Madame Sans-Gene 
 — s 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE 
 
 FOUNDED ON THE PLAY 
 
 BY 
 
 VICTORIEN SARDOU 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THI FBRNCM 
 
 LOUIE R. HELLER 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 HURST & COMPANY, 
 Publishers.
 
 Copyrighted, 1895, 
 
 BY 
 
 HOME BOOK COMPANY.
 
 MADAME SANS-GENE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 t 
 
 THE FRICASSEE. 
 
 In the Rue de Bondy lighted lamps smoked and 
 showed the entrance to a popular ball, the Vaux-Hall. 
 
 This ball, with its fantastic name, was directed by 
 citizen Joly, an artist of the " Theatre des Arts." 
 
 This was in the great days of July, 1792. 
 
 Louis XVI. still held a nominal royalty ; but his head, 
 destined to the axe since the twentieth of June, rested 
 now uncertainly on his shoulders. 
 
 Revolution thundered in the very streets. 
 
 Robespierre, Marat, and Barbaroux, the handsome 
 Marsellais, had held a secret conclave, in which, with- 
 out being able to agree in their choice of a chief — a 
 dictator who should stand as the "Friend of the Peo- 
 ple," they had decided to make a decisive onset on the 
 royal family, now confined in the palace of the Tuileries 
 as in a fortress. 
 
 Merr waited for the arrival of the Marseilles troops 
 to give the signal for the insurrection.
 
 2 gftadam* gm$-(&tM. 
 
 The Prussian King and the Austrian Emperor made 
 preparations, on their side, to throw themselves upon 
 France, which they considered an easy prey, a nation 
 overthrown : counting, too, upon treasons and internal 
 dissensions for cutting a passage for their armies even 
 to the capital. 
 
 With unwarranted arrogance the Prince of Bruns- 
 wick, generalissimo of the royal and imperial armies, 
 had issued from Coblenz his famous manifesto, in which 
 he said : 
 
 " If the palace of the Tuileries be forced or insulted, 
 if there be done the least violence, the least outrage, to 
 their majesties, the King Louis XVI. and the Queen 
 Marie-Antoinette, or to any member of the royal 
 family ; if their security, preservation, and liberty be 
 not immediately insured, the Emperor and the King 
 will take such vengeance as shall be forever memo- 
 rable, in delivering up the city of Paris to a military ex- 
 ecution and to total overthrow, and the chief conspirators 
 to such punishment as they shall richly deserve." 
 
 Paris answered in wildly defiant tones by organizing 
 the uprising of the tenth of August. 
 
 But Paris is ever a volcano with two craters ; its 
 joy ever alternates with passion. 
 
 Men armed themselves in the suburbs. They talked 
 in the clubs, at the Commune ; they distributed car- 
 tridges to the national patriotic guards without in the 
 least losing their taste for pleasure and their love of 
 dancing. For people were much agitated in the days 
 of the Revolution.
 
 Padame jgattl-Cftttte. 3 
 
 On the fresh ruins of the Ba'stille, at last demolished, 
 a placard was placed, bearing the words : " Here one 
 may dance." 
 
 And this was not irony. The good fortune which 
 could place in the hands of the patriots the melan- 
 choly site where, through many centuries, the un- 
 fortunate victims of monarchical caprice had groaned 
 unheard, made that a place wherein to tune the violins. 
 
 Strains of joy succeeded the melancholy hoot of the 
 owl ; and it was, moreover, one way of proving the 
 entire disappearance of the old regime. 
 
 The revolution was accomplished amid the singing 
 of the " Marseillaise " and the dancing of the " Car- 
 magnole." 
 
 To enumerate the many balls going on at that time 
 in Paris would take much space. There was dancing 
 at the H6tel d'Aligre", in the Rue d'Orleans-Saint- 
 Honore" ; at the Hotel Biron, in the Hanoverian tent ; 
 in the hall of the Exchequer ; at the Hotel de Longue- 
 viHe ; in the Rue Filles-Saint-Thomas ; at la Modgstie ; 
 at the dance of Calypso ; in the faubourg Montmartre, 
 at Poncherons ; at la Courtille, and lastly, at the Vaux- 
 Hall, whither we propose to take the readers. 
 
 Like the costumes, the dances of the old school were 
 blent with new steps ; the pavane", the minuet, and the 
 gavotte were succeeded by the tre"nitz, the rigaudon, 
 the monaco, and the popular fricassee. 
 
 On the vast floor of the. Vaux-Hall one night, at the 
 close of July, 1792, there was a great crowd, and people 
 were amusing themselves mightily. The women w«r«
 
 4 gHaflam* ^an^-(?5cne. 
 
 young, agile, and well dressed, and the men were full 
 of life. 
 
 The costumes were varied. Short breeches, with 
 stockings, wig, and French coat, stood side by side 
 with revolutionary long trousers ; for let us remark, in 
 passing, that the term " sans-culottes " which was used 
 to designate the patriots, signified simply that these 
 went about without the customary covering for the 
 legs ; the other faction would have said that the legs 
 of the revolutionists were too much covered, for the 
 citizens used more cloth and no longer wore breeches, 
 but pantaloons. 
 
 Many uniforms shone there, for many of the national 
 guards were in the hall, ready to rush from the scene 
 at the first drum-call to begin a dance about the throne, 
 the overture to the Revolution. 
 
 Among these, moving with the air of a victor, and 
 showing to advantage as he passed around and before 
 the pretty girls, was a tall, muscular youth, whose face 
 was both energetic and gentle, and who wore the fop- 
 pish costume of the French guard, with the red and 
 blue cockade of the municipality of Paris. The silver 
 braid on his sleeve indicated his rank ; he had, like 
 many of his comrades, been a sergeant in the city mi- 
 litia before the disbanding of the French guards. 
 
 He passed again and again before a robust and 
 pretty girl with honest blue eyes, who was not dancing. 
 She eyed the fine French guardsman scornfully when 
 he hesitated to approach her, despite the encourage- 
 ment of his comrades.
 
 Padame £att0-<Ektt*. 5 
 
 •« Go on, go on, Lefebvre," whispered one of the 
 guards ; " the place is not impregnable." 
 
 •• Perhaps she has herself already opened a breach, "* 
 suggested another. 
 
 "If you dare not attempt it, I shall myself," added a 
 third. 
 
 " You can see for yourself that you are the one at 
 whom she has been looking. They are going to dance 
 the fricassee. Ask her to dance," spoke the first man, 
 encouraging Sergeant Lefebvre. 
 
 The latter was silent. He dared not accost that 
 fresh young woman, who was in nowise abashed, and 
 yet who seemed to have no chilling frost in her glance. 
 
 " Do you think so, Bernadotte ? " asked Lefebvre, of 
 him who had last spoken, who was also a sergeant. 
 " By Heaven ! a French soldier has never yet retreated 
 before an enemy nor in the presence of a pretty woman. 
 / will make the attack ! " 
 
 And, leaving his comrades, Sergeant Lefebvre went 
 straight to the pretty girl, whose eyes were now filled 
 with angry light, and who stood ready to receive him 
 in fine style, having overheard the disrespectful re- 
 marks the soldiers had made about her. 
 
 " Listen, girl," she said to her neighbor, " I shall 
 teach those saucy guards whether or not I have made 
 an opening for them." 
 
 She got up quickly, her hands on her hips, her eyes 
 flashing, her tongue ready for use, prompt to return an 
 answer to the attack. 
 
 The sergeant thought actions would count more than
 
 6 gttadam* ^attg-dfretw. 
 
 words. So, holding out his arms, he seized the young 
 girl by the waist, and attempted to imprint a kiss upon 
 her neck, saying as he did so : 
 
 " Mam'zelle, will you dance the fricassee ? " 
 
 The girl was quick. In the twinkling of an eye, she 
 disengaged herself, and launched out her hand in the 
 direction of the sergeant's cheek, to which, as he stood 
 abashed and confounded, she applied it vigorously, 
 saying coolly, and with a joyous ring in her voice, 
 " Take that, boy ! There's your fricassee." 
 
 The sergeant retreated a step ; rubbed his cheek ; 
 blushed ; and, raising his hand to his three-cornered 
 hat, said gallantly, " Mam'zelle, I ask your pardon." 
 
 " Oh, there's no offence, lad. Let that serve you as a 
 lesson. Another time you'll know with whom you 
 have dealings," replied the girl, whose anger now 
 seemed entirely gone ; and who turned to her compan- 
 ion and said softly, " He's not at all bad, that guards- 
 man." 
 
 Bernadotte, meantime, who had followed with a 
 jealous eye, when his companion had approached the 
 pretty girl, was well satisfied to see things grow ugly, 
 and coming up to him took him by the arm exclaiming : 
 «• Come with us, Lefebvre. You see that nobody wants 
 to dance with you. Perhaps mademoiselle doesn't 
 know how to dance the fricassee." 
 
 " What's that you say ? " The girl spoke quickly. 
 " I can dance the fricassee, and I shall dance it with 
 whom I please — not with you, however. But if your 
 comrade were to ask me politely, ah, then, I should be
 
 glad to dance a measure with him. No ill-feeling, is 
 there, sergeant ? " 
 
 And the happy, light-hearted girl extended her hand 
 to Sergeant Lefebvre. 
 
 " Ill-feeling ? No, surely not, mademoiselle ! Yet I 
 ask your pardon once more. That which has just 
 passed, perhaps you will have noticed, is a little the 
 fault of my comrades. It was Bernadotte, whom you 
 see there, that pushed me to it. And I got simply what 
 I deserved." 
 
 While Lefebvre was offering his excuses, as best he 
 could, the girl interrupted him and said bluntly, " By 
 your accent one would take you for an Alsatian." 
 
 " Born a native of the Upper-Rhine — at Ruffach," was 
 the response. 
 
 " Heavens, what luck ! I am from St. Amarin," was 
 the girl's rejoinder. 
 
 '* You are my country-woman, then." 
 
 " And you my countryman. How people do find 
 each other, eh ? " 
 
 '* And you are called ? " 
 
 " Catharine Upscher, laundress — Rue Royal — at the 
 corner of the Rue Orties-Saint-HonoreV' 
 
 " And I am Lefebvre, ex-sergeant of the guards ; but 
 now in the militia." 
 
 " Later, countryman, we will, if you choose, learn 
 more of each other ; but at this moment the fricassee 
 calls us." 
 
 And, taking him by the hand, she led him into the 
 maze of the dancers.
 
 8 gfladatiw j$Htt0-<$*»*. 
 
 As she danced past a young man with a pale, almost 
 wan face, who wore his long hair down over his dog- 
 like eyes, whose bearing was quiet and crafty, and whose 
 long coat looked like a cassock, he said haughtily, 
 " What ! Catharine among the guards ? " 
 
 " You know this Catharine ? " asked Sergeant Berna- 
 dotte, who had heard the remark. 
 
 " Oh, in all faith, all honor ! " replied the clerical- 
 looking youth ; " she is my laundress. A good girl, 
 worthy, proper, virtuous — with open heart, and ready 
 tongue. Throughout the quarter she is called for her 
 frank speech and emphatic ways, ' Mile. Sans-G€ne.' " 
 
 The music of the orchestra grew louder, and the rest 
 of the conversation was lost in the wild tumult of the 
 fricassfee. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PREDICTION. 
 
 The dance ended, Sergeant Lefebvre conducted his 
 countrywoman to her place. Peace had been estab- 
 lished. They talked like two old acquaintances and 
 walked arm in arm like lovers. 
 
 Lefebvre, to insure the continuance of amity, pro- 
 posed taking some refreshments. 
 
 " Agreed," said Catharine. " Oh, I do not stand on 
 ceremony. You seem to me a good sort of fellow ; 
 and, faith, I shall not refuse your polite offer, especially 
 ** the fricassee makes one thirsty. Let us sit here."
 
 gjftadam* jSanje-dSm. 9 
 
 They took their places at one of the tables which 
 stood about the room. 
 
 Lefebvre seemed quite charmed at the turn things 
 had taken. He had, nevertheless, a moment's hesita- 
 tion before seating himself. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " demanded Catharine, brusque- 
 
 »y. 
 
 " Look you, mam'zelle, it is this," he answered, some- 
 what embarrassed, " we are not accustomed among the 
 guards, nor yet in the militia, to act like Switzers." 
 
 "Oh, I understand — your comrades. Well, ask them. 
 Do you want me to call them ? " 
 
 And without waiting his permission she rose, 
 mounted a green wooden bench which stood beside the 
 table, and making a speaking trumpet of her hands, 
 called to the three guards who stood at a distance, 
 looking with something of amusement at the sport of 
 the couple. 
 
 " Ohe ! lads — come over here ! We will not eat you ! 
 Besides, to watch others drinking gives one the blues." 
 
 The three guards found no difficulty in answering 
 the familiar invitation. 
 
 "What ! Not going, Bernadotte ? " asked one of the 
 guards of the sergeant who lingered behind. 
 
 " I want to talk with the citizen," answered Berna- 
 dotte, in a cross tone, jealous of the ascendancy of 
 a comrade, and wishing, despite the evident success 
 Lefebvre had scored with the pretty laundress, to hold 
 himself aloof and affect to converse with the young 
 man with the long frock and dog-like eyes.
 
 io pladame £nn$-(&tnt. 
 
 " Oh, the citizen isn't in the way," cried Catharine ; 
 *' I know him, and he knows me. Well I is it not so, 
 Citizen Fouche* ? " 
 
 So called, the young man came toward the table on 
 which Lefebvre had ordered warm wines and pastry 
 to be served ; and said, as he greeted them, " Since 
 Mademoiselle Catharine desires it, I come. We will be 
 seated. I love to find myself among the valiant de- 
 fenders of the city." 
 
 The four guards and the citizen called Fouch6 
 seated themselves ; and, glasses having been filled, they 
 drank together. 
 
 Catharine and Lefebvre, who had already attempted 
 several quiet gallantries, drank, unnoticed, from the 
 same glass. 
 
 Lefebvre, growing bolder, now endeavored to snatch 
 a kiss. 
 
