"Poor little King of
Rome, from whose blond ringlets his own grand-father wants to tear
the crown!" He dropped his head on his breast.
"Sire, make haste!" implored the king.--"Make haste!" echoed the
queen and the princess.
At this moment there was a terrific roar of artillery. The queen
buried her face in her hands; the princess had knelt again and
prayed; the king leaned his head against the back of the chair, pale
as a corpse, and with his eyes closed. Napoleon alone stood erect;
his face was calm and inscrutable; his glances were turned toward
the windows, and he seemed to listen eagerly to the thunders of war.
The door was violently opened, and General Caulaincourt appeared,
pale and breathless.
"Sire," he said, "you must leave! Bernadotte has taken one of the
suburbs by assault, and the forces of Blucher, Benningsen, and
Schwartzenberg, are pouring in on all sides into the city, so that
our troops are compelled to defend themselves from house to house."
"Sire, have mercy!--save yourself!" cried the king. "I can no longer
help you, no longer support you! I have nothing left to give you--
nothing but my life, and that is of no value! Save yourself, unless
you want me to die at your feet!"
"Sire," exclaimed Caulaincourt, "every minute increases the danger.
A quarter of an hour hence your majesty may, perhaps, be unable to
get out of the captured city.
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