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And what did she see now in this mirror? A woman with a pale, grief-
stricken face, features growing old, and a desponding exhaustion
which only a good and pleasant life can disguise when the vigor of
youth has faded.

"Oh, I have become old!" sighed Josephine; "the years of tears and
solitude count double, for one consumes then in days the strength of
many years. I have grown old because I have wept for HIM, and
because I have felt his misfortunes. Oh, how will he look? Will his
cheeks be even paler and his eyes gloomier than formerly? I have not
seen him since his return from his disastrous campaign; if I read
the history of his sufferings on his face, my grief will kill me.
But no," she encouraged herself, "I will not weep, nor trouble him
with my tears. I will be serene, and suppress my emotions. He will
not come alone; but whom will he bring with him? I hope not the
woman who is my rival--to whom I had to yield my throne!--No, I know
Bonaparte's heart, I know that he would be incapable of such
cruelty. She, young, beautiful, the reigning empress--I, old,
sorrowful, faded, the deserted empress! I--ah, there is a carriage
rolling into the courtyard! He comes!" Her whole form trembled, and,
breathless, her face suffused with deep blushes, she sank into an
easy-chair. "I love him still," she murmured; "my heart does not
forget!" A low knocking at the small side-door leading to the inner
corridor, was heard, and Constant entered. Josephine rose hastily,
and with quivering lips asked, "Constant, is he there?"

"Yes, your majesty. The emperor requests you to repair to the
reception-room. He will be there in a moment."

"And who is accompanying him?"

"His majesty has commissioned me to tell you that it would afford
him great satisfaction to prepare a little surprise for your
majesty, and that he has, therefore, fulfilled a wish which you have
felt for a long time."

"Constant!" exclaimed Josephine, joyfully, "the emperor brings the
King of Rome to me?"

"Yes, your majesty."

"Ah, her child!" cried the empress, with an emotion of jealousy,
burying her face in her hands.

"The emperor requests your majesty to be so gracious as not to let
the little king suspect whom he has the honor to approach,"
whispered Constant.

"Ah, she is not to suspect that her child has come to me!" murmured
Josephine, while fresh tears trickled down her cheeks.

"The emperor, besides, implores your majesty not to frighten the
prince by a sadness which your majesty, in the generosity and
kindness of your heart, has so often overcome."

"Yes," said the empress, removing her hands from her face, and
hastily drying her tears with her handkerchief, "I will not weep. It
is true, I have often begged that I might see the King of Rome--the
child for whom I have suffered so much, and to read in his face
whether he is worthy of my sacrifice. The emperor is so kind as to
fulfil my wish; tell him that I am profoundly grateful to him, that
I will restrain my emotion and not make the prince suspect who I am.
Tell him that I shall not weep when I see the child of the present
empress. No, do not tell him that, Constant; it would grieve him--
tell him only that I thank him, and that he shall not be displeased
with me. Go! I am ready, and shall be happy to see the boy. It is
not HER child, but HIS that I am to embrace." And greeting Constant
with that inimitable smile of grace and kindness peculiar to her,
she walked toward the reception-room. "How my heart throbs!" she
murmured; "it is as if my limbs were failing me--as if I should
die." Nearly fainting, she slowly glided through the adjoining
apartment, and entered the reception-room. "Courage, my heart! for
it is HIS child that I am to greet." Sitting down on an easy-chair
near the window, she looked in anxiety and suspense toward the large
folding doors.

At length the emperor appeared. Josephine had not seen him for
nearly a year, and at first her eyes beheld only him. She read in
his pallid and furrowed face the secret history of his sorrows,
which he had not, perhaps, communicated to any one, but which he
could not conceal from the eye of love. Unutterable sympathy and
tender compassion for him filled her soul. And now she almost
timidly looked upon the child that Napoleon led by the hand.

How charming was this child! How proud of him was his father!
Josephine felt this, and she said almost exultingly to herself "I
have not, been sacrificed in vain! This child is an ample indemnity
for my tears. I am the boy's real mother, for I have suffered,
sorrowed, and prayed for him!" Rejoicing in this sentiment, which
seemed to restore the beauty of former days, Josephine stretched out
her arms toward the child.

"Go, my son, and embrace the lady," said Napoleon, dropping the hand
of the prince. He advanced, while his father stood at the table in
the middle of the room, supporting his right hand on the marble
slab. He looked gravely but kindly upon the empress, from whom he
felt separated, by the presence of his child, as by an impassable
gulf.

