We
shall set out at seven o'clock to-night."
Christian hastened away. Blucher looked after him with a mournful
glance and a deep sigh. "The die is cast," he murmured to himself;
"now I am indeed a poor old invalid, no longer of any use. God has
refused to fulfil my dearest wish; He would not let me hurl
Bonaparte from his stolen throne. I must face about at the gates of
Paris, and creep back into obscurity. Well, let God's will be done!
I have labored as long as there was daylight; now comes the night,
when I can work no more. Ah, my poor sore eyes! I--but there is,
after all, some one in the alcove," cried Blucher, springing to his
feet. Again he heard a noise as of footsteps, and an opening door.
He bounded into the alcove, but all was still; no one was there, and
no door to be seen. "I was mistaken," he said. "A bad conscience is
a very queer thing. Because I am about to do something secret, I am
thinking that eavesdroppers are watching me and trying to forestall
me."
It was seven in the evening; the sun had set. Field-Marshal Blucher,
who was very sick all day, now intended to take an airing. The pipe-
master had, therefore, ordered the coachman; and the field-marshal's
carriage, drawn by four black horses, had just come to the door.
Blucher was still in his room, but all his preparations were
completed. On the table lay two letters--one addressed to the king,
the other to General Gneisenau; the carpet-bags had already been
conveyed into the carriage, together with his pipe-box.
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