"There are no fresh orders, save to hold out to the last man."
And down in the valley at La Belle Alliance is the great gambler--the man who to-day will either be Emperor again--a greater, mightier monarch than even he has ever been--or who will sink to a status which perhaps the meanest of his erstwhile subjects would never envy.
But just now--at four o'clock--when the fog has lifted--he is flushed with excitement, exultant in the belief in victory.
The English centre on Mont Saint Jean is giving way at last, he is told.
And he, who had been anxious at Austerlitz, despondent at Marengo, is gay and happy and brimming full of hope.
"De Marmont," he calls to his faithful friend, "De Marmont, go ride to Paris now; tell them that victory is ours! No, no," he adds excitedly, "don't go all the way--ride to Genappe and send a messenger to Paris from there--then come back to be with us in the hour of victory."
And Victor de Marmont rides off in order to proclaim to the world at large the great victory which the Emperor has won this day over all the armies of Europe banded and coalesced against him.
From far away on the road of Ohain has come the first rumour that Blücher and his body of Prussians are nigh--still several hours' march from Waterloo but advancing--advancing. For hours Wellington has been watching for them, until wearily he has sighed: "Blücher or nightfall alone can save us from annihilation now."
The rumour--oh! it was merely the whispering of the wind, but still a rumour nevertheless--means fresh courage to tired, half-spent troops. Even deeds of unparalleled heroism need the stimulus of renewed hope sometimes.
The rumour has also come to the ears of the Emperor, of Ney and of all the officers of the staff. They all know that those magnificent British troops whom they have fought all day must be nigh to their final desperate effort at last--with naught left to them but their stubborn courage and that tenacity which has been ever since the wonder of the world.
They know, these brave soldiers of Napoleon--who have fought and admired the brave foe--that the 1st and 2nd Life Guards are decimated by now; that entire British and German regiments are cut up; that Picton is dead, the Scots Greys almost annihilated. They know what havoc their huge cavalry charges have made in the magnificent squares of British infantry; they know that heroism and tenacity and determination must give way at last before superior numbers, before fresh troops, before persistent, ever-renewed attacks.