 Catharine drew back. 
 
 " Not that, countryman ! " she said. «• I will laugh 
 gayly with you ; but no more." 
 
 " You scarce looked for modesty in a washerwoman, 
 soldier, did you ? " said Fouche\ " Ah 1 in such mat- 
 ters she is not complaisant at anytime, our Mile. Sans- 
 G£ne." 
 
 " Speak up, Citizen Fouche\" said Catharine quickly ; 
 " you know me, for I do your laundry-work — in the 
 three months since you came from Nantes, is there any 
 one dare say anything against me ? " 
 
 ** No — nothing — absolutely nothing ! " 
 
 " I will consent to play thus ; to dance a fricassee at
 
 times ; even to drink with such good lads as you seem 
 to be ; but no one in the quarter, or elsewhere, mark 
 you, dare boast that he has crossed the threshold of my 
 chamber. My work-room is open to all the world ; but 
 to my bed-chamber but one shall have the key ! " 
 
 " And who may that lucky fellow be ? " asked Le- 
 febvre, twirling his moustache. 
 
 "My husband," was Catharine's haughty reply ; and 
 clicking her glass against Lefebvre's she added, laugh- 
 ing, " Then, being married, countryman, what have 
 you to say ? " 
 
 " That it were not so ill for him, in such a case," re- 
 plied the sergeant, still caressing his moustache. " To 
 your health, mam'zelle 1 " 
 
 - To yours, citizen, and to the fulfilment of your 
 wishes." 
 
 And they all drank gayly, laughing merrily at the 
 light sally. 
 
 At that moment, a singular figure wearing a pointed 
 cap, and dressed in a long black robe, spangled with 
 silver stars and blue crescents, and long-tailed comets, 
 glided among the tables like a spectre. 
 
 •' Look ! it is Fortunatus ! " cried Bernadotte. " It 
 is the magician. Who wants to have his fortune 
 told ? " 
 
 Every dance, in those days, had its sorcerer, or its 
 reader of cards, predicting the future and revealing the 
 past, for the sum of five sous. 
 
 In the confusion of a period such as that which pre- 
 ceded the tenth of August, when an old social order
 
 12 Padam* £m$-(&tnt. 
 
 disappeared entirely to give place to a new, in a change 
 whose rapidity was almost fairy-like, a belief in the 
 marvellous was, naturally, prevalent. 
 
 Cagliostro and his glass, Mesmer and his trough, 
 had quite upset the heads of the aristocracy. Popular 
 credulity was given to the soothsayers of the cross- 
 roads, and to the astrologers of the taverns. 
 
 Catharine burned to know the future. It seemed to 
 her that her meeting with the handsome sergeant 
 would in some way alter her life. 
 
 Just as she was about to ask Lefebvre to call Fortu- 
 natus and question him for her, the magician turned 
 to answer a group of three young men at an opposite 
 table. _ . 
 
 M Let us hear what he says to them," whispered 
 Catharine, indicating their neighbors. 
 
 "I know one of them," said Bernadotte, "he is 
 called Andoche Junot. He is a Burgundian. I met 
 him frequently in the battalion of the Cot6-d'Or." 
 
 " The second is an aristocrat," said Lefebvre ; "he is 
 called Pierre de Marmont He, also, is a Burgundian, 
 and comes from Chatillon." 
 
 " And the third ?" asked Fouche\ "the lean young 
 man with the olive complexion and hollow eyes? I 
 I have seen him before. But where ? " 
 
 "In my Work-room, doubtless," said Catharine, 
 blushing slightly ; " he is an artillery officer who has 
 laid down his commission — he expects an appoint- 
 ment—he lives near me, at the Hdtel des Patriotes, in 
 the Rue Royal-Saint-Roch."
 
 " A Corsican ? " asked Fouche\ " They all live at 
 that hotel. He has a strange name, that client of yours 
 — Berna — Buna — Bina — no, that's not it," cried he, try- 
 ing to find the name which had escaped him. 
 
 " Bonaparte," said Catharine. 
 
 " Yes, that's it — Bonaparte — Timoleon, I think." 
 
 " Napoleon," answered Catharine, " he is a wise 
 youth, and, one who impresses every one who meets 
 him." 
 
 " He has a strange name, this Napoleon Bonaparte, 
 and a melancholy air. Ah, if he should ever attain to 
 anything he ought to change that name," muttered 
 Fouch6 ; adding, " Listen ! The magician is speaking 
 to them. What can he be saying to them ? " 
 
 The four young men grew silent and pricked their 
 ears, while Catharine, grown suddenly serious, im- 
 pressed by the presence of the sorcerer, whispered to 
 Lefebvre : " I wish he would predict good luck for 
 Bonaparte. He's such a deserving young man : He 
 supports his four brothers and his sisters, yet he is far 
 from rich. I've never been able to present him a bill ; 
 though he owes me for several washings," she added, 
 with the air of an alarmed merchant. 
 
 Fortunatus, meantime, balancing his pointed hat, 
 read, gravely, the hand which the young man whom 
 Bernadotte had called Junot, extended to him. 
 
 " Thou," he said, in a deep voice, " thy career 
 shall be bright and well-rounded — thou shalt be the 
 friend of a great man — shalt share in his glory— on 
 thy head shall rest a ducal crown— thou wilt triumph 
 in the South."
 
 14 §ftaflame gM$-(&tnt. 
 
 " Bravo 1 I am really already half a soldier. Thou 
 art consoling, friend ! But tell me, after so much good 
 fortune, how shall I die ! " 
 
 «• Madman," said the sorcerer in a hollow voice. 
 
 *' The devil ! The beginning of thy prophecy was 
 worth more than the end," cried the second, laughing. 
 It was he whom Bernadotte had called Marmont. 
 " Dost predict insanity for me, too ?" 
 
 •» No ! Thou shalt live for the ruin of the country, 
 and to thine own shame. After a life of glory and 
 honor, thou wilt abandon thy master, betray thy country, 
 and thy name shall be synonymous with that of Judas." 
 
 " Thou favorest me greatly in thy prediction," said 
 Marmont, with a sneer. " What wilt thou tell our com- 
 rade ? " 
 
 He pointed to the young artillery officer in whom 
 Catharine was so much interested. But he, drawing 
 his hand back quickly, said gruffly: " I do not wish 
 to be told the future. I know it." And, turning to 
 his friends, he pointed above the wall that enclosed 
 the Vaux-Hall, to where the sky showed through the 
 tent-covering of the dancing-hall. 
 
 " Do you see that star up there ? " he said in a ringing 
 voice. " No ? You see it not ! Well, I can see it. It 
 is my star." 
 
 The magician had moved on. Catharine motioned 
 to him ; he approached the group, and, looking at 
 two of the guards, said to them : " Profit by your 
 youth. Your days are numbered." 
 
 " And where are we to die ? " asked one of the young
 
 Padame $M$-(&tnt. 15 
 
 <nen, destined to fall among the heroes who died for 
 Jiberty, shot down by the Swiss Guards. 
 
 " On the steps of a palace." 
 
 " What grandeur ! " cried Bernadotte, " dost thou see 
 for me, too, a tragic death and a palace ? " 
 
 •* No, thy death will be peaceful : thou shalt occupy 
 a throne, and after disowning thy colors and fighting 
 thy comrades-in-arms, thou shalt lie in a foreign tomb, 
 beside a frozen ocean." 
 
 " If my comrades take everything, what will be left 
 for me ? " asked Lefebvre. 
 
 " Thou, " said Fortunatus, " shalt marry the lady of 
 thy heart, thou shalt command a formidable army, and 
 thy name shall ever stand for bravery and loyalty." 
 
 " And I, Sir Magician," said Catharine, frightened, 
 perhaps, for the first time in her life. 
 
 " You, mademoiselle, will be the wife of him you 
 love — you will be a duchess." 
 
 " Then I'll have to become a duke — a generalship 
 will not suffice me," exclaimed Lafebvre gayly. " Ah, 
 sorcerer, finish thy prophecy. Tell me that I shall 
 marry Catharine, and that together we shall become 
 duke and duchess ! " 
 
 But Fortunatus had passed on, slowly, among the 
 smiling men and attentive women. 
 
 "Well, really," said Fouche", " this magician is not 
 inventive. He predicted great destinies for you all ; 
 but to me he said nothing. Am I then to be a nobody ? " 
 
 " You have been made curate," said Catharine. 
 ** What would you like to become ? "
 
 1 6 $R»flame £m$-(&tnt. 
 
 " I was simply a reader, my dear. At present I am 
 a patriot, an enemy of tyrants. What I'd like to be- 
 come ? Oh, that is simple enough — Minister of Police." 
 
 " You may get there. You are such a very devil 
 and so conversant with everything that goes on, 
 Citizen Fouche\" retorted Catharine. 
 
 " Yes ; I shall be chief of police when you are a 
 ■duchess," he rejoined, with a strange smile that lit up 
 his sad countenance and softened his fierce profile. 
 
 The ball was over. The four young men rose gayly 
 and moved on, laughing at the sorcerer and his magic. 
 
 Catharine took the arm of Lefebvre, who had obtained 
 leave to escort her to the door of her work-room. 
 
 Before them walked their three neighbors, Napoleon 
 Bonaparte a little apart from his two friends, Junot and 
 Marmont. He spoke but little, and was grave and re- 
 served ; now and again, however, he raised his eyes to 
 the blue firmament above as if seeking for that star of 
 -which he had spoken, and which shone for him alone. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF ROYALTY. 
 
 The tenth of August was a Friday. 
 
 The night between the ninth and tenth was mild, 
 starry, serene. At midnight the moon shed its pure 
 lustre on the town, apparently calm, peaceful and 
 slumbering.
 
 Padam* £m$-<&tuf, 17 
 
 Paris, meantime, had slept for a fortnight past with 
 one eye open, with hand on sword, ready to rise at the 
 first alarm. 
 
 Since that night when Lefebvre had met the laundress 
 Catharine at Vaux-Hall the city had become a furnace. 
 The revolution boiled as in a mighty cauldron. 
 
 The Marseilles troops* had come, filling the streets 
 and the clubs with their ardor, their fiery patriotism 
 and martial force. They had given to the echoes the 
 immortal hymn of the army of the Rhine, the result of 
 the inspired genius and throbbing heart of Rouget de 
 Lisle. They had brought it to the Parisians, who, 
 instead of calling this song, which was to be always a 
 national one, "La Frangaise," gave it, generously, the 
 name of " La Marseillaise." 
 
 Court and people prepared for the fray, and for a 
 great day's work. The nobles barricaded the palace 
 of the Tuileries and established there a garrison of 
 Swiss Guards, commanded by Courbevoie and De 
 Rueil ; convened all the high-born fanatics who had 
 been styled, after that banquet of October, when the 
 national cockade had been trampled under foot, the 
 "Chevaliers du Poignard." 
 
 That great day which marks the first victory of the 
 Revolution and the dawn of the Republic (for the 
 twenty-second of September served only to proclaim 
 and legalize the triumphant action of the tenth of 
 August), no man could boast of having organized, 
 commanded, or directed it. 
 
 Danton slept with Camille Desmoulins while they 
 2
 
 18 Padame JtattMfott. 
 
 searched for him to bring him to the tribune. Marat 
 slept in his cave. Robespierre lived apart — he was 
 only chosen as the eleventh member of the Commune. 
 Barbaroux had declined the honor of leading the Mar- 
 seillais, and Santerre, the great agitator of the Fau- 
 bourg Saint-Antoine, figured in the fight only in the 
 middle of the day. 
 
 The nameless insurrection of August 10, a battle 
 without a commander-in-chief, had for its general the 
 mob, and for heroes all the nation. 
 
 The movement did not begin until after midnight on 
 that radiant night of the ninth. 
 
 The emissaries of the forty-seven sections had de- 
 manded the downfall of royalty — one, the Mauconseil 
 section, having voted — tramped silently about the 
 streets transmitting from door to door this order : 
 
 " To arms when you hear the tocsin sound and fight 
 fiercely." 
 
 Within an hour the tocsin was heard in various 
 places. The clock of St. Germain-d'Auxerrois, which 
 had chimed for the massacre of St. Bartholomew,, 
 sounded the doom of monarchy. 
 
 At the peal of the drums, beating the call to arms, 
 Paris arose, grasped its guns, and rubbed its sleepy 
 eyes. 
 
 The moon was set. Shadow wrapped the town. 
 But in every window, one after another, lights ap- 
 peared. This sudden illumination as for a fgte had a 
 sinister omen. 
 
 A strange dawn, in which the smoke of battle, the
 
 Padanw $att0-©etw. 19 
 
 blaze of burning buildings, and reek of blood, almost 
 obscured the sun. 
 
 The city gates opened one by one to admit 
 armed men, who passed through them, questioned the 
 sky, and pricked their ears, listening for the approach 
 of their own sections, that they might enter the 
 ranks. They watched the daylight coming up over the 
 roofs. 
 
 The call to arms was heard in the streets and in the 
 lanes. In the courts sounded the rattling of batteries 
 that were being dragged to position, the metallic ring 
 of the bayonets, whose sockets men tried, and the click 
 of sabres and pikes. 
 
 The houses near the Tuileries had all their shutters 
 thrown back and several shops, even, were open. 
 
 Mademoiselle Sans-Gfine was by no means the last 
 to put her nose out. Dressed in a short petticoat, with 
 only a light covering over her beating heart, and with 
 a dainty nightcap on her head, she listened at the 
 window to the sounds of the night, heard the drum, and 
 distinguished the tocsin. Hastening into her work- 
 room to strike a light, she then cautiously half-opened 
 the door. 
 
 The Rue Royal-Saint-Roch, where the washer- 
 woman's house was situated, was now empty. 
 
 Catharine stopped, looked, listened. It was not only 
 curiosity which made her so keen for a sight of the 
 troops in arms. 
 
 She was a good patriot, Sans-Gfine, but another 
 sentiment than hate of the tyrant animated her now.
 
