Napoleon was now sent to the little Italian island of Elba, where he played at being king for eight or nine months. All the time he was watching affairs in France very closely and was biding his time. In 1814 ambassadors from nearly all the Powers assembled at Vienna to settle the affairs of Europe. There were constant wrangles, and at one time the tension was so acute that war seemed likely to break out again. Suddenly, on March 7, 1815, a messenger arrived with news that immediately ended their quarrels and, in the face of a new and alarming danger, brought them shoulder to shoulder. The Tsar said to Wellington, who was one of the commissioners, “It is for you to save Europe.” What had happened? Napoleon had landed in France, and was making a triumphant progress towards Paris. The Bourbon Government, which had been installed by the Powers, melted away like snow before the summer sun. Everywhere Napoleon’s old soldiers donned the cockade and flocked to his standards. Whole regiments deserted; the wonderful fascination which the emperor exercised upon his followers once more asserted itself. Marshal Ney, who had promised King Lewis to bring back the invader in an iron cage, fell a victim to the charm of his old chief as soon as he met him. Lewis and his friends fled the country, and Napoleon once more occupied the Tuileries. During the next hundred days he displayed all his old energy and daring. By the 13th of June he had nearly 200,000 men available for war. Meanwhile the Powers had not been idle. They bound themselves to raise a million armed men, and never to rest from their labours until Napoleon was finally crushed. In a few months an overwhelming force of allies would be marshalled. In the meantime, the only troops available were those of the British and Prussian armies, now in Belgium, and commanded by Wellington and Blücher respectively. Now let us pay a visit to the most renowned battlefield in all the world, the field on which the destinies of Europe were changed and the great Emperor of the French was hurled from a throne to a prison and a grave. We are in the village of Waterloo, eleven miles south of Brussels, the capital of Belgium. Leaving Waterloo, we traverse a road bordered on both sides by houses, and after having walked a couple of miles we arrive at the village of Mont St. Jean. Here two roads meet, both of which cross the battlefield.