Napoléon was victor, but was not saved: the modern Sisyphus had the rock of the whole of Europe incessantly falling back upon him. It was five o'clock. We had three long leagues of country to cover; three leagues of country, no matter in what department, were it even in that of Seine-et-Marne, always means five leagues of posting. Now, five leagues of posting in a country stage-waggon is at least a four hours' journey. We should only arrive at M. Dupont-Delporte's house, whom not one of us knew, at nine or half-past nine at night. Was he a loving enough father to forgive us such an invasion, planting ourselves on him at unawares? Bixio replied that, with the son's letter, we were sure to be made welcome by the father, no matter at what hour of the day or night we knocked at his door. We started in that belief, ourselves and our dogs all heaped together in the famous stage-waggon in question, which very soon gave us a sample of its powers by taking an hour and a quarter to drive the first league. We were just entering upon the second when, in passing by a field of lucerne, I was seized with the temptation to go into it with the dog of one of my fellow-sportsmen. I do not know by what misfortune I had not my own. My companions sang out to me that shooting had not yet begun; but my sole reply was that that was but one reason more for finding game there. And I added that, if I succeeded in killing a brace of partridges or a hare, it would add some sauce to the supper which M. Dupont-Delporte would be obliged to give us. This argument won over my companions. The waggon was stopped; I took Viardot's dog and entered the field of lucerne. If any sort of gamekeeper appeared, the waggon was to proceed on its way, and I undertook to outdistance the above-mentioned gamekeeper. Those who knew my style of walking had no uneasiness on this score. The journey I made there and back from Crépy to Paris, shooting by the way with my friend Paillet, will be recalled to mind. Scarcely had I taken twenty steps in the field of lucerne before a great leveret, three-quarters face, started under the dog's nose. It goes without saying that that leveret was killed. As no gamekeeper had appeared on the scene at the noise of my firing, I took my leveret by its hind legs and quietly remounted the stage-waggon. What a fine thing is success! Everybody congratulated me, even the most timorous. Three-quarters of a league farther on was a second field of lucerne. A fresh temptation, fresh argument, and fresh yielding. At the very entrance into the field the dog came across game, and stopped, pointing. A covey of a dozen or so of partridges started up; I fired my first shot into the very middle of the covey: two fell, and a third fell down at my second shot. This would make us a roast which, if not quite sufficient, would at least be presentable. Again I climbed into the coach in the midst of the cheering of the travellers. You will see