“As for the marshal, he slept very well, but that poor Emperor! you can’t think what suffering he has to endure! Yesterday evening, do you know, I had gone upstairs to help give out the linen, and as I entered the apartment that adjoins his dressing-room I heard groans, oh, _such_ groans! just like someone dying. I thought a moment and knew it must be the Emperor, and I was so frightened I couldn’t move; I just stood and trembled. It seems he has some terrible complaint that makes him cry out that way. When there are people around he holds in, but as soon as he is alone it is too much for him, and he groans and shrieks in a way to make your hair stand on end.” “Do you know where the fighting is this morning?” asked Henriette, desiring to check her loquacity. Rose dismissed the question with a wave of her little hand and went on with her narrative. “That made me curious to know more, you see, and I went upstairs four or five times during the night and listened, and every time it was just the same; I don’t believe he was quiet an instant all night long, or got a minute’s sleep. Oh! what a terrible thing it is to suffer like that with all he has to worry him! for everything is upside down; it is all a most dreadful mess. Upon my word, I believe those generals are out of their senses; such ghostly faces and frightened eyes! And people coming all the time, and doors banging and some men scolding and others crying, and the whole place like a sailor’s boarding-house; officers drinking from bottles and going to bed in their boots! The Emperor is the best of the whole lot, and the one who gives least trouble, in the corner where he conceals himself and his suffering!” Then, in reply to Henriette’s reiterated question: “The fighting? there has been fighting at Bazeilles this morning. A mounted officer brought word of it to the marshal, who went immediately to notify the Emperor. The marshal has been gone ten minutes, and I shouldn’t wonder if the Emperor intends to follow him, for they are dressing him upstairs. I just now saw them combing him and plastering his face with all sorts of cosmetics.” But Henriette, having finally learned what she desired to know, rose to go. “Thank you, Rose. I am in somewhat of a hurry this morning.” The young girl went with her to the street door, and took leave of her with a courteous: “Glad to have been of service to you, Madame Weiss. I know that anything said to you will go no further.”