The little prince offered his hand to the empress with a smile, and
Josephine drew him into her arms, pressing his head to her bosom. A
sigh, in spite of herself, came from the depths of her heart. She
slowly bent back the boy's head and gazed at him with a mournful but
loving expression. Then her glance fell upon the emperor, and, with
an indescribable look of love and tenderness, she said: "Sire, he is
like you; God bless him for it!"

There was something so touching and heartfelt in these words--in the
tone of her voice, and the glance of her eyes, that the emperor was
profoundly moved, and responded only by a silent nod, not venturing
to speak lest the tremor of his words should betray his emotion.
Even the little king seemed to understand the excellent heart of
this lady. He clung to her and said in a sweet voice, "I love you,
madame, and want you to love me, too!"

"I love you, sire," cried Josephine, "and shall pray God every day
to preserve you to your father--to your parents," she corrected
herself with the self-abnegation of a true woman. "You will one day
confer happiness on France and your people, for you undoubtedly wish
to become as good, great, and wise, as your father."

"Oh, yes, my papa emperor is very good, and I love him dearly!"
exclaimed the boy, looking toward his father. "But, papa, why do you
not come to us? Why do you not shake hands with this dear lady, who
is so good and loves me so well?"

"The emperor is generous," said Josephine, gently; "he wished me to
have you a moment by yourself, sire; he has you every day, but I
have never had you before."

"Why did you not come and see me?" asked the child. "You live near
Paris; and, if you loved me, you would often come and see how the
little King of Rome is getting on. The emperor told me you were a
dear and kind-hearted lady, and that every one loved you."

"Did he tell you so, sire?" exclaimed the empress, drawing the boy
into her arms. "Oh, tell the emperor that I shall always be grateful
to him for it, and that these words will forever silence my grief."
Her eyes glanced in gratitude to the emperor, who softly laid his
finger on his mouth, to admonish her to be silent and calm.

The little prince had now, with the facility with which children
pass from one subject to another, turned his attention to a large
diamond brooch fastened to Josephine's golden sash. "How beautiful
it is!" he exclaimed--"how it is flashing as though it were a star
fallen from heaven, and fastened to your breast, because it loves
you, madame, and because you are so good! And what fine ornaments
you have on your watch! Ah, look here, papa emperor; see those
pretty things! Come, papa, and look at them!"

"No, sire," said the emperor, with a strange and mournful smile,
"let me remain here. I can see all those pretty things quite
distinctly."

"They are very beautiful, are they not?" cried the child. "And if--"

"Well, sire," asked Josephine, "why do you pause? Pray speak!"

The boy had suddenly assumed a grave air, and gazed upon the
ornaments of the empress. "I was just thinking--but you will be
angry if I tell you what, madame."

"Certainly not, sire; tell me what you thought."

"It occurred to my mind that we met in the forest on our way a poor
man who looked haggard and wretched, and begged us to give him
something. But papa and I could not, for we had already distributed
all our money among the unfortunate persons whom we had previously
met. Why are there so many poor people, madame?--why does my papa
emperor not order all men to be happy and rich?"

"Because it is impossible for him to do so, sire," said Josephine.

"And because, in order to be able to make others happy, we must
ourselves be rich!" exclaimed the emperor, smiling. "Now you said
yourself, sire, we could not give the poor man in the forest any
thing, for we had nothing to give him."

"Yes, and I was very sorry," said the boy, "And now I was thinking
if we sent for the poor man, and you, madame, gave him your watch
and your diamonds, and he sold them, he would have a great deal of
money, and be very rich and happy."

Josephine pressed the boy tenderly to her heart. "Sire," she said,
"I promise you that I will send for your poor man and give him so
much money that he will never again be wretched."

"Oh!" exclaimed the prince, encircling the lady's neck with his
arms, "how good you are, madame, and how I love you!"

Josephine pressed his head to her bosom. "Oh, you may certainly love
me a little," she replied, with a touching smile; "I have really
deserved it of you."

"Sire," said the emperor, advancing a few steps, "now bid the lady
farewell. We must go."

"Papa!" cried the boy, joyously--"papa, we must take the dear lady
with us; she is so good, and I love her. Let her live with us in the
Tuileries, and always stay with us. I want her to do so, and you,
too, papa, do you not?"

Josephine's eyes filled with tears, and she looked at the emperor
with an expression of unutterable woe. He immediately averted his
face, perhaps to prevent Josephine from noticing his emotion. "Come,
sire," he said imperiously, "it is high time; it is growing dark.
Take leave of madame!"

