At that moment a squadron of cuirassiers was galloping up to re-enforce one of the lines, the captain of which was on the point of trampling down the unfortunate Teresa; but, pulling up his horse in time, he gave her in charge to two soldiers of the line; not, however, without a few oaths and great wonder at such an apparition on the field of battle. One of the two cuirassiers deputed to escort her to quarters quickly raised her to his saddle; and it was thus she was conveyed to the rear of the hillock, where a few ladies belonging to the suite of the Empress were stationed, accompanied by an aid-de-camp and the _corps diplomatique_ of the Italian deputations. Teresa now fancied that her enterprise was accomplished. She had surmounted too many difficulties to be discouraged by the few remaining; and when, on her demand to be admitted to the Emperor, she was informed that he was on the field, at the head of the troops, she entreated an audience of the Empress. But this request appeared no less inadmissible than the other. To get rid of her importunities, the bystanders had recourse to intimidation, but Teresa’s courage rose against their efforts. They insisted that she should at least wait the conclusion of the evolutions; and were astonished to find her persist in forcing her way towards the throne. Detained and threatened, her struggles became the more vehement. It was then that, raising her voice in self-defence, its piteous accents reached the ear of Josephine, to which the voice of a female in distress and appealing to her protection, were never known to be addressed in vain. [Illustration] CHAPTER III. Scarcely were the commands of the Empress issued that no farther obstruction should be offered to the young stranger, when the brilliant crowd opened, to yield a passage to Teresa Girardi, who appeared in the midst of the throng, in a suppliant attitude, as if scarcely aware of being released from the detention of her captors. But on a sign from Josephine—a gracious sign, instantly recognised by those around as a token of indulgence—the young Piedmontese was set at liberty; and, on finding herself free, Teresa rushed to the foot of the throne, breathless with agitation, and, bending low before the Empress, proceeded to unfold a handkerchief which she had taken from her bosom. “A poor prisoner, madam,” said she, “implores the clemency of your majesty.” But, with every disposition to indulgence, it was impossible for the Empress to divine the meaning of the strange-looking handkerchief which Teresa Girardi, sinking on one knee, tendered to her hands. “Have you a petition to present to me?” demanded Josephine at last, of the trembling girl, in a tone of encouragement.