　other　armed　population　standing　in　serried　and　silent　ranks　in　the　enclosed　space；　with　the　Eagles　and　the　genius　of　Napoleon　hovering　above　them。
  Those　very　soldiers　were　the　hope　of　France；　her　last　drop　of　blood；　and　this　accounted　for　not　a　little　of　the　anxious　interest　of　the　scene。　Most　of　the　gazers　in　the　crowd　had　bidden　farewellperhaps　farewell　for　everto　the　men　who　made　up　the　rank　and　file　of　the　battalions；　and　even　those　most　hostile　to　the　Emperor；　in　their　hearts；　put　up　fervent　prayers　to　heaven　for　the　glory　of　France；　and　those　most　weary　of　the　struggle　with　the　rest　of　Europe　had　left　their　hatreds　behind　as　they　passed　in　under　the　Triumphal　Arch。　They　too　felt　that　in　the　hour　of　danger　Napoleon　meant　France　herself。
  The　clock　of　the　Tuileries　struck　the　half…hour。　In　a　moment　the　hum　of　the　crowd　ceased。　The　silence　was　so　deep　that　you　might　have　heard　a　child　speak。　The　old　noble　and　his　daughter；　wholly　intent；　seeming　to　live　only　by　their　eyes；　caught　a　distinct　sound　of　spurs　and　clank　of　swords　echoing　up　under　the　sonorous　peristyle。
  And　suddenly　there　appeared　a　short；　somewhat　stout　figure　in　a　green　uniform；　white　trousers；　and　riding　boots；　a　man　wearing　on　his　head　a　cocked　hat　well…nigh　as　magically　potent　as　its　wearer；　the　broad　red　ribbon　of　the　Legion　of　Honor　rose　and　fell　on　his　breast；　and　a　short　sword　hung　at　his　side。　At　one　and　the　same　moment　the　man　was　seen　by　all　eyes　in　all　parts　of　the　square。
  Immediately　the　drums　beat　a　salute；　both　bands　struck　up　a　martial　refrain；　caught　and　repeated　like　a　fugue　by　every　instrument　from　the　thinnest　flutes　to　the　largest　drum。　The　clangor　of　that　call　to　arms　thrilled　through　every　soul。　The　colors　dropped；　and　the　men　presented　arms；　one　unanimous　rhythmical　movement　shaking　every　bayonet　from　the　foremost　front　near　the　Palace　to　the　last　rank　in　the　Place　du　Carrousel。　The　words　of　command　sped　from　line　to　line　like　echoes。　The　whole　enthusiastic　multitude　sent　up　a　shout　of　〃Long　live　the　Emperor！〃
  Everything　shook；　quivered；　and　thrilled　at　last。　Napoleon　had　mounted　his　horse。　It　was　his　movement　that　had　put　life　into　those　silent　masses　of　men；　the　dumb　instruments　had　found　a　voice　at　his　coming；　the　Eagles　and　the　colors　had　obeyed　the　same　impulse　which　had　brought　emotion　into　all　faces。
  The　very　walls　of　the　high　galleries　of　the　old　palace　seemed　to　cry　aloud；　〃Long　live　the　Emperor！〃
  There　was　something　preternatural　about　itit　was　magic　at　work；　a　counterfeit　presentment　of　the　power　of　God；　or　rather　it　was　a　fugitive　image　of　a　reign　itself　so　fugitive。
  And　/he/　the　centre　of　such　love；　such　enthusiasm　and　devotion；　and　so　many　prayers；　he　for　whom　the　sun　had　driven　the　clouds　from　the　sky；　was　sitting　there　on　his　horse；　three　paces　in　front　of　his　Golden　Squadron；　with　the　grand　Marshal　on　his　left；　and　the　Marshal…in…　waiting　on　his　right。　Amid　all　the　outburst　of　enthusiasm　at　his　presence　not　a　feature　of　his　face　appeared　to　alter。
  〃Oh！　yes。　At　Wagram；　in　the　thick　of　the　firing；　on　the　field　of　Borodino；　among　the　dead；　always　as　cool　as　a　cucumber　/he/　is！〃　said　the　grenadier；　in　answer　to　the　questions　with　which　the　young　girl　plied　him。　For　a　moment　Julie　was　absorbed　in　the　contemplation　of　that　face；　so　quiet　in　the　security　of　conscious　power。　The　Emperor　noticed　Mlle。　de　Chatillonest；　and　leaned　to　make　some　brief　remark　to　Duroc；　which　drew　a　smile　from　the　Grand　Marshal。　Then　the　review　began。
  If　hitherto　the　young　lady's　attention　had　been　divided　between　Napoleon's　impassive　face　and　the　blue；　red；　and　green　ranks　of　troops；　from　this　time　forth　she　was　wholly　intent　upon　a　young　officer　moving　among　the　lines　as　they　performed　their　swift　symmetrical　evolutions。　She　watched　him　gallop　with　tireless　activity　to　and　from　the　group　where　the　plainly　dressed　Napoleon　shone　conspicuous。　The　officer　rode　a　splendid　black　horse。　His　handsome　sky…blue　uniform　marked　him　out　amid　the　variegated　multitude　as　one　of　the　Emperor's　orderly　staff…officers。　His　gold　l