"Oh, no; I will not take leave of her!" cried the boy, vehemently.
"I say to her rather--Come with us to the Tuileries!"

"It cannot be, sire," said Josephine, smiling amidst her tears.

"Why?" cried the boy, impatiently, and throwing back his head.
"Come; you may accompany the emperor, and I want you to do so!"

Napoleon, painfully moved by this scene, quickly advanced to the
prince, and took his hand. "Come, sire," he said in a tone so grave
that the boy dared no longer resist. Submitting to his father's
will, he stepped back, and, pleasantly bowing, took leave of the
empress.

"We shall meet again," said Josephine, and, turning her tearful eyes
to Napoleon, she asked, "We shall meet again, sire, shall we not?"

"Yes," said Napoleon, gravely, "we shall meet again." He then took
leave of her with an affectionate look, which fell as a sunbeam upon
her desolate heart, and, leading the boy by the hand, turned quickly
toward the door. She looked after them in silence and with clasped
hands. As the door opened, the emperor turned again with a parting
but melancholy glance.

Josephine was again alone. With a groan she fell on her knees, and
lifting her face toward heaven, she cried, "My God, protect--
preserve him! Whatever I may suffer, oh, let him be happy!"

CHAPTER XLV.

TALLEYRAND.

For a week the emperor had scarcely left his cabinet; bending over
his maps, he anxiously examined the position of his army, and that
of the constantly advancing allies. Every day couriers with news of
fresh disasters arrived at Paris; rumors of invading armies
terrified the citizens, and disturbed the emperor's temper. It was
impossible for the government to conceal the misfortunes which had
befallen France from the beginning of the new year. The people knew
that Blucher had crossed the Rhine, and, victoriously penetrating
France, on the 16th of January had taken up his quarters at Nancy.
It was publicly known that a still larger army of the allies,
commanded by Prince Schwartzenberg, had advanced through
Switzerland, Lorraine, and Alsace, taken the fortresses, overcome
all resistance, and that both generals had sworn to appear in front
of Paris by February, and conquer the capital. All Paris knew this,
and longed for peace as the only way to put an end to the sufferings
of the nation. The strength and the superiority of the allied army
could not be concealed, and it was felt to be impossible to expel
the powerful invaders.

Napoleon himself at length saw the necessity of peace, and,
conquering his proud heart, he sent the Duke de Vicenza, his
faithful friend Caulaincourt, to the headquarters of the allies, to
request them to send plenipotentiaries to a peace congress. The
allies accepted this proposition, but they declared that, despite
the peace congress, the course of the war could not in the least be
interrupted; that the operations in the field must be vigorously
continued. Napoleon responded to this by decreeing a new
conscription, ordering all able-bodied men in France to be enrolled
in the national armies. The terrors of war were, therefore,
approaching, and yet Paris was in hope that peace would be
concluded; Caulaincourt was still at the headquarters of the allies,
treating with them about the congress.

Early on the morning of the 23d of January, another dispatch from
Caulaincourt to Maret was received at Paris, and the minister
immediately repaired to the Tuileries, to communicate it to the
emperor. This dispatch confirmed all the disastrous tidings which
had arrived from day to day, and convinced Napoleon and his minister
that the vast superiority of the allied armies rendered it
impossible for the emperor to rid his country of the formidable
invaders.

"Maret," said Napoleon, gloomily, "come and look at this map. What
do you see here?"

"Sire, a number of colored pins extending in all directions."

"And a small number of white pins. Well these are my troops; the
colored pins designate the armies of my enemies. They are allied;
but I--I have no longer a single ally at this hour; I stand alone,
and have to meet eight different armies. See here, Maret: there is,
in the first place, the grand army of the Russians, Austrians,
Bavarians, and Wurtembergers, commanded by Prince Schwartzenberg,
and accompanied by the allied monarchs; next, there is the grand
Prussian army, with the Russian and Saxon corps, under the command
of Blucher, the hussar; here stand the Swedes under Bernadotte,
reenforced by Russian and English corps, and the German troops of
the Confederation of the Rhine; there comes the Anglo-Batavian army;
here, farther to the South, is Wellington's army, composed of
English, Spaniards, and Portuguese; there, in Italy, is an Austrian
corps under Bellegarde; at no great distance from it, the Neapolitan
corps under the King of Naples; and, finally, here at Lyons, is
another Austrian corps under Bubna. The armies of Schwartzenberg,
Blucher, and Bernadotte, are about six hundred thousand strong. And
now see what forces I have--I cannot call them armies! Augereau's
corps is stationed near Lyons; Ney, Marmont, and Mortier, are with
their corps here between the Meuse and the Seine; Sebastiani and
Macdonald are with the remnants of their corps on the frontier of
the Netherlands. Maret, my troops are hardly one hundred thousand;
the allies, therefore, are six to one."

