‘So, not one of my marshals is prepared to fight. Very well, then I shall do without you, and promote more worthy men from amongst those officers who still know the value of loyalty and patriotism. At least I have no doubt that the rank and file will still obey me.’

‘No, sire. They will obey their marshals. Did you think we should confront you without first having talked this through with our subordinates? Sire, if you force the issue, the army will turn on itself - the officers against the men. Is that how you wish this to end?’

Napoleon gritted his teeth. He felt trapped, and clenched his fists in his lap as he stared at his officers defiantly. At length he slumped back into his chair and cleared his throat. ‘What would you have me do, then?’

‘Abdicate,’ Ney replied at once. ‘Go into exile.’

‘What?’

‘Abdicate, on the condition that you do so in favour of your son. At least that way, we spare France from any return of the Bourbons.’

Napoleon considered the idea, even though it pierced him to the soul. Defeat was one thing, humiliation quite another. The prospect of being reduced to the status of a prisoner, exiled to some European backwater for the rest of his life, was unbearable. He would be mocked by his enemies and pitied by his former friends and subjects, condemned to a life of lingering insignificance. The thought made him sick. On the other hand, as long as a Bonaparte was on the throne, then there would be a means for Napoleon to exercise his influence, and one day resume his powers. He looked at Ney, wondering if the man understood that such an abdication would only curtail his power temporarily. He took on a resigned air and nodded slowly. ‘You are right, my dear Michel. I must sacrifice my throne for the good of my people. They would expect nothing less of me.’

The current of relief that rippled through his officers was palpable. Even Ney’s stern demeanour melted momentarily as he could not help smiling at the outcome of the confrontation between the marshals and their Emperor.

‘Sire, your people will be eternally grateful to you for this.’

‘And so they should,’ Napoleon replied. ‘We’d better draft a proposal for our enemies.’

‘It is already done, sire,’ Ney admitted.‘I had Caulaincourt draw it up as soon as I had the news from Marmont. It only requires your signature and then the Foreign Minister and Marshal MacDonald will depart for Paris.’

Napoleon smiled coldly. ‘It seems that you have planned this well.’

‘If I have, it is because I learned from a good master.’