with the black eyes, as we knew it from the engravings. He tore away over hedge and ditch, over meadow and garden, his staff with difficulty keeping up with him. Cool and calm, he sat firmly in his saddle, with his half-buttoned greatcoat, his white breeches, and his little hat crosswise on his head. His face expressed neither weariness nor anxiety; smooth and pale as marble, it gave to the whole figure in the simple uniform on the white horse, an exalted, almost a spectral aspect. Thus he swept on his course, this sanguinary little monster, who in three days had fought three battles. All hastened to clear the way for him, flying peasants, troops in reserve or advancing—ay, even the wounded and dying dragged themselves aside, and looked up at him with a mixture of terror and admiration as he tore past them like a cold thunderbolt. Scarcely had he shown himself among the soldiers before they all fell into order as though by magic, and a moment afterwards the undaunted Ney could once more vault into the saddle to renew the attack. And this time he bore down the English, and established himself in the farmhouse of La Haye-Sainte. Napoleon is once more at Belle-Alliance. 'And now here comes Bulow from the east—under the bench here, you see—and the Emperor sends General Mouton to meet him. At half-past four—the battle had begun at one o'clock—Wellington attempts to drive Ney out of La Haye-Sainte. And Ney, who now saw that everything de-