 20 Padam* £att0-$m. 
 
 After the fricassee dance at Vaux-Hall, she had 
 seen Sergeant Lefebvre again. 
 
 They had grown to know each other better. At a 
 small party at La Rap6e, whither he had without much 
 difficulty induced her to go, they had exchanged 
 vows and talked over projects. The ex-sergeant had 
 become rather familiar ; but Catharine had told him so 
 plainly that she would never give herself to any one, 
 save as a wife, that the sergeant had ended by asking 
 her to marry him. 
 
 She had accepted. 
 
 " We have not much," she had said gayly, "to begin 
 housekeeping on. I have my laundry, where bad debts 
 are never lacking." 
 
 " And I have my commission ; and a soldier's pay is 
 often in arrears." 
 
 " Never mind ! we are young, we love each other, 
 and have the future before us. The sorcerer promised 
 me the other day, did he not, that I should be a 
 dychess ? " 
 
 «* And did he not say I should be a general ? " 
 
 " He said, besides, you should marry her you love." 
 
 " Well, let us realize the beginning of his augury, at 
 once." 
 
 " Oh, you are impatient; I cannot marry at once. 
 / must prepare." 
 
 '* Then let us fix a date, Catharine." 
 
 " At the fall of the tyrant, if you like." 
 
 " Yes, that suits me : I abhor tyrants — look, 
 Catharine, at this 1 "
 
 Turning back his sleeve, Lefebvre showed her 
 his right arm superbly tattooed — two sabres crossed 
 with a grenade in flames, surmounted by the words, 
 " Death to tyrants ! " 
 
 " Hem ! I am a patriot," he said proudly, holding 
 out his bare arm triumphantly. 
 
 " It is fine," said Catharine, with conviction, and she 
 put out her hand to touch it. 
 
 " Don't touch it," said Lefebvre quickly ; " it is quite 
 fresh." 
 
 Catharine had drawn back her hand, afraid of injur- 
 ing such fine work. 
 
 " Don't be afraid. It will not hurt the color ; but it 
 must dry. Listen ! in a few days, you shall have some- 
 thing better than this." 
 
 " What ? " Catharine had asked curiously. 
 
 " My wedding gift," had been the mysterious answer. 
 
 He had not wanted to say more, and having drunk 
 gayly at the tavern, to the fall of the tyrant and their 
 approaching wedding, which should follow upon it, 
 Catharine and her lover had taken the Charenton 
 diligence to the Rue Bouloi, thence had proceeded on 
 foot, under the keen eyes of the stars, to the Rue 
 Royal-Saint-Roch, where, gaining her own door, the 
 young girl, to avoid a tender parting, closed it quickly 
 in the sergeant's face, crying : 
 
 " Good-night, Lefebvre. Here you may enter when, 
 you are my husband.'' 
 
 Since then, every moment which he could spare 
 from his duties, Lefebvre had spent in seeking the
 
 22 gftadam* £m$-(&tut. 
 
 laundry, and passing a few moments with his country- 
 woman. 
 
 They had both begun to feel that the tyrant took 
 rather long to die. Thus it was natural that Catharine 
 should look, with the twofold impatience of a good 
 patriot and a girl on the eve of her marriage, for that 
 dawn of the tenth of August. 
 
 The tocsin, flinging its funereal notes on the night air, 
 sounded at the Tuileries the De Profundis of royalty, 
 and for the little laundress, the " Alleluia" of marriage. 
 
 Two neighbors in night array, had imitated Cath- 
 arine, and stood by their doors waiting for news. 
 
 ■* Is there any news, Mam'zelle Sans-GSne ? " asked 
 one of them, across the street. 
 
 " I am waiting, neighbor. Listen ! Have patience, 
 and we shall know all." 
 
 Breathless with his quick run, Lefebvre equipped 
 and armed, now entered from the Rue Saint-Honore\ de- 
 posited his gun beside the door, and caught the laun- 
 dress in an impassioned embrace. 
 
 " Ah, my good Catharine, I am glad to see you ! It 
 is warm already. It is going to be warmer. The 
 motto for to-day is, « Long live the nation.' " 
 
 The neighbors, who now timidly approached, asked 
 what had passed. 
 
 " Well," said Lefebvre, striking an attitude, like one 
 who had come to read a proclamation ; ** I must tell 
 you, first, that they wanted to assassinate the good M. 
 P6tion, the mayor of Paris." 
 
 An indignant murmur rose from his audience.
 
 Paitome £att$-<5m. 23 
 
 •< What has been done with the tyrant ? " asked one. 
 
 " They have held him as hostage. Picture to your- 
 selves the palace as a veritable fortress — the windows 
 boarded up, the doors barricaded. The Swiss Guards 
 are armed to the teeth, and with them are those villains, 
 the Chevaliers du Poignard, .traitors, friends of the 
 strangers — they are sworn to kill the patriots. Oh, let 
 but one fall into my hands in the day that is coming, 
 and I'll settle his account quickly," cried Lefebvre, with 
 almost savage energy. 
 
 " Go on," said Catharine ; " there aren't any Chev- 
 aliers du Poignard here, and I doubt if you'll find any 
 on the road ; now tell us what happened to M. PStion." 
 
 "Called before the Assembly — there, at least, he is 
 safe — Oh, he escaped." 
 
 " Have they done any fighting yet ? " 
 
 " No, only one man has been killed — Mandat, the 
 commander of the National Guards." 
 
 " Your chief! He was of the Swiss faction ? " 
 
 *' He was on their side. There was found, over his 
 signature, an order to shoot the patriots from the 
 suburbs behind, when they reached the Pont-Neuf 
 to join their comrades from Saint-Marceau and 
 Saint-Victor ; but the treason was discovered. The 
 traitor, called to the Hotel de Ville to explain himself, 
 was finished by a pistol-shot from among the crowd. 
 Nothing can now impede the onward march of the sec- 
 tions. To-night, Catharine, we will win, and within 
 eight hours we will marry. Hold ! My wedding gift 
 ■ — I promised it to you."
 
 24 Padam* £m#-(&tue. 
 
 And, before the somewhat embarrassed neighbors, he 
 bared his left arm, showing a second tattooing, repre- 
 senting two hearts aflame. 
 
 "Look," he said, "what is written here: To Cath- 
 arine, for life ! " 
 
 He stepped back, to give them a better view of the 
 design. 
 
 " It is fine — much finer than the other," said Cath- 
 arine, crimson with pleasure, and she clung to the 
 sergeant's neck, murmuring, " Oh, my own Lefebvre, 
 thou art so handsome, and I love thee so much ! " 
 
 At this moment, shots rent the heavy air from afar — 
 cannon answered. 
 
 "Away! Catharine! I must go where duty, calls ; 
 be calm ; we shall return victorious," cried Lefebvre 
 joyously. 
 
 And, as he picked up his gun, he embraced her again, 
 and hurried off in the direction of the Tuileries. 
 
 The Swiss had fired upon a poorly-armed crowd, 
 who now held parley with them. Corpses already 
 covered the vestibule of the Tuileries and the three 
 courts of the Carrousel. 
 
 But the cannon of the patriots had sent their missiles 
 to signify to royalty its end. 
 
 Louis XVI. had sought refuge in the National Assem- 
 bly, which had again met at two o'clock in the morning, at 
 the sound of the tocsin. While awaiting developments, 
 the legislators, under the presidency of Vergniaud, had 
 discussed the abolition of the negro trade. The sacred
 
 iftadam* £att0-<$*tw. 25 
 
 cause of human liberty had that day been defended as 
 a whole, without distinction of race or color. 
 
 The journalistic stenographer, as we would call him. 
 to-day, related that, seated in his corner, the royal 
 blockhead tranquilly ate a peach, deaf to the belching 
 of the cannon which was to shatter his throne, incrJfc- 
 ferent to the fate of the Swiss, unmindful of the nobles 
 who were dying for him. 
 
 It was a great day ! The last night of royalty was 
 spent and the Marsellais, chanting their immortal 
 hymn, had gone forth to destroy the last stronghold of 
 feudalism. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A CHEVALIER DU POIGNARD. 
 
 It was noon ere the cannon had ceased to roar in the 
 neighborhood of the Tuileries. Confused murmurs 
 arose, among which one could vaguely distinguish 
 cries of " Victory ! Victory ! " 
 
 Heavy clouds floated over the houses ; while sparks 
 and scraps of burning paper and cloth, whirled about 
 and fell in the streets. 
 
 Many were the changes of fortune on that ever- 
 memorable day. 
 
 The sections had each named three emissaries, who- 
 were to form the Commune of Paris. P6tion, the 
 mayor, called to the H6tel de Ville, had been con- 
 signed to his own house, to be set at liberty at the end
 
 26 padame gm$-(3tnt. 
 
 of the insurrection. Mandat, found guilty of treason, 
 was dead. Santerre had been named, in his place, 
 commander of the National Guards. 
 
 The arsenal had been forced, and arms distributed 
 to a first division from the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, 
 who had come to put themselves under orders. 
 
 The king, after reviewing the battalions of the 
 National Guards required for the defence of the palace, 
 had re-entered his apartments sadly. The Petits Peres, 
 and the Butte-du-Moulins were the only ones who had 
 hailed him. The others had shouted " Long live the 
 nation ! Down with the ' Veto ' ! " and the cannoneers 
 had turned their pieces so that they threatened the 
 palace. 
 
 Louis XVI. saw that he was lost, and felt his power 
 and his glory vanish. He went to demand safety of 
 the National Assembly, whose executive hall, at that 
 time, was at the " Marege," near the garden of the 
 Tuileries, and on the right of it, where to-day, in the 
 Rue de Rivoli, stands the H6tel Continental. Three 
 hundred National Guards and three hundred Swiss 
 escorted him. 
 
 There were, in all, nine hundred and fifty Swiss, well- 
 armed and well-disciplined. Most of them spoke only 
 German. These household troops, attached to the 
 person of the king, faithful, to the full measure of their 
 honor, in loyalty and affection, had decided to die for 
 the master for whom they had enlisted, and who paid 
 them. 
 
 Ignorant of the situation, the Swiss Guards, deceived
 
 Padame gnn$-<Stm. 27 
 
 by their captains, and excited by the Chevaliers du 
 Poignard, believed, even at the dawn of the tenth of 
 August, that they were employed to defend the king's 
 person against brigands, who came to kill him. Many, 
 as one of their colonels, M. Pfyffer, testified, were 
 astounded and frightened when they beheld, instead of 
 a popular raid on the palace, the advance of the 
 National Guards. 
 
 The uniform confused them. They thought to have 
 only the popular uprising, against whose ugliness all 
 good citizens would protest, and they saw, instead, an 
 armed and organized nation advancing against them. 
 
 One might have thought that blood would have been 
 spared, when the retreat of Louis XVI. had been accom- 
 plished, had not one of those terrible accidents which 
 moments of confusion are apt to produce, given the 
 signal for a pitiless massacre. 
 
 The Marsellais and Bretons, having as commander, 
 a friend of Danton's, one Westermann, an Alsatian ; 
 once an under-officer, and an energetic soldier, had 
 penetrated the courts of the palace. It had three, at 
 that time, and the Carrousel, much more limited then 
 than to-day, was covered with houses. 
 
 Westermann had arranged his troops in line of battle. 
 The Swiss were posted in the windows of the palace, 
 ready to fire. 
 
 They watched each other. Westermann spoke a 
 few words, in German, to the Swiss, to dissuade them 
 from firing on the people, and to encourage them to 
 fraternize.
 
 28 Padam* ^attf-G&en*. 
 
 Already, some of those unfortunate mercenaries had 
 thrown their cartridges through the windows, in sign 
 of disarming. 
 
 The patriots, encouraged and reassured by these 
 demonstrations of peace, were lounging under the 
 vestibule of the palace. 
 
 A barrier had been placed at the foot of the steps of 
 the great stairway, leading to the chapel. 
 
 On each step two Switzers mounted guard, one be- 
 side the wall, the other by the banisters ; they stood, 
 motionless, silent, and stern, gun in position, ready to 
 fire. 
 
 What with their tall stature, their fur caps, and their 
 red uniforms, these mountaineers in regimentals were 
 an imposing sight, and one that might well inspire fear. 
 
 But there were none but the confederate Marsellais 
 and Bretons in that crowd. The scum of the streets 
 were crowding round. Ruffians can be found at all 
 times and in all places : one is sure to find them well 
 up in front, on the days of fighting, on the morning of 
 an execution, or on the enemy after a battle. 
 
 Some of those clownish Parisians thought to draw 
 toward them, with hooks and pikes, two or three of 
 the most steadfast of the Swiss. 
 
 The men thus caught allowed themselves to be 
 easily snared, content to escape a possible brawl, and 
 believing themselves outnumbered. 
 
 This sport of fishing for the Swiss was being con- 
 tinued, amid shouts of laughter from the bystanders, 
 when suddenly, without any one's being able to place
 
 Padame £att!S-$m. 29 
 
 its source, a volley of projectiles was launched upon the 
 inoffensive, amused but not threatening crowd. 
 
 The correct theory is supposed to be this, that some 
 nobles, posted on the upper palisade, seeing the trapped 
 Swiss yielding without resistance, and ready to frater- 
 nize, suddenly fired, hoping to stop the defection and 
 create a bloody breach between the people and the 
 guard. 
 
 The two Swiss now among the people, were the first 
 to be struck down. 
 
 The shot, coolly directed by the defenders of the 
 palace, did its dreadful work. 
 
 In a moment the vestibule was full of corpses, and 
 blood flowed in rivers over the slabs. 
 
 A dense smoke enveloped the vestibule. 
 
 At the signal of the shots from within, a fusilade 
 was begun above. 
 
 The Swiss and the nobles, many of whom had taken 
 to the uniform of the guard, ran to the shelter of the 
 barricaded windows. 
 
 All their shots told. 
 
 The courts were empty. The Carrousel was swept 
 bare. Then the Swiss made a vigorous sortie as far 
 as the Rue Saint-Honor6. 
 
