At his feet was a small urn containing his heart, and upon it lay his sword and the military cap worn at the battle of Eylau.

Beside the coffin was gathered a group of tattered banners captured by him in many a victorious fight.
Three gray-haired veterans, whose breasts were covered with medals, were pacing slowly on guard in front of the alcove.

I said to them in French: "Were you at Austerlitz ?" "Oui, oui," they said.

"Were you at Jena ?" "Oui, oui." "At Wagram ?" "Oui, oui," they replied.

I lingered long at the spot, listening to the inspiring strains of the soldiery without, and recalling to my mind the stirring days when the lifeless clay beside me was dashing forward at the head of those very troops through the passes of the Alps and over the bridge at Lodi.