"He is lost," said Oudinot, in an undertone; "he is on the edge of
the precipice, and those who abide by him will fall with him."
"We must, therefore, leave him," whispered Lefebvre. "We are unable
to keep him back; prudence commands us to keep aloof."
"We have suffered and bled for him for years," said Macdonald; "it
is time now for him to suffer and bleed for us. His death would be a
relief."
"Yes," murmured Ney, "his death would give us a new life. But he
will not die; his heart is made of bronze, and will not break."
"No, he will not die voluntarily," said Oudinot.
The marshals paused and looked at each other with dark and
significant glances. All seemed to read each other's souls, and to
divine the sinister thoughts that began to find utterance.
"No, he will not die voluntarily," repeated Macdonald. "But the
millions of soldiers that have fallen on the battlefields have not
died voluntarily, either: Napoleon drove them into the jaws of
death. Now he is no longer any thing but a mere soldier; could we be
blamed, if, in order to save France, we should drive him into the
grave?"
"But how could we do it?" asked Lefebvre. "He has with him
Caulaincourt, Berthier, and Maret, who would certainly be capable of
showing, like Anthony, the blood-stained cloak of Caesar to the
people, and of bringing upon us a destiny such as befell Brutus and
Cassius.
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