 But the Marsellais, the Bretons, and the National 
 Guards returned in force, with cannon. The Swiss 
 were cut off, the palace was invaded. Nothing could 
 withstand the triumphant crowd. Most of the Swiss 
 were slain in the apartments, or in the gardens ; they 
 were pursued even to the Champs-Elysges. Many
 
 30 Iftadame gm$-(&m. 
 
 owed their lives to the victors, who defended them 
 against the violence of the mob. 
 
 The king had given directions for the Swiss to cease 
 firing. He had given the order to M. de Hervilly, but 
 this chief of the Chevaliers du Poignard, reserved for 
 himself the right to issue it when he thought circum- 
 stances warranted. Like the queen, he believed that 
 the power remained with the defenders of the palace 
 and that the fire of the Swiss only served the '* rabble " 
 rightly. When he saw his mistake, it was too late : 
 the palace was in the hands of the people, and the king, 
 a prisoner in the power of the Assembly? was shortly 
 incarcerated in the Temple. 
 
 Catharine, who feared no longer, after having fol- 
 lowed feelingly the beginning of the engagement, quite 
 reassured, and not minding the shots, had ventured 
 forth with the intention of reaching the Carrousel. 
 She wanted to see if the tyrant would yield with a good 
 grace, and thus hasten her nuptials. And besides, 
 she told herself, that, perhaps, among the combatants, 
 she could see her dear Lefebvre. 
 
 This idea of surprising him, black with powder, 
 fighting in the front of battle, like a demon, under fire, 
 far from making her afraid, emboldened her. 
 
 She wanted to be near him, to be able to hand him 
 his cartridges — more than that ; she wanted to grasp 
 a musket herself, load it, and fire on the defenders of 
 the tyrant. She felt within her the soul of a warrior, 
 at the very smell of the powder. She wanted to 
 share all the dangers of her Lefebvre ; she was both
 
 Padam* £m$-(&m. 31 
 
 proud and a little jealous of the glory he should 
 gain. 
 
 Not once did it occur to her that she might be struck 
 by the bullets of the Swiss. 
 
 Had not the augury foretold that he should command 
 armies, and that she should be his wife ? Neither he 
 nor she was destined to die that day. 
 
 Thus, braving peril, she advanced ever nearer to the 
 cannoneers and the Marseillais, seeking for Lefebvre 
 and scorning death. 
 
 When the furious fusilade of the Swiss began, people 
 had flown wildly apart. In the movement, Catharine 
 felt herself drawn by the mass of fugitives toward the 
 Rue Saint-Honor^. Arriving opposite her room, she 
 returned to it, believing that the panic might spread 
 that far, and some one might enter her dwelling. 
 
 She had not lost all hope, but she began to fear lest 
 her wedding would be put off. 
 
 " Ah, those men ! They haven't even the heart to 
 slacken their pace," she groaned, as she stopped, rag- 
 ing, at the door of her laundry. "Oh ! if I had had a 
 musket, I should have remained ! I know well that 
 Lefebvre is not saved ! " 
 
 And, feverishly, impatiently, she kept her ears pricked, 
 listening for the victory for which she waited. 
 
 When the cannon began again to thunder loudly, she 
 trembled with joy and shouted, " Ah ! that is ours ! 
 Bravo ! the cannoneers ! " 
 
 Then she listened again. 
 
 The cannon shots multiplied, the fusilade increased ;
 
 32 Padam* JNtiHStttt* 
 
 confused cries reached her. Surely it must be the 
 patriots advancing ! They had the victory ! 
 
 Ah ! how she longed to see her Lefebvre once more 
 safe and sound, to embrace her victor, and say to him, 
 
 " Can we be married at once ? " 
 
 She came and went feverishly in her work-room, 
 whose shutters she had prudently left closed. 
 
 She dared not give way to her desire to return to the 
 scene of battle, lest Lefebvre should return in her ab- 
 sence. He would be alarmed and would not know 
 -where to look for her. It would be best to wait for 
 him. He must surely return by the Rue Royal-Saint- 
 Roch with his comrades when the palace was taken. 
 
 The street had become once more quiet and de- 
 serted. 
 
 The neighbors were shut in their houses. 
 
 The noon-hour came. She heard occasional shots. 
 
 Through her half-open door she saw from afar, on the 
 side toward the Rue Saint-Honor6, flying shadows, pur- 
 sued by armed men. 
 
 They were the last defenders of the palace, who 
 were being chased through the streets. 
 
 Suddenly, after two or three discharges quite near 
 to her, she heard what seemed like the sound of quick 
 footsteps in the alley that led to the other door of her 
 work-room on the Rue Saint-Honorg. 
 
 She trembled. 
 
 41 There seems to be some one there," she murmured. 
 «« Yes — there's some one walking — who can have come 
 here ? '
 
 Padawe gm$-(&tut, 33 
 
 Bravely she ran, took down the bar of the alley door, 
 and opened it. 
 
 A man appeared, pale, weak and blood-stained, 
 holding his hand to his breast ; he dragged himself 
 along painfully. 
 
 The wounded man wore a uniform of white with 
 knee-breeches and silk stockings. 
 
 He was not a patriot ; he had fought, surely, in the 
 ranks of the enemies of the people. 
 
 "Who are you ? And what do you want ?"she said 
 firmly. 
 
 •* A victim — I am wounded — they pursue me — give 
 me shelter — save me, for Heaven's sake, madame — I am 
 the Count of Neipperg. I am an Austrian officer " 
 
 He could say no more. 
 
 A bloody foam came to his lips. His face became 
 frightfully pale. 
 
 He fell on the threshold of the alley. 
 
 Catharine, seeing this elegant young man falling be- 
 fore her, his coat and vest already blood-stained, gave 
 a cry of pity and affright. 
 
 "Ah, poor boy," she said, "how they have settled 
 things for him ! He is doubtless an aristocrat — he has 
 fired on the people — he is not even a Frenchman — he 
 said he was an Austrian. It's all the same, he's a man 
 just the same." 
 
 And, moved by that instinct of good which is found 
 
 in the heart of every woman, even the most energetic — 
 
 for in even a robust warrior maid, there lies a sweet 
 
 sister of charity — Catharine knelt, touched the wounded 
 
 3
 
 34 Padam* jfeiM-tifcttf. 
 
 man's breast, gently took away the blood-stained linen, 
 Vnd tried to assure herself whether or not he was dead. 
 
 " He breathes," she said joyously ; " perhaps I can 
 save him ! " 
 
 So, running to the trough she filled a bowl with fresh 
 water, and after having taken the precaution of closing 
 the street-door solidly, by thrusting back the bar, she 
 returned to the wounded man. 
 
 She made a compress, tearing up the first linen gar- 
 ment near at hand. 
 
 In her hurry she had not noticed that she was tear- 
 ing up a man's shirt. 
 
 "Ah, I've made a pretty mess," she said to herself, 
 ** I've taken the shirt of a customer." 
 
 She looked at the mark. 
 
 " It belongs to that poor little artillery captain, Na- 
 poleon Bonaparte ! The poor boy has none too many. 
 And besides, he owes me a big bill ! Well, just the 
 same, I'll get him a new shirt. I will go and buy it, 
 and take it to him and tell him I burned his with my 
 iron. I hope he'll take it ; he is so proud. Ah ! he's 
 one who pays little attention to his clothes— not much 
 more than he does to women, alas ! " she added with a 
 gentle sigh. 
 
 While thinking of the customer whose linen she had 
 torn to rags, Catharine had lightly changed her com- 
 presses on the wound of the Austrian officer, who was 
 not looked for at the house of so good a patriot as her- 
 self. 
 
 The appearance of this young man, perhaps mortally
 
 gHadame £att0-te*. 35 
 
 wounded, so pale and weak, whose strength, and life 
 even, ebbed through a gaping wound, had changed all 
 Catharine's sentiments. 
 
 She was no longer now an Amazon in petticoats, who 
 had advanced among the combatants, bounding with 
 joy at every volley, and wishing to have a musket, that 
 she might take part in the feast of death. 
 
 She had become a saving angel, who strove to relieve 
 human suffering. 
 
 A curse against war almost rose to her lips, and she 
 said to herself that men had become savages to kill 
 each other thus. 
 
 But she repeated at the same time her hate and her 
 anathema against the king and queen, who had made 
 these fatal butcheries necessary. 
 
 " He is an Austrian," she murmured. " What was he 
 doing here, in his white uniform ? Defending this 
 Austrian woman ! Madame Veto ! But he has not 
 the air of a bad man." 
 
 She looked at him attentively. " He is so young — at 
 most twenty. One might almost think him a girl." 
 
 Then the professional observation came : " His 
 linen is fine ! batiste ! Oh, he is an aristo " 
 
 And she sighed, as she said, '• What a pity ! " 
 
 Under the healing influence of the cold water, and 
 the compresses which closed the wound and stopped 
 the flow of blood, the wounded man opened his dying 
 eyes slowly and looked about, in search of something. 
 
 With consciousness the impression of danger re- 
 turned.
 
 36 Pattern* <£att:ei-<>fatt*. 
 
 He made a movement to rise. 
 
 " Do not kill me," he murmured in a supreme and 
 instinctive effort, extending his arms before him, as if 
 to parry the thrusts of invisible enemies. 
 
 Making a great effort and collecting, by a supreme 
 effort of will, all his forces, he was able to say : «« You 
 are Catharine Upscher — of Saint-Amarin ? It was 
 Mademoiselle de Laveline who sent me to you. She 
 told me you were good — that you would help and 
 succor me. I will explain to you later." 
 
 " Mademoiselle Blanche de Laveline ? " asked Catha- 
 rine, stupidly — " the daughter of the seigneur of Saint- 
 Amarin — my protector. She who helped me to begin 
 work — to buy my place. Do you, then, know her ? 
 Ah ! for her, there is no peril I would not brave. You 
 were right to come here. You are safe here ; come ; 
 and he who finds your hiding-place must do so over 
 my body ! " 
 
 The wounded man tried to speak. Doubtless he 
 wanted to call again upon the name of this Blanche de 
 Laveline, who seemed to have so great an influence on 
 Catharine. 
 
 Catharine imposed silence on him, saying, " Be 
 calm, dismiss your fears ; " and she added in a motherly 
 tone, " no one will kill you. Mademoiselle Blanche 
 will be pleased to know that you are in my care, though 
 with a patriot." 
 
 She stopped herself, and meditatively added : " What 
 have I said to him ? These Austrians do not know 
 what patriots are ? They are subjects, slaves. You
 
 Padam* ^ajtg-Gktt*. 37 
 
 are with a friend," Catharine resumed, raising her 
 voice. 
 
 Neipperg dropped to the ground. His senses, 
 roused for a moment, had now left him. 
 
 But he had heard Catharine's compassionate voice, 
 and knew that he was safe. 
 
 An expression of unspeakable joy and recognitioa 
 crossed his wan face. He was with a friend — the name 
 of Blanche de Laveline would protect him ; he had 
 nothing to fear. 
 
 With a further effort he half-opened his eyes, ex- 
 tended his blood-stained and cold hand, seeking Catha- 
 rine's warm one. 
 
 " It is well — be calm ! — let me take care of you, 
 Austrian," said Catharine, mastering her feelings. 
 
 And, slowly, anxiously, she said to herself, " He 
 must lie more comfortably, more softly — but I am not 
 strong enough to carry him to the bed. Ah! ifLe- 
 febvre were here — but he does not come. Oh, can he 
 be " 
 
 She did not finish the thought. The idea that Le- 
 febvre might be lying, like this foreign officer, lifeless, 
 and blood-stained, presented itself to her for the first 
 time, and she shivered with fright. 
 
 " How terrible is war ! " she murmured. 
 
 But her energetic nature re-asserted itself, and she 
 sighed. 
 
 " Bah ! Lefebvre is too brave too strong to be like 
 this little aristocrat. He is a receptacle for balls. 
 Lefebvre ! he'd take half a dozen into his body with-
 
 Padame £an0-6enc. 
 
 out so much as a cry ! He is not cut like these young 
 sprigs. And this one volunteered to defend Madame 
 Veto ! He dared to fire on the people ! " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders and looked again at the 
 wounded man. 
 
 " It is impossible to leave him here — he will die 
 surely. What shall I do ? He is a friend of Made- 
 moiselle Blanche. I cannot let him die so ! I must do 
 my utmost to revive him." 
 
 Then suddenly a thought struck her. " Maybe he is 
 betrothed to Mademoiselle Blanche." 
 
 " It were droll, indeed, if I should help her to marry, 
 when she promised me a dowry ! Oh, I must save the 
 young man ! Yet my Lefebvre does not come ! " she 
 repeated anxiously, seeking for a means of carrying the 
 Austrian. 
 
 Then she reflected, " It is, perhaps, better that 
 Lefebvre is not here. Oh, it is not that he would be 
 angry or reproach me for sparing an aristocrat ; when 
 he found him to be a friend of my best friend, he would 
 say nothing — and, besides, after the battle, a French 
 soldier knows no enemies. Lefebvre has told me that 
 often ; but he's as jealous as a tiger. It would dis- 
 please him to see me dressing the wound of this aristo- 
 crat ; then he might demand to know how this young 
 man happened to seek refuge with me. 'To demand 
 a shelter of you, he must have known you ; ' that is 
 what he would say — but I know well how I would 
 answer him — nevertheless, I'd rather he should not see 
 him."
 
 And once more she tried to lift the body of the young 
 Austrian, now become heavy through unconscious- 
 ness. 
 
 Just then some one struck the street door. Catharine 
 trembled. She listened, as pale now as the wounded 
 man. 
 
 " Who can it be ? " she asked herself. " My work- 
 room is closed and no one would come to bring or take 
 away linen on such a day." 
 
 The sound of muskets was heard on the stones. Some 
 one struck, at the same time, on the alley door. 
 
 Voices were raised confusedly. 
 
 ** He is safe by this time." 
 
 " He is hidden here." 
 
 Catharine shuddered. 
 
 " They are seeking him," she murmured, looking with 
 the utmost pity upon the unconscious man beside her. 
 
