"Ah, you think so because we are both presiding over a republic,"

replied Bonaparte, with a sarcastic smile. "As I do not want to be a Monk, it is hoped that I shall be a Washington. Words cost nothing, and those who utter them so easily do not consider whether the circ.u.mstances of the two nations, the time and occasion may be as well compared with each other as those two names. If I were in America, it would be my highest glory to be another Washington, and I should deserve but little credit for it, after all, for I do not see how one could reasonably pursue there any other course. But if Washington had been in France, with its convulsions within and an invasion from abroad, I should not have deemed it advisable for him to be himself; if he had insisted upon remaining himself, he would have been an idol, and only prolonged the misfortunes of France instead of saving the country."

"You confess, then, that France ought not to remain a republic?" asked Josephine, joyfully. "You want to restore the monarchy?"

"Wait for the things to come," said Bonaparte, gravely. "To ask me prematurely to do things incompatible with the present state of affairs would be foolish; if I should announce or promise them it would look like charlatanry and boasting, and I am not addicted to either."

"But you give us hopes, at least, that you will do so one day, when the time has come, I suppose, my friend?" said Josephine, tenderly. "You will not let this beautiful lady depart from Paris without a kind and comforting reply? She will not have entered the Tuileries, the house of the kings, in order to be obliged to inform on her return those to whom it justly belongs that there is no longer any room for them under the roof which their fathers have built. I am sure, Bonaparte, you will not send such a reply to the legitimate King of France from HIS OWN rooms."

Josephine, glowing with excitement, had risen from her seat; stepping close up to Bonaparte, she encircled his neck with her beautiful arms, and laid her charming head on his shoulder.

"Oh, Josephine, what are you doing?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Bonaparte, angrily.

"Will not the princess tell the Count de Provence that the Tuileries are now inhabited by a downright bourgeois and hen-pecked husband, who treats his wife sentimentally even in the presence of other persons, and in return for her caresses has always to comply with her wishes? And shall we not be laughed at, my child?"

"I should like to see the t.i.tan who would dare to laugh at the First Consul!" exclaimed Marianne, eagerly. "You would do like Jove; you would hurl down the audacious scoffer into the abyss with a flash from your eyes."

Bonaparte fixed so long and glowing a look on the princess that Marianne blushed, while the jealous heart of Josephine began to ache.

"Bonaparte, state the reply you are going to make to the Count de Provence," she said, anxious to withdraw his attention from the contemplation of this fascinating beauty.

"A reply?" asked Bonaparte. "What shall I reply to?"

"General, to this letter, which the Count de Provence has intrusted to me, and which I have solemnly pledged myself to deliver to you personally," said Marianne, handing Bonaparte a sealed paper, with an imploring glance.

Bonaparte did not take it at once, but looked sternly at the two ladies who stood before him, turning their beautiful and deeply moved faces toward him with an air of supplication.

"It is a perfect conspiracy, then, ladies? A complete surprise of the fortress?" he asked. "You want to compel me forcibly to open the gates of my eyes to you? Do you not know, then, Josephine, that I have sworn not to accept any letters from the Pretender, in order not to be obliged to make a harsh reply to him?"

"Keep your oath, then," said Josephine, smiling; "do not accept the letter, but permit me to do so, and let me read the contents of the letter to you."

"Oh, women, women!" exclaimed Bonaparte, smiling. "They are born sophists, and I believe they would be able to outwit the devil himself!

Well, I will comply with your request; take the letter and read it to me."

Josephine uttered a joyful cry, and took the letter from Marianne's hands. While she broke the seal and unfolded the paper, Bonaparte had risen from his arm-chair, and commenced slowly pacing the room. He knew, perhaps, that Marianne's eyes were fixed upon him with a searching expression, and her glances were disagreeable to him.

Josephine read as follows:

"Men like you, sir, never inspire suspicion and uneasiness, whatever their conduct may be. You have accepted the exalted position which the French people offered to you, and I am grateful to you for so doing. You know better than anybody else how much strength and power are required to secure the happiness of a great nation. Save France from her own fury, and you will have fulfilled the foremost and greatest desire of my heart; restore her king to her, and future generations will bless your memory. But you hesitate very long to give my throne back to me, and I almost fear you will allow the opportunity to pa.s.s by unimproved.

Hasten, therefore, and designate the positions you desire for yourself and for your friends. You will always be too indispensable to the state for me ever to be able to discharge the obligations of my ancestors and my own, even by means of the most influential positions. My character, as well as motives of sound policy, will induce me to pursue a liberal course. We are able to secure the happiness of France. I say we, for you cannot secure the happiness of France without me, and I cannot do any thing for France without you. General, Europe has fixed her eyes on you, and immortal glory awaits you." [Footnote: This letter is historical.--Vide "Memoires d'un Homme d'Etat," vol. vii., p. 393.]

"Always the same strain," muttered Bonaparte, "always the story of the column surmounted by the statue of the First Consul crowning the Bourbons, while his bleeding corpse is to be the foundation of the column!"

"He is reflecting," whispered Josephine to the princess. "That shows, at least, that he has not yet made up his mind to reject the offer of the Count de Provence."

At this moment Bonaparte turned toward the two ladies and approached them rapidly.

"Are you authorized to receive my reply?" he asked, turning his gloomy eyes toward the princess.

"I shall feel happy and honored by any message you may be pleased to intrust to me," said Marianne.

Bonaparte nodded to her.

"Will you permit me to write a letter here, Josephine?" he asked.