"Sire," said Maret, "even a military genius like that of your
majesty, will be unable to cope with such odds, and it reflects no
dishonor on the bravest to submit to the decrees of Fate."

"It is true," murmured Napoleon, throwing himself into his easy-
chair, with his arm leaning on the desk, and his head bent forward--
"it is true, I have no sufficient force to oppose them; their armies
are six times as strong as mine, and, unless fortune greatly favors
me, I must yield!"

"But fortune has forsaken us, sire, and we have no strength left.
Yield, therefore, sire; submit to a stern necessity; comply with the
anxious demand of France; restore peace to your people--to the
world! Do not endanger, without prospect of success, your precious
life, which is necessary to France--your throne, threatened by
foreign and domestic foes. All is at stake. Save France, save the
throne! Make peace at any cost!"

While Maret was speaking, Napoleon slowly raised his head, and sent
a flaming glance on his minister. Now that Maret was silent, the
emperor quickly took up an open book from his desk and handed it to
Maret. "I will not answer you, duke," said Napoleon, "but Marmontel
shall. Read this. Read it aloud."

Maret read: "'I know of nothing more sublime than the resolution
taken by a monarch living in our times, who would be buried under
the ruins of his throne rather than accept terms to which a king
should not listen; he was possessed of too proud a soul to descend
lower than unavoidable misfortune. He knew full well that courage
may restore strength and lustre to a crown, but that cowardice and
dishonor never can.'" [Footnote: Marmontel, "Grandeur et Decadence
des Romains," ch. v.]

"That is my reply, Maret," exclaimed Napoleon. "The example of Louis
XIV. shall teach me to perish rather than humiliate myself."

"Sire," said Maret, solemnly, "Marmontel is wrong; there is
something more sublime than to be buried under the ruins of a
throne--a king sacrificing his own greatness to the welfare of a
state that must perish with him."

"Never!" exclaimed the emperor, impetuously. "I can die beneath the
ruins of my throne, but I cannot sign my own humiliation! Maret, I
have made up my mind: I will continue this struggle to the last: I
will conquer or die! Tomorrow I set out for the army. Ah, I want to
see whether that drunken general of hussars, Blucher, shall not
yield to me, notwithstanding his crazy cavalry tricks; whether
Schwartzenberg, my faithless pupil, who had learned the art of war
from me, will meet me in a pitched battle; and whether Bernadotte,
my rebellious subject, dare look me in the face. Maret, the decisive
struggle is at hand. I will take the field, save Paris, and conquer
the enemy. I must call upon all the men of France to defend the
sacred soil of our country, and convert every house into a castle,
every village into a fortress, so that my enemies shall have to
wrest every inch of ground from us at a vast sacrifice. Not another
word about peace! Every thing is ready. Troops are hurrying forward
from Spain to fill up my army; in a few days they will be here.
Between the Seine and the Marne all my forces will unite and put a
stop to the advance of the allies upon Paris. We shall occupy a
position by which it will be easy for us to divide, disperse, and
crush the enemy. Here, in the plain between these rivers, I shall
march along the Aube, scatter the allied army, hurl most of my
troops at one of its wings, and, by skilful manoeuvres, compel the
other wing to fall back. The enemy must retreat; I shall profit by
it, and when I have gained a great battle over him, I can impose my
own terms; I have then conquered an HONORABLE peace for France--one
that we can subscribe to without blushing. Ah, I see a brilliant
future! It is time to begin. My eagles are ascending; they are not
ravens or bats--they are soaring to the sun." As the emperor uttered
these words his soul illuminated his face; he was again the
conqueror, confiding in his star.

Maret looked anxiously, but admiringly, at Napoleon's face, in which
great resolutions were beaming, and he read there an assurance and
determination that nothing could change. "You have made up your
mind, then, sire: the war is to go on, and the peace congress is not
to meet?"