 The voices growled two ways — an impatient shuffling 
 of feet gave witness to the anxiety of the crowd. 
 
 " Let us force the door," cried an impatient voice. 
 
 *' How shall I save him ? " groaned Catharine, and 
 shaking the dying man, she said : " Come — citizen — sir 
 — courage — try to walk " 
 
 He opened his eyes and said in a stifled voice, '* I 
 cannot. Let me die ! " 
 
 " He's anxious to die," growled Catharine. '* See — 
 have a little energy — heavens ! Remember, I must 
 render you alive to Mile, de Laveline — she never sent 
 you here to die — get up — so — that's it — you see it is 
 not hard — only a little will "
 
 ♦o §Radam* £m$-(8tnt. 
 
 Neipperg staggered like a drunken man. Catharine 
 could hardly support him. 
 
 The cries, the threats, the adjurations redoubled 
 without. 
 
 Then the blows of the bayonets directed against the 
 door, made it shake. 
 
 Then a voice was heard — " Stop, citizens — let me 
 pass — that door will be opened to me." 
 
 And the same voice cried loudly : " Catharine, it is I 
 — have no fear — come ! " 
 
 ** Lefebvre,"said Catharine, trembling, happy to know 
 that he was safe and sound, but still afraid for her charge. 
 
 " Yes ; I'm coming," she called. 
 
 " You see, citizens — she will open — a little patience 
 — pshaw ! you have frightened her by demanding an 
 opening in such fashion," said Lefebvre, proudly, when 
 he saw that Catharine recognized his voice. 
 
 " Did you hear ? " she said quickly to the wounded 
 man. " They want to come in — I must open to them — 
 come ! " 
 
 «• How far is it ? " 
 
 " Try to get up these stairs. I will hide you in the 
 garret." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot — see, I fall." 
 
 " Well, in my bedroom, then." 
 
 And Catharine helped him into her room and locked 
 the door. 
 
 Then, blushing, breathless, happy, she hastened to 
 open to Lefebvre and the crowd, saying with great glee 
 to herself, " Now he is safe."
 
 gjMami £an.$-(Dcnc. 41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CATHARINE'S BED-CHAMBER. 
 
 The bar removed and the bolts drawn, the door 
 opened, giving admittance to Lefebvre, and three or four 
 National Guards, together with a crowd of neighbors 
 and idlers, among whom women and children were in 
 great numbers. 
 
 " You were slow in opening to us, my sweet Catha- 
 rine," said Lefebvre, kissing her on both cheeks. 
 
 " Well, such a noise — such yells ! " 
 
 " Yes, I know, you were frightened ; but they were 
 patriots, friends, who knocked. Catharine, we are vic- 
 tors on every side ! The tyrant is a prisoner of the 
 nation ; the fortress of despotism is taken ; the people 
 are masters to-day." 
 
 " Long live the nation ! " cried several voices. 
 
 " Death to traitors ! " " To perdition with the. Swiss 
 and the Chevaliers du Poignard," cried others in the 
 crowd, which now surged to the very door of Catharine's 
 rooms. 
 
 " Yes, death to those who fired upon the people,'* 
 said Lefebvre in a loud voice. " Catharine, do you know 
 why they came so rudely to your rooms ? " 
 
 •' No — I was afraid — I have heard shots near here." 
 
 *' We were firing at an aristocrat who escaped from
 
 42 Padamc Jto-to*. 
 
 the Tuileries — one of those Chevaliers du Poignard, 
 ■who would assassinate patriots. I had sworn that if 
 he fell into my hands I would make his blood atone for 
 ours. Just as my comrades and I pursued him," said 
 Lefebvre, indicating the National Guards with him, 
 *' having discharged our guns at him, he vanished at 
 the turn of the street ; he is surely wounded ; there 
 was blood beside the door of your alley, Catharine, and 
 so we thought he might have taken refuge here." 
 
 Lefebvre looked around him, and continued, " But 
 he is not here — we could see him — besides, you can as- 
 sure us, can you not ? " 
 
 Then turning to the National Guards, " Comrades, 
 we have nothing more to do here, not you, at least — you 
 see the white uniform is not here — you will permit one 
 of the victors of the Tuileries to embrace his wife in 
 private ? " 
 
 " Your wife ? Oh, not yet, Lefebvre," said Catharine. 
 
 " How ? Is not the tyrant done for ? " 
 
 And waving his hand to the guards, "Au revoir, 
 citizens, until later, at the section, we must name a cap- 
 tain and two lieutenants, and also a curate for the 
 parish— a patriot curate, surely. The curate grew 
 frightened and ran away, the two lieutenants and the 
 captain were killed by the Swiss, and so we must find 
 others. Au revoir .' " 
 
 The guards moved off. 
 
 The crowd still stood round the door. 
 
 " Well, friends, did you not hear or understand ? " said 
 Lefebvre in a low and pleasant voice. " What are you
 
 waiting for ? For him in white ? He is not here with 
 Catharine ; that is clear. Oh, he must have fallen some 
 distance from here, by the way — he had at least three 
 balls in his breast — look for him — it is your affair ! 
 He is no hunter who gives up his game/' 
 
 And Lefebvre sent them from him. 
 
 " Well ! well ! we will go after him, sergeant ! " 
 
 " It's easy enough to turn the world upside down," 
 paid another. 
 
 And he added in a slow voice, ■« Couldn't somebody 
 be hiddea in that room ? " 
 
 Lefebvre quickly closed the door, and opening his 
 arms to embrace Catharine again, said : " I thought 
 they'd never take themselves off. Did you hear their 
 impudence, they spoke of your bedroom, your bed- 
 room, indeed ! What a notion ! But how you tremble, 
 Catharine ! Come, it is over ; be calm ! Let us think 
 of each other." 
 
 He noted Catharine's eyes turned toward the door of 
 her room. 
 
 Instinctively, he went to the door and tried to open 
 it 
 
 It did not yield. 
 
 Lefebvre stopped, surprised, uneasy. 
 
 A vague suspicion crossed him. 
 
 "Catharine," he said, " why is that door closed ?" 
 
 " Because — I wanted it so," said Catharine, visibly 
 embarrassed. 
 
 •• That is no reason ; give me the key." 
 
 ••No, you shall not have it 1 "
 
 44 Padam* gm$-(&tnt, 
 
 "Catharine," cried Lefebvre white with rage, "you 
 are deceiving me ; there is some one in that room — a 
 lover, doubtless. I want that key." 
 
 " And I have said you shall not have it ! " 
 
 "Well, I will take it." 
 
 And Lefebvre put his hand into Catharine's apron- 
 pocket, took the key, went to the door of the chamber, 
 and unlocked it. 
 
 " Lefebvre," cried Catharine, " my husband, only, I 
 have told you, may go through that door. Enter it by 
 force now, and you shall never go through it with me ! " 
 
 Some one knocked, again, at the outer door. 
 
 Catharine went to open it. 
 
 " Where is Sergeant Lefebvre ? " they asked ; " he is 
 wanted at the section. They talk of making him lieu- 
 tenant." 
 
 Lefebvre, moved, pale and silent, stepped back from 
 Catharine's chamber. 
 
 He re-closed the door carefully, took out the key, 
 and returning it to Catharine, said: "You did not tell 
 me that death was in your chamber." 
 
 " He is dead ! Ah, poor lad ! " said Catharine 
 sadly. 
 
 " No — he lives. But tell me true — he came not as a 
 lover ? " 
 
 " Beast ! " said Catharine. " If he had come so, do 
 you think I would have hidden him there ? But you 
 will not give him up, at least ? " She asked it anx- 
 ously. " Though he is an Austrian, he is a friend of 
 Mile. Blanche de Laveline, my benefactress."
 
 " A wounded man is sacred," said Lefebvre. " That 
 chamber, my sweet Catharine, is become an ambulance, 
 which one never disturbs. Tend the poor devil ! 
 Save him ! I shall be ready to help you pay your debt 
 to that lady who has been good to you ; but keep 
 silent that none may ever know — it might do me harm 
 in my section." 
 
 " Ah ! brave heart ! Thou art as good as brave ! 
 Lefebvre, you have my promise. When you are ready, 
 I will be your wife ! " 
 
 " That will be quickly done ; but my friends are get- 
 ing impatient. I must go with them." 
 
 " Sergeant Lefebvre, they are waiting for you, they 
 want to vote ! " cried one of the guards. 
 
 "Well, I'm coming ; start on, comrades." 
 
 And while Sergeant Lefebvre went to the section, 
 where the votes were to be cast, Catharine entered her 
 chamber on tip-toe, where, in a light sleep, interrupted by 
 feverish starts, lay the young Austrian officer, who had 
 become to her a sacred charge, since he had invoked 
 the name of Blanche de Laveline. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LITTLE HENRIOT. 
 
 Catharine brought some bouillon and a little wine 
 to the sick man. As she did so, she said to him, when 
 he had wakened at the sound of her step :
 
 "Take this; you must grow stronger. You need 
 Ml your strength, for you know you cannot stay very 
 ong in this room. Of course, it is not I who would 
 end you away ; you are here as a guest of Mademoi- 
 . elle Blanche ; it is she who sent you to me ; it is she 
 who shelters and protects you. But there are too 
 many outsiders who come to my shop — my fellow- 
 workers, my customers, and others, — and these will not 
 be slow to talk, you may be sure, and that would get 
 both of us into trouble. Why ! you have fired on the 
 people." 
 
 Neipperg made a movement and said slowly : " We 
 defended the king." 
 
 " The big Veto ! " cried Catharine, elevating her 
 shoulders. " He had taken refuge with the Assembly ; 
 he was safe, and quiet ; he left you to fight it out, the 
 great egoist, without thinking about you any more 
 than of that red cap he had snatched from his head 
 on the twentieth of June, often having feigned to wear 
 it with a good grace, among our companions of the Fau- 
 bourg Saint-Antoine. He is good for nothing, an idler, 
 your great Veto, whom his jade of a wife pulls round 
 by the nose — do you know whither ? before the guns 
 of the people. That, surely, is where he will go. 
 But," she added, after a short silence, " what on earth 
 were you doing in that engagement, you, a stranger ? 
 For you told me you were an Austrian ? " 
 
 •• As lieutenant of the noble guards of his majesty I 
 was charged with a mission to the queen," was the 
 reply.
 
 Padam* £mt#-tiitat*. 47 
 
 " The Austrian woman," sneered Catharine, " and 
 for her you fought, — you who had nothing to do with 
 our struggles ! " 
 
 " I wanted to die," said the young man, very simply. 
 
 " To die ! At your age ? for the king ? for the 
 queen ? There must be a mystery in this, my young 
 man," said Catharine, with good-humored raillery. 
 " Excuse me if I seem indiscreet, but when one is 
 twenty years old, and wants to die, among men one 
 doesn't know, and against whom one has no reason to 
 fight — well — then, one must be in love. Hem ! have I 
 guessed it ? " 
 
 " Yes, my good hostess." 
 
 " Gracious ! It was not hard to do. And shall I 
 tell you with whom you are in love ? With Mademoi- 
 selle Blanche de Laveline. Oh, I do not ask your confi- 
 dences," Catharine added quickly, noticing an uneasi- 
 ness in the pale face of the wounded man. " It is none 
 of my business ; yet I know Mademoiselle de Laveline 
 is very lovable." 
 
 The Count de Neipperg raised himself a little and 
 exclaimed with fervor : 
 
 " Yes, she is good and beautiful, my darling Blanche. 
 Oh ! madame, if death comes for me, tell her that with 
 my last sigh I breathed her name ; tell her that my 
 last thought, ere life departed, was for her and for " 
 
 The young man stopped, keeping a confession from 
 rising to his lips. 
 
 " You are not going to die," rejoined Catharine, 
 anxious to comfort him. «« Who dies at your years
 
 48 Padam* £an0-<$*tte. 
 
 when he is in love ? You must live, man, for Ma- 
 demoiselle Blanche, whom you love, and who surely 
 loves jz'j, and for that other person you were going to 
 name — her father, aoubtless, M. de Laveline ? A very 
 fine gentleman. I have seen him several times, the 
 Marquis of Laveline, down in Alsace. He wore a blue 
 velvet with gold embroidery, and he had a jewelled 
 snuff-box that sparkled. 
 
 Neipperg, when he heard the name of the Marquis 
 of Laveline, permitted a gesture of contempt and anger 
 to escape him. 
 
 " It seems," said Catharine to herself, " that they are 
 not great friends. It is well to know this, I shall not 
 speak to him on that subject again — probably Blanche's 
 father is opposed to the match. Poor girl ! That was 
 why the young man wanted to die." 
 
 And, with a sigh of pity, she began to arrange the 
 poor fellow's pillow, saying to him : " I have been 
 talking too much — it annoys you perhaps. Won't you 
 try to sleep a little, sir ? It will lessen the fever." 
 
 The sick man gently turned his head. 
 
 " Talk to me of Blanche," he urged. " Speak of her 
 again ; that will cure me." 
 
 Catharine smiled, and sat down to tell him how, 
 born on a little farm not far from the castle of the seign- 
 eurs of Lavelinej she had watched Mademoiselle 
 Blanche grow up. Reared by her mother, whom the 
 marquis left alone most of the time, being an attendant 
 at court, Blanche had grown up in the country, run- 
 ning through the woodland, hunting and riding alike
 
 Padame gm$-(&m. 49 
 
 over field and fell, never minding the bars that had to 
 be leaped, nor the gates to be passed. She was never 
 haughty, and talked pleasantly with the country folks. 
 She had come frequently to the farm and had grown 
 fond of the little Catharine. 
 
 One day the marquis had called his wife and daugh- 
 ter to Versailles. Catharine and three other young 
 .girls had been taken from the country to wait upon 
 Madame and Mademoiselle de Laveline. Catherine had 
 spent several happy years, then Madame de Laveline 
 had died ; and it was then that Mademoiselle Blanche, 
 who had accompanied her father on a diplomatic mis- 
 sion to England, had, before going to London, been so 
 £ood as to set Catharine up in business, buying her the 
 laundry of Mile. Loblegeois, where she was still to be 
 found. Ah ! she was a creature who ought to be be- 
 loved and blessed, was Mademoiselle Blanche. 
 
