LX

They drove in a country cart to Etain over roads bestrewn for the

most part with the _débris_ of the falling Empire, and there caught a

train starting for Verdun. It was crammed with wounded French

soldiers lying on straw in trucks and horse boxes. Women jostled one

another at the doors of these, to supply the poor sufferers with soup

and fruit, bread and coffee. The news of the retirement of Bazaine

upon Metz was in every mouth, although, thanks to the cutting by

Uhlans of the telegraph line between Metz and Thionville, the Emperor

did not receive the Marshal's wire until the 22nd.

The Warlock had lost no time. Already the blockade of the doomed

fortress city was so far completed that only the most daring French

scouts were able to worm their way through the enemy's investing

lines.

For, even as the octopus, desirous of increasing his family, throws

off a spare tentacle which becomes another octopus, from the First

and Second Armies of United Germany had been evolved a Fourth Army of

Six Corps under the command of the Crown Prince of Saxony, whose

Advance of Guard Cavalry were already over the Meuse.

The Army of the Prussian Crown Prince had traversed the roads south

of Toul and entered the basin of the Ornain. The King of Prussia,

with Bismarck and Moltke, had started to march on Paris through the

dusty white plains of Champagne.

His Great Headquarters had already reached Bar-le-Duc. One of his

scouting squadrons of Uhlans had captured a French courier at

Commercy. Thus Moltke had learned that the mounted regiments of

Canrobert's Corps had been left behind at the Camp of Châlons, and

that Paris was being placed in a state of defense to resist an

investment expected hourly.

On this very day the vast Camp had been abandoned, the Imperial

pavilions, the mess houses, officers' quarters and kitchens were

blazing merrily, the lines of rustic baraques usually occupied by the

troops were marked out by crackling hedges of fire. While MacMahon,

at his camp near Rheims, was torn between Ministerial orders

emanating from the Empress, insisting on the immediate relief of

Bazaine, and his own conviction that the order of march should be

back by the directest route to defend the menaced capital.

Said the Man of Iron to Roon, whiffing a huge cigar as the steady

downpour of rain swirled down the gutters and drenched the Bodyguard

on duty outside the King's Headquarters at Bar-le-Duc:

"We barricade the straight road that leads to Metz. Will the fellow

face the risks of a circuitous march leading him near the Belgian

frontier? I should be personally obliged to him to decide

quickly.... One does not desire to linger in a Capua as dismal as

this."

Bismarck-Böhlen brought him a telegram. He was about to open it when

the Warlock hastily entered the sitting room that served as

ante-chamber, flourishing a copy of _Le Temps_, issued in Paris on

the previous day.

"A Uhlan of the Advance has got me this paper. He took it from the

person of a respectable bourgeois at whose house in Cligny he and his

comrades called to drink a drop of wine. Judging it a welcome gift

to me, the brave fellow rode here to bring it."

"There is wine of another kind on those pages," said the Minister,

pointing to the journal with a smile.

Moltke read from the blood-stained paper:

"'_The speeches delivered yesterday at the Chamber are unanimous in

the declaration that the French people will be disgraced forever if

the Army of the Rhine be not relieved. The dispatches received

during the sitting of yesterday's Privy Council, from the Prefecture

of Police, the Ministry of War and of the Interior, were of a nature

to cause apprehension of the keenest. But the disposition of the

people of Paris can be ascertained by any person whose ears are not

stuffed with Court cotton-wool. Do not these shouts of

"Dethronement!"--these cries of "A Republic! A Republic!" become

louder every day?_'"

He added:

"This bears out the text of Palikao's intercepted wire of yesterday

to the Emperor; and the second from the Empress, virtually saying:

'Abandon Bazaine and Paris is in revolt!'..."

Commented the Minister:

"The Empress-Regent talks like a young woman. Palikao argues like an

old one--the speakers in the Chamber gabble like a pack of old

gossips, not one of whom looks beyond the end of her own nose. Paris

was in revolution at the beginning of August. She will be a

full-blown Republic before Christmas, whether Bazaine be abandoned or

not."

Moltke said, helping himself from his silver snuffbox:

"MacMahon has not the courage to resist a consensus of quackers. He

will march east and uncover the Paris road. I may say I had already

drawn out private tables of marches which would thwart him in any

case. What have you there? A wire in Secret Code?"

Bismarck answered:

"It is in Russian, with which language the sender knows me to be

acquainted. He is an agent of our Secret Service, who combines the

trade of wool stapler with the profession of notary, and holds the

post of Sub-Prefect in the town of Rethel. He communicates by

private wire that the Emperor has telegraphed the Prince Imperial

that the junction with Bazaine will not be attempted, and that the

march of the Army of Châlons will be directed upon Sedan. He states

that when he quitted Rheims to-day the Imperial Headquarters had left

for Tourteron...."

"_Ei, ei_! Is he trustworthy?" asked the Warlock, putting away the

silver box.

The Minister answered succinctly:

"The intelligence he supplies is usually worth the money he is paid

for it."

He went on:

"He has got into touch with the Roumanian Straz, who has not received

cash for some dirty work he did in July at Sigmaringen, and who

judges it advisable--Napoleon Bonaparte Grammont & Co. being

insolvent--to transfer his services to the opposite firm.... He adds

that Straz possesses, or says that he possesses, free access to the

Prince Imperial. He appears to think our interests would be served

by kidnapping the boy."

"Would they?" asked Moltke.

The Minister raised his shaggy brows, and answered smilingly:

"You are acquainted with the Countess's views in connection with the

youngest Bonaparte. If the Queen does not want him to hand her tea

and comb her lap dog, why should I not take M. Lulu home as a present

to my wife?"

"You are jesting!" said the Warlock, shaking the wise old head in the

scratch wig. "You have told this stinking rogue that decent German

men make not war upon women or children.... When the time comes that

we are guilty of such things, United Germany will be near her fall."

"Her barometer predicts a rise," said the Minister dryly, "at this

particular moment."

"With God's help, we shall fulfill the prediction!" returned the

Warlock, going to a table where lay spread a map on a comprehensive

scale of an inch to a mile. "We will talk over this with the King,

when the Crown Prince and Von Blumenthal come over from Ligny. It

will be wiser to delay the movement on Paris, and hit this weather

cock of a Marshal with all our forces. So, he marches his Army on

the Meuse! _So'o!_..."

And he hummed a bar of the little song about the weeping flowers and

the shining starlets, as he set the mental machinery in motion that

resulted in the Grand Right Wheel.