vaguely the heads of a vast assembly. Into the centre of the room I strode, my sabre clanking, my shako under my arm.
"I am the messenger of the Emperor," I shouted. "I bear his message to His Highness the Prince of Saxe-Felstein."
The man beneath the daïs raised his head, and I saw that his face was thin and wan, and that his back was bowed as though some huge burden was balanced between his shoulders.
"Your name, sir?" he asked.
"Colonel Etienne Gerard, of the Third Hussars."
Every face in the gathering was turned upon me, and I heard the rustle of the innumerable necks and saw countless eyes without meeting one friendly one amongst them. The woman had swept past me, and was whispering, with many shakes of her head and dartings of her hands, into the Prince's ear. For my own part I threw out my chest and curled my moustache, glancing round in my own debonair fashion at the assembly. They were men, all of them, professors from the college, a sprinkling of their students, soldiers, gentlemen, artisans, all very silent and serious. In one corner there sat a group of men in black, with riding-coats drawn over their shoulders. They leaned their heads to each other, whispering under their breath, and with every movement I