Instead of making a reply, Josephine hastened to her desk, in order to take out some paper, to draw a chair to the table, and then to hand the pen to Bonaparte, with a fascinating smile. When he commenced writing, she supported herself in breathless suspense on the back of his arm-chair and looked over the Consul's shoulder, while the Princess von Eibenberg, standing not far from them, looked at both with sparkling eyes.

Bonaparte hastily wrote a few lines, threw the pen aside, and turning around to Josephine, he handed her the letter.

"There, read it," he said, "and read it aloud, so that the beautiful emissary of your M. de Bourbon may learn my reply, and know the contents of the message she is to deliver to him."

Josephine took the paper, and read, in a tremulous voice, frequently interrupted by her sighs:

"I have received the letter of your royal highness; I have constantly felt a lively sympathy for you and for the misfortunes of your family.

But your royal highness must not think of coming to France; you would have to pa.s.s over a hundred thousand corpses before reaching it. In other respects, I shall constantly take pains to do whatever will be calculated to alleviate your condition and to make you forget your misfortunes."

"Well, Josephine, you are silent?" asked Bonaparte, when she ceased reading. "You are dissatisfied with my letter? And you, too, madame, have a dark shadow on your beautiful face! How could you expect another answer from me?"

"General, I believe the royal princes really hoped for another answer,"

said Marianne, heaving a sigh.

"And what justified such a hope?" asked Bonaparte, sternly "What have I done to give rise to such chimeras?"

"General, the favorable answer you gave to Prussia--"

"Ah!" said Bonaparte, shrugging his shoulders, "the wind is blowing in that direction, then? Prussia asked me if she would cause us any trouble by tolerating the French princes within her boundaries. I replied in the negative; and when Prussia went further and asked whether we should feel offended or not, if she paid an annual pension to the Bourbons, I permitted even that on condition that the princes remained quiet and did not carry on any intrigues. They believed, then, that because I suffered distressed persons to be relieved and an asylum to be granted to the homeless, I should be ready, also, to make the beggars masters again, and to lay France at the feet of the exiles!"

"Bonaparte, your words are very harsh and very unjust," exclaimed Josephine, sadly.

"They may be harsh, but they are true," he said, sternly. "I will not permit them to entertain any illusions concerning myself; hence I have spoken so long and plainly. It would be harsh and cruel to hold out hopes to the Bourbons which I shall never fulfil. France is lost to them, and they will never recover her. State that to the princes who have sent you to me, madame. Let the Bourbons be on their guard, for France is wide awake and keeps her eyes and ears open. I am willing to forgive that little Duke d'Enghien for not considering me a great general, and for criticising my exploits, but I should neither forgive him nor either of his uncles in case they should try to trouble France with their senseless schemes. I know that the Bourbons have long been trying to find means and ways to reconquer the sceptre of St. Louis. So long as their schemes are floating in the air like cobwebs, I forgive them; but if they intend to act, let them weigh the consequences! He who menaces France is a traitor, whatever may be his name, and traitors will be punished to the full extent of the law. State that to the Bourbons, madame; state it especially to the Duke d'Enghien. And now be kind enough to deliver my reply to the Count de Provence. When do you intend to start?"

"In a few days, general."

"Oh, that will not do. That poor Count de Provence will be eager to get a reply," said Bonaparte, "and it would be very cruel not to transmit it to him as soon as possible. You especially will not wish to make him wait, and I therefore advise you to set out to-day, within the next hour! I shall issue orders that horses be kept in readiness for you; and in order that you may not be detained anywhere, I shall instruct two officers to escort you to the frontier. Hasten, therefore, madame; in half an hour everything will be ready for your departure."

He nodded to her, and left the room.

The two ladies were alone again and looked at each other with mournful eyes. Marianne's face was pale; a gloomy fire was burning in her eyes, and a contemptuous smile was visible on her lips. Josephine seemed greatly embarra.s.sed, and her gentle eyes were filled with tears.

"I am to be transported beyond the frontier like a criminal!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Marianne at last, in a voice trembling with anger. "I am to be treated like a dangerous intriguer, and yet I have only delivered a letter which had been intrusted to me by the king."

"Forgive him," said Josephine, imploringly. "He has been prejudiced against you, and the numerous plots and conspiracies, which have already been discovered, cause him to deem rigorous precautions altogether indispensable. But I beg you especially not to be angry with me, and pray beseech the Count de Provence not to hold me responsible for the deplorable message you are to deliver to him. I have opened my heart to you, and you know it to be filled with the most faithful devotion and with the most reverential affection for the unfortunate prince, but I am not strong enough to change his fate; I--"

Just then the door opened; M. de Bourrienne, chief of the cabinet of the First Consul, made his appearance and approached the princess with a respectful bow.

"Madame," he said, "the First Consul sends you word that every thing is ready for your departure, and he has instructed me to conduct you to your carriage."

Josephine uttered a groan, and, sinking down on a chair, she covered her face with her handkerchief in order to conceal her tears.

Marianne had now recovered her proud and calm bearing, and a bold and defiant smile played again on her lips. She approached Josephine with soft and quiet steps.

"Farewell, madame," she said. "I shall faithfully report to the Count de Provence every thing I have seen and heard here, and he will venerate and pity you as I shall always do. May the First Consul never regret what he is doing now, and may he not be obliged one day to leave France in the same manner as he compels me to depart from Paris! Come, sir, accompany me, as it cannot be helped!"