 As Catharine closed the story of her modest exist- 
 ence, and told of the good deeds of the daughter of the 
 Marquis de Laveline, some one knocked at the door. 
 
 Could it be Lefebvre who was returning with his 
 comrades from the section ? Catharine thought un- 
 easily. *' Rest quietly and make no noise," she adjured 
 Neipperg, who pricked up his ears. " If Lefebvre is 
 alone, there is no danger ; but if his comrades are with 
 him, I will speak to them and send them away. Do as 
 I bid you and fear nothing." 
 
 Catharine hurried to open the door, resolutely, though 
 somewhat excited. Her surprise was great when she 
 saw a young woman, who cast herself, trembling, into 
 4
 
 50 gjftaflame J5ams-(Sftte. 
 
 the room, saying, " He is here, is he not ? They said 
 they saw a man drag himself to the gate. Is he still 
 alive ? " 
 
 '* Yes, Mademoiselle Blanche," said Catharine, rec- 
 ognizing in the frightened woman Mile, de Laveline, 
 ** he is here — in my chamber — he lives and speaks only 
 of you — come and see him." 
 
 " Oh, my good Catharine, what a happy inspiration led 
 me to send him to you for a sure refuge, when he left 
 to fight with the gentlemen of the palace ! " And 
 Mademoiselle de Laveline took Catharine's hands 
 in hers, and pressed them in gratitude, saying, " Take 
 me to him." 
 
 The sight of Blanche produced a startling effect on 
 the wounded man. He wanted to leap from the bed 
 on which Catharine had had so much difficulty in help- 
 ing him to stretch himself. But the two women made 
 him stay there, almost by main force. 
 
 " Naughty boy," said Blanche, in her gentle voice ; 
 "you tried to let them kill you." 
 
 " Life without you was a burden ; could I have 
 found a nobler way to leave it than in the fight, sword 
 in hand, smiling upon death who came to me so glori- 
 ously ? " 
 
 " Ungrateful ! you should have lived for me ! " 
 
 " For you ? Were you not already dead to me ? 
 Were you not about to leave me forever ? " 
 
 " That odious marriage was not yet concluded — ■ 
 a chance might have helped us. Hope was nor 
 dead."
 
 Padam* #att0-<$*tttf. 51 
 
 "You told me, yourself," said Neipperg, "that there 
 was but one hope. To-day, the tenth of August, you 
 were to have become the wife of another, and be called 
 Madame de Lowendaal. Your father had decided so, 
 and you could not resist." 
 
 " You know that my tears and prayers proved use- 
 less. Afraid of being ruined by the Baron de Lowen- 
 ■daal, the Belgian millionaire, who had loaned him large 
 sums of money, and insisted on immediate payment, or, 
 in default, my hand, my father consented to give him 
 what he desired most of all." 
 
 " And that which cost your father least. The mar- 
 quis would pay his debt with his child." 
 
 " Hush, dear, my father did not know how great our 
 love was — he knew nothing — he does not know now," 
 said Blanche, with increasing energy. 
 
 Catharine, during this conversation between the 
 lovers, had turned aside. She had passed discreetly 
 into the outer room at the moment when Neipperg, 
 with mournful vehemence, looked at Blanche and an- 
 swered, " Yes, they are ignorant of everything. When 
 I went away, I grew desperate. My death would have 
 but rendered the silence more complete, the ignorance 
 more profound ; yet the balls of the ■ sans-culottes ' did 
 not kill me. I have to try again. Well, occasions to 
 die will not be lacking in the years which are coming. 
 War is declared. I will go and search in the ranks of 
 the imperial army, on the banks of the Rhine, the 
 death which was denied me in the fall of the Tuileries." 
 
 " You shall not do that," was the maiden's reply.
 
 52 Padmtw £anj5i-<*ktt*. 
 
 " Who shall keep me from it ? " Neipperg rejoined.. 
 " But forgive me, Blanche ! This is the tenth oi 
 August, the day set for your marriage. How does 
 it happen that you are here ? Your place is beside your 
 husband. They wait for you at church. Why are you 
 not ready to make the Baron de Lowendaal happy and 
 to cancel the debts of the marquis ? The fight, doubt- 
 less, interrupted the ceremony ; but the shooting has 
 ceased, the tocsin is silent, and they can now ring the 
 wedding-bells. Let me die. Here or elsewhere, to- 
 day or to-morrow, what does it matter ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! You must live — for me — for our child ! " 
 cried Blanche, throwing herself upon Neipperg, and. 
 embracing him passionately. 
 
 " Our child," murmured the sick man. 
 
 " Yes, our dear little Henriot ! You have no right to- 
 die ! Your life is not your own." 
 
 " Our child," said Neipperg, sadly; " but — but — youl 
 marriage ? " 
 
 " It has not yet come off; there is hope still." 
 
 " Really I You are not yet Madame de Lowen- 
 daal ? " 
 
 "Not yet ! Never, perhaps." 
 
 " How ? Tell me." 
 
 And a feverish anxiety convulsed the face of the 
 sufferer, while Blanche resumed : " When you had 
 gone, after bidding me a farewell which we both- 
 thought was to be forever, for you had told me that 
 you were going to join the defenders of the palace, 1. 
 had one little hope in my heart I indicated to you th«
 
 house of good Catharine as a safe refuge, if you should 
 happen to escape from the Tuileries. I hoped to be 
 able to join you there." 
 
 " You hoped for that ? Even while consenting to 
 obey your father ? Why, you had decided to become 
 the wife of Lowendaal." 
 
 " Yes, but something told me that that wedding 
 would never take place." 
 
 " And it is come to pass ! " 
 
 " The insurrection resounded in the suburbs. My 
 father declared that it would be impossible to celebrate 
 the marriage on the day appointed, so the Baron de 
 Lowendaal proposed to postpone the ceremony for three 
 months." 
 
 " Three months ! " 
 
 " Yes, the sixth of November; that is the date he has 
 set." 
 
 " Ah ! M. le Baron is not in a hurry." 
 
 " Frightened by the turn ot events, doubtful as to the 
 progress of the Revolution, M. de Lowendaal left 
 Paris last night, before the closing of the gates. He 
 has returned to his own country. He has named his 
 palace, near Jemmapes, on the Belgian frontier, as the 
 place where we are to celebrate that impossible mar- 
 riage." 
 
 " And you are to go to Jemmapes ? " 
 
 " My father, somewhat frightened, has decided to go 
 to the baron's castle. We are to go soon, if the roads 
 are open ! " 
 
 " And you are going with him ? "
 
 54 padam* Jfattg-Gkne. 
 
 " I shall go with him ; oh, rest assured, I kno\* 
 what I have vowed. I shall never be the baron's 
 bride." 
 
 " You swear it to me ? " 
 
 " I swear it ! " 
 
 " But who will give you the power to resist at 
 Jemmapes, when you yielded here ? " 
 
 «• Before his departure, the baron received a letter 
 which I wrote to him — with, oh, such tears ! His servant, 
 whom I bribed, will not have given it to him till he is 
 over the border " 
 
 " And he knows ? " 
 
 " The truth ! He knows that I love you, and that our 
 little Henriot can have none other than you to call 
 father." 
 
 "Oh, my darling Blanche ! My beloved wife whom I 
 adore ! Ah, you give me back my life ! It seems I 
 have almost power to rise and begin again the combat 
 with the « sans-culottes.' " 
 
 And Neipperg, in his wild excitement, made so sud- 
 den a movement that the bandages which covered his 
 wound slipped, the gash re-opened, and a stream of 
 blood flowed. 
 
 He uttered a cry. 
 
 Catharine ran in and offered her help. 
 
 The two women did their best to re-adjust the 
 bandages, and closed the wound again. 
 
 Neipperg had fainted. 
 
 He came to slowly. 
 
 His first disconnected words told the secret.
 
 Padame gm$-(&tnt. 55 
 
 "JBlanche — I am dying — watch over our child," he 
 whispered. 
 
 Catharine heard this revelation, as if it had been a 
 blow. 
 
 *' Mademoiselle Blanche has a child," she said to her- 
 self ; then turning to the young woman who stood, 
 with eyes cast down, she said quickly, '* Fear nothing ; 
 what I happen to hear went in at one ear and out at 
 the other. If you should ever need me, you know that 
 Catharine is always ready to serve you. Is the child 
 big ? I am sure he is sweet ! " 
 
 " He is nearly three years old." 
 
 " And his name is ? " 
 
 *• Henri — we call him Henriot." 
 
 " It is a pretty name. Could I see him, mademoi- 
 selle ? " 
 
 Blanche de Laveline reflected. 
 
 " Listen, dear Catharine, you can do me a great 
 service, — finish what you have begun so well, by rescu- 
 ing and saving M. de Neipperg." 
 
 " Speak — what shall I do ? " 
 
 " My boy is with a good woman in the neighborhood 
 of Paris — Mere Hoche, in a suburb of Versailles." 
 
 " Mere Hoche, I know her ! Her son is a friend of 
 Lefebvre — Lefebvre is my lover, almost my husband ; 
 you see. I too shall marry and have a little Henri, 
 — more than one perhaps." 
 
 " I wish you joy ! You will go and see Mother Hoche.** 
 
 " I have a message for her from her son Lezare, who 
 was in the French Guards with Lefebvre. It was
 
 56 Padame £an0-6m. 
 
 Lefebvre who took him to enroll. They were togethef 
 at the taking of the Bastille." 
 
 " What shall I say to the Citizeness Hoche ? " 
 
 *• Give her this money and this letter," said Blanche, 
 handing Catharine a purse and a paper, " and then you 
 are to take the child and carry him off. Is it too much, 
 Catharine ? " 
 
 " Is that all ? You know only too well that should 
 you ask me to go, alone, and re-take the Tuileries, 
 though the Swiss had returned to it, I would attempt it 
 for you. Too much ! Ah, you are cruel ! Was it not 
 your kindness that enabled me to buy this place, to 
 establish my business here, and to become, by and by, 
 Mme. Lefebvre ? Think ! have you not some further 
 command for me. When I have taken the little one 
 from Versailles, what am I to do with him ? " 
 
 " Bring him to me." 
 
 ••Where?" 
 
 " At the Palace de Lowendaal near a village called 
 Jemmapes. It is in Belgium, on the border. Can you 
 get there readily ? " 
 
 " For you I will try anything ! When must I be at 
 Jemmapes with the boy ? " 
 
 " At the latest by the sixth of November." 
 
 «' Well, I shall be there ! Lefebvre will manage, I am 
 sure, to let me go. Before that we shall have been 
 married, and who knows but he may go with me. The 
 fighting may be over then." 
 
 ■* Embrace me, Catharine ! Some day, I trust to be 
 able to acknowledge all you are doing for me."
 
 Padame gm#-(&tnt. 57 
 
 " Your reward came beforehand. Count on me." 
 
 " At Jemmapes, then " 
 
 " At Jemmapes, on the sixth of November," repeated 
 Blanche de Laveline, and looking at Neipperg, she said, 
 " He is sleeping ; I shall watch beside him. Go to 
 your duties, Catharine ; you must find us in the way 
 greatly." 
 
 " I have told you you are at home here ; but see, he 
 awakes/' she said, looking at Neipperg, who slowly 
 opened his eyes ; " you must have a great many things 
 to tell each other. I shall leave you." 
 
 " You are not going away ? You will not leave me 
 alone ?" 
 
 *' Oh, I shall not be away long. I must take some 
 clothes to a customer at a little distance. I will return 
 at once. Open to no one. Good-bye." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE TENANT OF THE HOTEL DE METZ. 
 
 While the Count de Neipperg and Blanche de 
 Laveline, in delicious tete-d-tete, were discussing their 
 projects for the future and talking of their child, Catha- 
 rine had taken a basket full of clothes on her arm and 
 made herself ready to go out. 
 
 She wanted to use her time profitably. The lovers 
 were busy, they would not notice her absence ; and, 
 besides, all the morning had been a loss to the laun-
 
 58 |ftadamt £att0-<5*ttf. 
 
 dress. True, not every day was the Tuileries taken, 
 but nevertheless she had to make up for lost time. 
 Moreover, she reflected on the various things that had 
 come to pass. 
 
 She had become a keeper of secrets. 
 
 Neipperg had quite approved the confidence of 
 Blanche which gave the charge of little Henriot to 
 her instead of Mere Hoche, in whose hands he was at 
 Versailles. She was to take him to Jemmapes. 
 
 When he was recovered, Neipperg would go to the 
 mother of his child, braving the anger of the Marquis 
 of Laveline, ready to beard the Baron of Lowendaal in 
 his own hall and to dispute his right to Blanche, sword 
 in hand, if need be. 
 
 Thus Catharine, pursuing her way, communed with 
 herself. 
 
 " Lefebvre is at the section where they are voting. 
 He cannot return before the election of the new officers 
 is announced. That will occupy at least two hours. 
 They take such a long time to vote at the section of the 
 Filles-Saint-Thomas. All good angels guard my Le- 
 febvre ! I shall have time to run to Captain Bona- 
 parte's." 
 
 And thinking of her client, the lean, pale artillery 
 officer, she smiled. 
 
 *' He's one who hasn't any surplus shirts," she said. 
 " Poor captain, he'll miss that one." 
 
 And with a sigh she added, " When I am Citizeness 
 Lefebvre I don't want to owe anything to Captain 
 Bonaparte. It is enough that he owes me something.
 
 I'll present him his bill. If he should ask me for it I 
 can give it to him. Anyway, at the worst extremity, I 
 don't expect to get all he owes me, ever. Poor boy, he 
 is such a hard worker — such a scholar — always read- 
 ing and writing — he has a sad youth ; but one cannot 
 have time for everything," she said, with a sarcastic 
 smile and a somewhat disparaging shrug as she felt in 
 her pocket for Captain Bonaparte's laundry bill. 
 
 She got to the H6tel de Metz, kept by Maureard, 
 where the humble artillery officer lived. 
 
