Warsaw had never been more brilliant. The heart of the doomed nation beat again. There were smiles, open hands, glad festivities. There were brilliant balls at Murat’s; brilliant balls at Talleyrand’s; brilliant balls at the palace of Prince Borghese; brilliant receptions held by the Emperor. It must have been a spectacle worth seeing,--a ballroom in reawakened Warsaw, where the loveliest ladies of Poland and the bravest warriors of France danced the happy hours away. It must have been a sight worth seeing,--Talleyrand entering a grand reception hall filled with the notables of Poland and gravely announcing, “The Emperor!” Well worth seeing was the stout, stunted figure, crowned by the pale, set, marble-like face and large head, which came into view at Talleyrand’s announcement, and which stood within the doorway a moment to see and to be seen. Did lovely Polish women crowd about the mighty Emperor, listening for the least word in favor of Poland’s independence? Did fair patriots appeal by look and word to him, yearning for the magic names, Liberty, Freedom? Vain the ardent, beseeching look; vain the tender, seductive voice. It would not do at all. He had suspected that--had steeled himself against it; and eager patriotism, voiced by women never so bewitching, could not break through that watchful guard. But as he leaves the room, he pauses again, and says to Talleyrand in a tone loud enough to be heard by all, “What pretty women!” Then the imperial hand salutes the company, and the Liberator is gone! It must have been a sight worth seeing,--that ball at Talleyrand’s where Napoleon danced, and cultivated Madame Walewski, and where the imposing Talleyrand, with folded napkin under his arm, and gilt tray in his hand, humbly served his imperial master with a glass of lemonade. Army affairs called Napoleon to the front; but after the bloody struggle at Pultusk, the weather stopped military movements. Continual rains had ruined the roads. Cannon stuck in the mire, soldiers perished in the bogs. Even Polanders had never seen anything equal to it. Napoleon returned to Warsaw quite serene, remarking, “Well, your mud has saved the Russians; let us wait for the frost.” Busy with French affairs, Polish and Russian affairs, busy also and above all at this time with army affairs, the Emperor relaxed himself socially to a greater extent than usual, and made himself exceedingly agreeable. He entered into all the amusements, gossiped familiarly with all comers to his receptions, played whist, danced square dances, attended the concerts of his Italian orchestra, and led the applause with zest and good taste. “How do you think I dance?” he smilingly inquired of the young Princess Potocka. “I suspect you have been laughing at me.” “In truth, sire,” answered the adroit lady, “for a great man your dancing is perfect.” Sitting down to whist, Napoleon turned to Princess Potocka at the moment the cards were dealt and asked:-- “What shall the stake be?”