“What would I give to press your hand!” cried he; and he stretched out his arm with the utmost effort, in hopes to reach the grated window, while Girardi extended _his_ between the bars. But it was all in vain. A movement of mutual sympathy was the utmost that could pass between them. When Charney took leave of Picciola, on his way to his chamber, he could not refrain from whispering, “Courage! I shall save thee yet!” And, having reached his miserable _camera_, he selected the whitest of his remaining handkerchiefs, mended his tooth-pick with the greatest care, made up a fresh supply of ink, and set to work. When his memorial was completed, which was not without a thousand pangs of wounded pride, a little cord descended from the grating of Girardi’s window, to which the paper was attached by the Count, and carefully drawn up. [Illustration] An hour afterwards, the person who had undertaken to present the petition to the Emperor was proceeding accompanied by a guide, through the valleys of Suza, Bussolino, and St. George, along the bank of the river Doria. Both were on horseback; but the greater their haste, the more perplexing the obstacles by which their way was impeded. Recent rains had broken away the bank; the river was, in many spots, overflowing; and more than one raging torrent appeared to unite the Doria with the lake Avigliano. Already the forges of Giaveno were reddening in the horizon, announcing that the day was about to close, when, joyfully regaining the high road, they entered, though not without having surmounted many difficulties, the magnificent avenue of Rivoli, and late in the evening, arrived at Turin. The first tidings by which they were saluted was an announcement that the emperor-king had already proceeded to Alexandria. [Illustration] [Illustration] BOOK II. CHAPTER I. At dawn of day, next morning, the city of Alexandria was arrayed in all its attributes of festivity. An immense population circulated in the streets, festooned with tapestry, garlands of flowers, and glossy foliage. The crowd pressed chiefly from the Town Hall, inhabited by Napoleon and Josephine, towards the triumphal arch, erected at the extremity of the suburb through which they were to pass on their way to the memorable plains of Marengo. The whole way, from Alexandria to the Marengo, the same populace, the same cries, the same braying of trumpets. Never had the pilgrimage to the shrine of our Lady of Loretto, never had even the Holy Jubilee of Rome, attracted such multitudes as were proceeding towards the field of that tremendous battle, whose ashes were scarcely yet cold in the earth. On the plain of Marengo, the Emperor has promised to preside over a sham-fight—a mimic representation, given in honour of the signal victory obtained five years before upon the spot, by the Consul Bonaparte. [Illustration]