 He occupied a modest room on the third story, 
 number 14. 
 
 The youth of this man, at once so great and so un- 
 fortunate, who made the century ring with his name 
 and his glory, whose aureole of blood still ensanguines 
 our horizon, passed without extraordinary events or 
 supernatural revelations. 
 
 It was only afterwards that people tried to discover 
 that there had been special prophecies, revealing his 
 genius, predicting his mighty career. 
 
 Bonaparte, as child and young man, deceived all the 
 world. No one could tell his fortune, none could fore- 
 see his greatness. 
 
 His early years were those of a poor, shy, hard- 
 working-student, proud and somewhat quiet. He 
 suffered cruelly the pangs of ill-fortune. Poverty 
 isolated him. His intense family feeling and clan- 
 nishness made the precarious condition of those who 
 belonged to him doubly hard to bear. 
 
 His father, Charles Bonaparte, or more precisely.
 
 60 Padame gnn$-<&tnt. 
 
 de Buonaparte, the son of an ancient family of the 
 Tuscan nobility, established at Ajaccio for over two 
 centuries, was, by profession, a lawyer. All his an- 
 cestors had been gownmen. Charles Bonaparte was 
 one of the most ardent partisans of Paoli, the Corsican 
 patriot. He had submitted to French authority when 
 Paoli left the island. 
 
 Though a member of the Corsican Council of Ad- 
 ministration and highly respected, Charles Bonaparte's 
 means were small. He owned, all his resource, but 
 one plantation of vines and olives, which brought 
 scarce twelve hundred livres as rental. It was not 
 worth even that in his hands. 
 
 Later, after the troubles in Corsica, even this income 
 was gone, and he saw ruin before him. 
 
 He had married Letizia Ramolini (born on the 
 twenty-fourth of August, 1749), a young girl with 
 beautiful features and a profile like an antique cameo, 
 who afterwards developed a singularly acute gift of 
 foresight combined with much firmness and tact. 
 
 When, with the title of ** Madame M6re," she sat en- 
 throned among her sons, the rulers of Europe, had she 
 not said to Napoleon, who reproached her for not spend- 
 ing all her allowance, " I am economizing for you, my 
 children, who may some day be in want." 
 
 According to accepted tradition, Napoleon Bonaparte, 
 son of Charles and Letizia, was born August 15, 1769. 
 
 He was the second son of the Bonapartes by this cal- 
 culation. Another more plausible story says that Joseph 
 was the younger son. That he was born at Ajaccio.
 
 Padnme gm$-(&tM. 61 
 
 Napoleon, born on January 7, 1768, had, according to 
 this, been born in Corsica. 
 
 The certificate of birth, existing at the military school, 
 and produced for the admission of young Napoleon, 
 bears, plainly, the date August 15, 1769 ; but other 
 papers quite justify the confusion which exists : princi- 
 pally the marriage certificate of Napoleon and Jose- 
 phine. - It has been said that Josephine had coquettishly 
 wanted to make herself younger than she really was, 
 but that Napoleon, to lessen the distance between their 
 ages, had grown two years older. He had probably been 
 sufficiently gallant to give his actual age, and then, the 
 motives which had induced his parents to substitute one 
 certificate for another were past. They made him 
 younger on account of the conditions for admission to 
 the military school at Brienne. 
 
 The elder son had passed the age of ten years. 
 His parents, in giving as his the birth-certificate of 
 Joseph, two years his junior and whose tastes were not 
 at all military, had thus made possible the entrance of 
 the future general. 
 
 Two circumstances largely influenced the formation 
 of his character and the bent of his thought : the per- 
 turbations of his native land and the distresses of his 
 family. 
 
 Civil war in his home, and poverty at the paternal 
 fireside, alike hardened his soul and embittered his 
 youth. 
 
 He had been serious when he entered the school at 
 Brienne : he came out sad, and heart-sore.
 
 62 Padame gm$-(8tnt. 
 
 His comrades had made fun of his Italian accent, of 
 his odd name of Napoleon — they called him " Paille-au- 
 Nez." They had insulted his poverty ; and we know 
 how bitter are these boyish taunts, and what cruel 
 wounds they leave in their victims. 
 
 A good scholar, particularly in mathematics, playing 
 little except in the winter, when, a precocious strategist 
 he conducted the boyish assaults, when snowballs 
 were hurled at the ice-fortress, in the courtyard of the 
 school at Brienne, he lived almost unnoticed those 
 first years of his life. 
 
 Here he learned to know Bourrienne the future miser, 
 his private secretary, who repaid the benefits and in- 
 dulgence of his friend by calumniating and traducing 
 him in memoirs paid for by the people of the Resto- 
 ration. 
 
 From Brienne, he went to the Military School, and 
 there, again, he suffered in small ways, daily bearing 
 those pin-pricks which do not kill, but whose misery 
 young men know who are poor and do not complain. 
 
 He had no money, and not being able to join in the 
 expensive pleasures of the sons of wealthy families, he 
 kept himself aloof. 
 
 This isolation, at an age when the heart is ready to 
 expand, helped to render inscrutable and pitiless him 
 who was destined to become the man of bronze. 
 
 He had lost his father, who died of a cancer in the 
 stomach, at the age of thirty-nine years, just after his 
 son (Napoleon) had been named, on September I, 1785* 
 second lieutenant in the company of bombardiers of
 
 the regiment of " la Fere," in garrison at Valencia. 
 He occupied his leisure in the camp by writing a 
 history of Corsica ; and, going into society, he took 
 dancing lessons of Professor Dantel, and paid his 
 court to the ladies assembled at the parlor of a friend. 
 
 His regiment was sent on to Lyons, then to Douai. 
 He obtained a leave of absence which enabled him to 
 see his family at Ajaccio, and after a trip to Paris, 
 where he lived at the Hotel de Cherbourg, in the Rue 
 du Four-Saint-Honore\ he was ordered to rejoin his 
 regiment at Auxonne, on .May i, 1788. 
 
 Work and privation — for he li /ed on milk, having 
 no money — made him ill. 
 
 To comfort his mother, a widow with eight children, 
 Napoleon took with him his young brother, Louis. 
 
 He lived with the boy, spending at this time but 
 ninety-two francs, fifteen centimes a month ! 
 
 Two tiny rooms, without fire or furnishings, composed 
 their home. In one fitted up with a cot, a trunk full 
 of manuscripts, a chair stuffed with straw and a white- 
 wood table, slept and worked the future master of the 
 Tuileries and of Saint-Cloud. The future King of Hol- 
 land lay in the other room, on a mattress thrown upon 
 the floor. 
 
 Naturally, they had no servant. Bonaparte brushed 
 the coats, polished the boots, and cooked the soup. 
 
 Napoleon once alluded to this period of his life to 
 a functionary, who complained that his pay was insuf- 
 ficient. 
 
 " I knew such times, monsieur, when I had the
 
 64 Padame £wnit-(&tnt. 
 
 honor to be a second lieutenant ; I breakfasted on dry 
 bread but I closed the door upon my poverty. I never 
 spoke of it to my comrades." 
 
 Poverty keeps a man pure, and seldom gives time for 
 love-affairs. 
 
 At that time Napoleon behaved, perhaps, like the 
 fox with the grapes he could not get, for he launched 
 this anathema against women, " I believe love to be 
 the bane of society, of personal happiness for men ; 
 and I believe that love does more harm than good.'' 
 
 The good Catharine, who, besides washing her 
 client's linen, had experienced a leaning toward him, 
 before she met Lefebvre, was not slow in seeing that 
 Bonaparte practised always his severe philosophy of 
 Auxonne. 
 
 Raised to a first lieutenancy of the Fourth Artillery, 
 Bonaparte had returned to Valencia, in company with 
 his brother Louis. He had taken up again his life as 
 a studious, quiet, almost cynical officer. It was the 
 dawn of the Revolution. He showed himself a warm 
 partisan cf the ideas of liberty and the emancipation of 
 the peopk'. Then he became known as a revolution- 
 ist. He spoke, he wrote, he became an agitator : he 
 had himself made a member of the club " Les Amis de 
 la Constitution," whose secretary he became. He cer- 
 tainly had much faith. Nor was he lacking in aptitude. 
 Indeed, this extraordinary man could take on any tone 
 with seeming truthfulness, and wear any mask, as if it 
 were his natural face. 
 
 In October, 1791, he asked leave of absence to im-
 
 Padam* gm$-(&ttLt, 65 
 
 prove his health and visit his family. He went to 
 Corsica. 
 
 There, in the bosom of his family, making them his 
 partisans, he asked to be made head of a battalion of 
 National Guards at Ajaccio. This command was as- 
 signed to him by public force — the only authority. He 
 was, however, hotly opposed. 
 
 His chief rival was named Marius Peraldi, a member 
 of a very influential family. 
 
 Bonaparte set to work feverishly to get recruits. 
 Ajaccio was divided into two camps. 
 
 The Commissaries of the *' Constituante," sent by the 
 central power, were able to enlist, by their presence, a 
 great number of votes, and made the scale turn. 
 
 Their chief, Muratori, had settled with Marius Pe- 
 raldi. 
 
 That was done to show that the rival of Bonaparte 
 was agreeable to the authorities. 
 
 It is well known how great is the weight of official 
 approval in Corsica. 
 
 Bonaparte's friends, unable to bring any such force 
 to bear, believed the success of Peraldi sure. 
 
 But the ardent and tenacious man himself did not 
 give up. 
 
 He assembled some trusty friends, and at supper- 
 time, when the Peraldi faction were at table, their dining- 
 room was entered by an armed force. 
 
 They aimed at the guests, and between two armed 
 men, Muratori, summoned to arise and go, was con- 
 ducted to the Bonaparte house. 
 5
 
 66 Padame £mi0-6*ttf. 
 
 The commissioner was more dead than alive. 
 
 Bonaparte went to meet him smilingly, ignoring ths 
 means he had taken to bring his visitor, and extending 
 his hand, said, " You are very welcome to my house. 
 I knew, had you been free, you would not be at the 
 Peraldi's ; be seated at our hearth, my dear commis- 
 sioner." 
 
 As his guides, with their guns, were still at the door, 
 ready to obey Bonaparte's orders, Muratori sat down, 
 braced himself against his luck, and spoke no word of 
 returning to the Peraldi house. 
 
 On the morrow Bonaparte was elected commander 
 of the National Guards of Ajaccio. 
 
 The man of Brumaire was nascent in the candidate 
 for the militia. And the deed of force enacted at 
 Ajaccio foretold that of Saint-Cloud. 
 
 The situation of Bonaparte, accepting a territorial 
 command, when he had a place in the army in action, 
 was not exactly regular. But it was a revolutionary 
 period. 
 
 It is certain that, had times been different, this infrac- 
 tion would have cost him dear. 
 
 He had his furlough prolonged, so that at its end his 
 term of service expired. 
 
 The motive which made him remain at the head of 
 the Corsican militia when he had the position of lieu- 
 tenant-colonel, was neither ambition nor political fervor. 
 
 His military genius could have no field in his miser- 
 able little island. 
 
 It was money, always a question of money, which at
 
 Padame gm$-(&tM. 67 
 
 the time governed the conduct of this adventurous 
 youth. 
 
 His pay in the National Guards was 162 livres, twice 
 the sum he received as lieutenant in the artillery. 
 
 With this sum he would be enabled to supply the 
 many wants of his large family and educate his brother 
 Louis properly. 
 
 Here, then, was his motive for staying at Corsica. 
 Bonaparte was always more or less the victim of his 
 family. 
 
 We are told, that, in taking command of the battalion 
 at Ajaccio, he had not deserted, as has been said. The 
 National Guard was at that time, even in Corsica, in act- 
 ive service. It was part of the army. Bonaparte, to 
 justify himself, argued, besides, that by authority of the 
 camp-marshal of Rossi, who had looked into the regu- 
 larity of the proceeding, he had conformed to the decree 
 of the Assembly of December 17, 1791, which authorized 
 officers of the active army to serve in the ranks of the 
 National Guard. 
 
 Deposed by Colonel Maillard, Bonaparte went to 
 Paris to justify his conduct and to plead his cause before 
 the minister of war. 
 
 He hoped to be re-instated. But while awaiting the 
 decision he lived in Paris alone, yet ever busy. 
 
 He fared badly at his home, and dined, frequently, 
 with M. and Madame Permon, whom he had known 
 at Valencia, and whose daughter was destined to marry 
 Junot and become Duchess of Abrantes. Later, Bona- 
 parte, thought of asking, himself, the hand of Madame
 
 68 gftadame gnn$-(8tnt. 
 
 Permon, who had been left a widow with considerable 
 wealth. 
 
 In spite of his economy, he had, at this time, some 
 debts. 
 
 He owed fifteen francs to his host, and, as we have 
 seen, forty-five francs to his laundress, Catharine Sans- 
 G6ne. 
 
 His friends were few. He lived in close intimacy 
 with Junot, Marmont, and Bourrienne. 
 
 All three, like himself, were penniless, but rich in 
 hopes. 
 
 On the morning of August ioth Bonaparte had risen 
 at the sound of the tocsin, and, simply as a spectator of 
 the fray, had gone to Fauveletde Bourrienne, the elder 
 brother of his friend, who kept a bric-a-brac shop and 
 loan office at the Place du Carrousel. He needed 
 money, and did not want to be quite penniless on a 
 day of revolution ; so he took his watch as a pawn to 
 Fauvelet, who loaned him fifteen francs on it. 
 
 From the shop of the money-lender, whence it would 
 have been difficult to escape, the battle having begun, 
 Bonaparte could follow all the movements of the fight. 
 
 At noon, when the people's victory was assured, he 
 regained his lodgings. 
 
 He went pensively homeward, saddened by the sight 
 of the corpses, sickened by the smell of blood. 
 
 Many years after, the great butcher of Europe, for- 
 getting the terrible outpouring of his people's blood, 
 and the mountains of corpses accumulated beneath his 
 conquering feet, remembered again this horrible sight.
 