"On the contrary," exclaimed Napoleon, smiling, "let it meet, if the
allies wish it. While Caulaincourt, Metternich, and Hardenberg, are
dictating terms of peace with their pens, we shall do so with our
swords, and we shall soon see which will make the more progress. But
let us now commence with some movements of peace. We must be on good
terms with Spain and Rome. Let Ferdinand return as King to Spain,
and as such become my ally. I shall also open the doors of Pope
Pius's prison at Fontainebleau; let him return as pope to Rome, and,
as God's vicegerent, be on my side. Maret, here are already two
allies. In order to conquer, but one is wanting; and it is for you,
Maret, to procure it."

"Sire, what is the name of this ally?" asked the Duke de Bassano, in
amazement.

"Money! money! and, for the third time, money! Procure me five
millions in cash, and I can add one hundred thousand men to my
army."

"Ah, sire, our chests are empty!" sighed Maret.

"But I must have money," replied Napoleon, vehemently. "Without it
no war can be waged--no victory gained. Five millions, Maret; I need
them; I must have them!"

Maret looked thoughtful. Suddenly his face kindled, and his whole
frame shook with joy. "Sire, your majesty asks for five millions?"

"Yes, five millions, to begin with."

"Well, then, sire, I can tell you where to find them, and perhaps
more."

"Where?"

"Sire, will you pledge me your imperial word not to betray that it
was I who told you where to find this money?"

"Certainly, Maret."

"Listen, sire; but permit me to whisper what I do not wish even the
walls to hear." He bent close to the emperor's ear.

Napoleon listened with breathless attention, and nodded repeatedly.
"You really believe this to be true, Maret?" he then asked, eagerly.

"Sire, I affirm it to be true. It is a secret known only to three
persons! It was betrayed to me to gain me over by an act of
treachery--but that is altogether another matter; the fact is
sufficient."

"And this fact is, that I shall find with my mother the millions
that I need?" said the emperor. "Maret, if that is so, I shall have
them this very day."

"Your majesty believes so? Madame Letitia--"

"My mother is avaricious, you wish to say? It is true, her extreme
economy has often vexed me; to-day it gladdens my heart; for, thanks
to her parsimony, I shall find with her what I need for my army. She
will deny these millions to me, to be sure; but you told me where to
look for them, and I pledge you my word I know how to find and take
them! Hush, not another word! I shall have what I want within an
hour. Go now, Maret. You will meet the Prince de Benevento in the
antechamber. Send him to me. I have to address a few parting words
to M. de Talleyrand."

The emperor stood in the middle of the magnificently furnished
cabinet when the Prince de Benevento slowly opened the door and
entered. The prince bore the emperor's piercing look with a
perfectly composed air. Not a feature of his aristocratic
countenance expressed any anxiety and his smile did not for an
instant vanish from his lips. With a sort of careless bearing he
approached the emperor, who allowed him to come near him, still
watching every expression of his countenance.

"I wished to see you," he said, "in order to tell you that I shall
set out for the army the day after to-morrow." Talleyrand bowed, but
made no reply. "Do you desire to accompany me?" asked the emperor,
vehemently.

"Sire, what should I do at the headquarters of the army?" said
Talleyrand, shrugging his shoulders. "Your majesty knows well that I
could be of very little service in the army--that I am able only to
wield the pen."

"And the tongue!" added Napoleon. "But before leaving Paris I will
give you some wholesome advice; bridle both your tongue and your pen
a little better than you have done of late. I know that you will not
shrink from any treachery, and that you are the first rat that will
desert the sinking ship; but consider what you are doing. The ship
is not yet in danger, and, spreading her sails, she will move
proudly on her way."

"I hope she will have favorable winds and deep water," said
Talleyrand, bowing carelessly.

Napoleon looked at him with hatred and rage. These equivocal words--
the calm, cold tone in which they were uttered, disturbed the
emperor, and his blood boiled. "I believe in the sincerity of your
wish," he said, "although there are many who assert that you are a
traitor. I have given you fair warning; now prove to those who are
accusing you, that they are doing you injustice. No intrigues! You
will be closely watched. Beware!" Talleyrand bowed again, and his
face still retained its indifferent, smiling expression. "Listen now
to what I have to say," added Napoleon. "Prior to my departure I
desire to put an end to the dissensions with Rome and Spain. The
pope will leave Fontainebleau to-morrow and return to Rome. The
Infante of Spain, too, is at liberty to return to his country and
ascend the throne of his ancestors. Go to-morrow to Valencay. It was
you who conveyed Ferdinand thither; you must, therefore, open the
doors of his prison that you locked."