Ah! Amelia, when I think of all the wretchedness of Prussia, and
that I may have to die without having chastised Bonaparte--without
having wrested from him, and flung into his face, the laurels of
Jena, Eylau, and Friedland--ah, then I feel like sitting down and
crying like a boy. But Heaven cannot be so cruel; it will not let me
die before meeting Bonaparte on the field of battle, and avenging
all our wrongs upon him. No, I trust I will not die before that--
and, after all, I am quite young! Only seventy years of age! My
grandfather died in his ninetieth year, and my mother told me often
enough that I looked exactly like my grandfather; I shall,
therefore, reach my ninetieth year. I have still twenty years to
live--twenty years, that is enough--" Just then the door opened, and
a footman entered.
"Well, John," asked Blucher, "what is it? Why do you look so merry,
my boy? I suppose you have good news for us, have you not?"
"I have, your excellency," said the footman. "There is an old man
outside, an invalid, attended by a young fellow who, I believe, is
his son. The two have come all the way from Pomerania, and want to
see General von Blucher. He says he has important news for your
excellency."
"Important news?" asked Blucher. "And he comes from Pomerania? John,
I hope it will not be one who wants to tell me the same old story?"
"Your excellency, I believe that is what he comes for," said John,
grinning.
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