 Padam* $att0-<£>*tt*. 69 
 
 On the rocks of St. Helena he expressed at once, his 
 indignation and his emotion at the memory of the 
 innumerable victims of the Swiss and the Chevaliers 
 du Poignard, and the sights he witnessed when he was 
 returning to his hotel, on that bloody morning of the 
 tenth of August. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE HANDSOME SERGEANT. 
 
 SUCH, then, was the man, as yet unknown, obscure, 
 mysterious, whom Catharine Sans-Ggne went to find in 
 his little room in a furnished house, where he waited 
 impatiently for fortune, the capricious and tardy god- 
 dess who had not yet decided to knock at his door. 
 
 Everything seemed against him. Nothing went 
 right. Ill-luck pursued him. 
 
 On his return to his hotel, on that bloody morning of 
 the tenth of August, he had sought, in work, rest for 
 his mind, distraction from his cares, and forgetfulness 
 of that tragic spectacle which he had witnessed from 
 the pawnbroker's shop. 
 
 He had unfolded a geographical chart, and had set 
 himself to study carefully the region of the south, the 
 border towns of the Mediterranean, Marseilles, and, 
 above all, the port of Toulon, where the royalist reac- 
 tion was going on, and which an English fleet menaced. 
 
 From time to time he pushed the map away, buried 
 his head in his hands, and dreamed.
 
 70 Padame J?an;5i-0*tt*. 
 
 His ardent thought excited him. Like a traveller in 
 the dark, he saw, rising before him, visions and prodig- 
 ious mirages. 
 
 Vanquished cities, where he entered as conqueror, 
 mounted on a white horse, amid the enthusiasm of 
 crowds, and the acclamation of soldiers. A bridge, 
 where shots rang out, and which he crossed, colors in 
 hand ; cheering his forces ; driving back the enemy. 
 Strange horsemen, in gold-embroidered coats, who 
 brandished cimeters aloft, around him, invulnerable, 
 and who, at length stopped, threw down their arms, 
 and bowed their turbaned heads before his tent. 
 Then, the triumphal marches, among hordes of van- 
 quished soldiers, in strange lands, afar and ever-chang- 
 ing. The intense southern sun burning on his head, 
 the northern snows dusted over his cloak — then feasts, 
 defiles, processions, — kings subdued, prostrated; queens 
 flinging themselves at his feet, — the intoxication of 
 glory — the apotheosis of triumph ! 
 
 All this fantastic dream was reared but to vanish 
 again, when he lifted his burning face from his hands. 
 
 Opening his eyes, the plain and ridiculous reality of 
 his room at the hotel was apparent. 
 
 A little smile showed itself on his lips, and his prac- 
 tical common sense coming to the top, he chased the 
 deceptive phantom away. Ceasing to see the mirage, 
 he looked with clear eyes at that which was before 
 him, and examined with cold reasoning into the uncer- 
 tain situation, the dreadful present, the probably worse 
 future.
 
 Padam* ^ang-^ttc. 71 
 
 His position was deplorable, and no change seemed 
 probable. 
 
 No money. No work. The minister deaf to his en- 
 treaties. The courts hostile. No friend. No protector. 
 
 He saw himself threatened with an unavoidable ill : 
 black want and weakness. 
 
 His ambitious projects were dissipated in the brutal 
 wind of actual life — his hope for the future fell like 
 castles of cards. 
 
 He began to feel the cold shudder of his disillusion. 
 
 What should he do ? For a moment he thought of 
 passing into a street in the quarter of " Nouvelle- 
 France," then in construction, of hiring some houses 
 and letting out furnished rooms. 
 
 He dreamed, too, of leaving France and taking serv- 
 ice in the Turkish army. 
 
 Then he said to himself that he had something in 
 his brain ; and he felt the impetuous blood coursing 
 through his veins, like the swift tide of the Rhine. 
 
 Then he turned again to his task, applying himself 
 to a topographical study of the basin of the Mediter- 
 ranean, his birthplace, where the cannon was soon to 
 thunder. 
 
 Oh, that he might be there, where they were fight- 
 ing, where they were going to defend the nation, and 
 lead his artillery against the English ! 
 
 That dream was possible ! If he lived a dreamer's 
 life, it was because the hard-working Corsican was as 
 yet alone in the world, without influence, without en) 
 ■one who believed in him.
 
 ,2 Padame £nn$-(&tnt. 
 
 Again, to overcome the discouragement which began 
 to creep to his heart — a subtle poison and a deadly one 
 which can freeze the most indomitable energy — he re- 
 turned to the study of his chart, and took up the thread 
 of his work, interrupted by his dream. 
 
 At this moment there came two light taps on his 
 door. 
 
 He trembled. A sharp pain shot to his heart. The 
 bravest men, when penniless, are easily frightened by a 
 sudden knock. They wait, with head erect, and eye 
 serene, for Death to strike them. But they are weak 
 and trembling at the thought of a creditor who may 
 come, bill in hand. 
 
 There came a second, somewhat louder, knock. 
 
 •* Perhaps it is old Maureard coming up with his 
 bill," thought Bonaparte, blushing. 
 
 •• Come in," he said slowly. 
 
 A moment passed. 
 
 And then he repeated impatiently, *' Well, come ! " 
 
 He thought in surprise, " That is not the landlord. 
 Junot or Bourrienne would not wait before entering ; 
 who can have come here to-day ? " He was less un- 
 easy, and more anxious, for he never had any visitors. 
 
 He lifted his head, inquisitively, to see who might 
 enter. 
 
 The door opened, the key having been left in the lock, 
 and a young man advanced, wearing the uniform of a 
 foot-soldier. 
 
 A gentle youth, fresh, rosy and delicate, still too 
 young for a beard, with dark, intense eyes.
 
 Paflam* £att0-<Sw*. 73 
 
 On his sleeve he wore the stripes of a sergeant, evi- 
 dently just acquired. 
 
 " What do you want of me ? " asked Bonaparte. 
 «« You have probably made a mistake." 
 
 The young sergeant gave a military salute. 
 
 " I have the honor to address Captain Bonaparte, of 
 the artillery, have I not ? " he said, in a soft voice. 
 
 " The same— ~-what business brings you ? " 
 
 " I am called Rene\" said the young soldier, with a 
 slight hesitation. 
 
 " Ren6 — so short ? " said Bonaparte, fixing his pierc- 
 ing glance on the stranger, a glance which penetrated 
 to the very soul. 
 
 " Yes, Rene\" repeated the visitor, with a little more 
 assurance, "in the regiment of volunteers from Ma. 
 yenne-et-Loire, where I am serving ; they call me « The 
 Handsome Sergeant." 
 
 " You deserve that name," rejoined Bonaparte smil- 
 ing, " though you have rather too gentle and foppish a 
 manner for a soldier. 
 
 " You must judge me under fire, my dear captain,'* 
 said the gay volunteer, proudly. 
 
 Bonaparte made a grimace, as if it had touched his 
 sore spot. He growled, " Under fire ! Will any one 
 ever see me there ? " 
 
 Then he answered, looking carefully at his unnoticed 
 visitor, " Come to the point. What do you want with 
 me ? What can I do for you ? ** 
 
 " This, Captain, is the object of my visit ; my regi- 
 ment, under M. de Beaurepaire "
 
 74 Paflame ^ang-dfotw. 
 
 " A brave man ! An energetic soldier ! I know and 
 value him," interrupted Bonaparte. " Where is your 
 regiment now?" He asked it with marked interest, 
 without ceasing to observe narrowly the sergeant, who 
 seemed so young and evidently so timid. 
 
 "At Paris. Oh, for a few days only ; we came on 
 our way irom Angers, and we have asked to be the 
 first men honored with orders for the frontier. We 
 are to go to the help of Verdun." 
 
 ** That is well ! Ah, you are fortunate to be able to 
 go into battle," said Bonaparte, with a sigh ; and he 
 added, «« But, you want what of me ? " 
 
 " Captain, I have a brother Marcel." 
 
 " Your brother's name is Marcel ? " Bonaparte 
 asked, in a defiant tone. 
 
 " Marcel Ren6," the handsome sergeant hastened to 
 say, somewhat abashed, and lowering his eyes under 
 the severe and inquisitorial glance of the artillery cap- 
 tain. " My brother is a doctor, he is detailed as aide, 
 in the Fourth Artillery regiment at Valencia." 
 
 " My regiment — my late regiment, rather." 
 
 " Yes, Captain, that is why I hoped, having heard 
 that you were to be found in Paris. I learned that 
 from one of the National Guards whom I met this morn- 
 ing, at the fight of the Tuileries, Sergeant Lefebvre 
 who knows you." 
 
 «« Valiant Lefebvre ! Yes, I know him, too ; what 
 did Lefebvre tell you ? " 
 
 ** Thatyou might, perhaps — by word to the commander 
 —by your protection — get my brother exchanged."
 
 ptodam* £atti$-<Bm. 75 
 
 Bonaparte thought deeply, without taking his eyes 
 from the handsome sergeant, who grew more and more 
 troubled. 
 
 Embarrassed, anxious to prefer his request as quickly 
 as possible, for it seemed to excite him strangely, the 
 volunteer continued, hurrying on his words : " I would 
 that my brother might be sent from the artillery regi- 
 ment, which is at Valencia, to the Army of the North. 
 He would be with me — I should see him — we could 
 meet — we could be together — if he should be wounded, 
 I would be there — I might even tend and save him. 
 Oh ! Captain, help us both to that great blessing ! If 
 we can be together, we will bless you, will be ever 
 mindful of your kindness." 
 
 And, finishing his speech, the young man's voice was 
 husky, one would have thought, with suppressed sobs. 
 
 Bonaparte had risen. 
 
 He went straight to the sergeant and said to him in 
 his jerky way, " To begin with, my boy, I can do 
 nothing for you, nor for him you call your brother. 
 Lefebvre should have told you that ; I am without 
 employment, without commission. They have broken 
 my sword. My recommendation to the Fourth Artillery 
 would be useless — worse than nothing. I know no one 
 in Paris. I live alone. I am myself looking for help. 
 I however know the brother of an influential man, an old 
 deputy, called Maximilian Robespierre ; he lives in the 
 Rue Saint-Honor^, very near here. You can go and 
 find him for me ; perhaps he can get for you what would 
 be refused to me ; go and see young Robespierre ! "
 
 76 Patlame £ans-$cttf. 
 
 " Oh, thanks, Captain, may I some day be able to 
 prove my gratitude ! " 
 
 Bonaparte raised his finger, half smiling, half 
 serious, and said slowly : " It seems to me, my pretty 
 Sergeant, that you have changed the usual dress 
 of your sex to enter the army and follow the fortunes of 
 war." 
 
 The pretty sergeant answered tremblingly : " Ah, 
 pardon, Captain, do not betray me ; be generous ; 
 respect my disguise ; do not kill me in divulging my 
 deceit. Yes, I am a woman ! " 
 
 " I suspected it at once," said Bonaparte, good- 
 humoredly. " But your comrades, your chiefs, do they 
 see nothing ? " 
 
 " There are many young men in the regiment. Not 
 one has a beard, and besides, Captain, I do my duty 
 seriously ! " said the young warrior proudly. 
 
 " I do not doubt it. You went voluntarily. And 
 you wish to be joined in the Army of the North, if I 
 understand your wish, by this doctor — this aide, called 
 Marcel — who is, surely, more to you than a brother, 
 for whom, no doubt, you enlisted. Oh, I do not ask 
 your history ! Keep your secret ! You have interested 
 me, and if I can serve you, count on me. Go and see 
 young Robespierre. Tell him his friend, Bonaparte, 
 sent you." 
 
 And he extended his hand to the pretty sergeant, who 
 took it with transports of joy. 
 
 The captain saw Rene"e go out radiant. 
 
 His face clouded a moment, he sighed enviously.
 
 "They love each other, and they want to fight side by 
 side for their country. They are fortunate." 
 
 And the melancholy look came over his face again. 
 
 He sat down at the table, passed his hand over the 
 chart, and pensively considered at length the city of 
 Toulon, the great maritime port of the south, saying 
 excitedly : •• Oh, if I could fight the English ! for I shall 
 fight them — there ! there ! " 
 
 And his feverish finger pointed, on the map spread 
 before him, to a place unknown, visible for him alone, 
 where he destroyed, in thought, the English fleet. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE OATH UNDER THE POPLARS. 
 
 The Count de Surg&res, whose chateau, near Laval, 
 reflected its crumbling old turrets in the Mayenne, had, 
 at the first mutterings of the Revolution, sought shelter 
 beyond the Rhine. 
 
 He had encamped at Treves, near Coblenz, resolved 
 to watch the course of events as a quiet spectator. 
 
 Nominally, he had taken service in the army of the 
 princes ; but, exempt on account of his years and his 
 evident infirmities, though he had just passed his fiftieth 
 year, the Count de Surgeres was chiefly devoted to high 
 living and to watching events quietly, under the pro- 
 tection of the royal and imperial armies, in the little 
 Rhenish town.
 
 78 padame <^att$-©*tte. 
 
 The step he had taken in leaving home was due not 
 from fear of the patriots, nor for love of the princes. 
 
 The count, left a childless widower after a few short 
 years of marriage, had for a long time past had a liaison 
 in secret with the wife of a neighboring gentleman, an 
 ardent royalist, who talked, after the night of the 4th 
 of August, about taking arms, having the tocsin sounded, 
 and calling upon the country folk to defend the church 
 and the fleur-de-lys. 
 
 M. de Surgeres, in consideration of his intimacy with 
 his neighbor, had no recourse left him but to follow 
 his lead. Yet his chivalrous tasks were peaceful ones, 
 limited to paying court to the ladies ; he left for lovers 
 of brutal sports the honors of war. 
 
 Besides, he began to grow weary of his slavery to 
 love. The lady of his thoughts had not only grown 
 heavier with age ; of yore so trim, so elegant, so tender, 
 so poetically sylph-like, she was now robust and mas- 
 sively square, with a formidably large figure, and she 
 lay heavily on his soul. Of all ponderous bodies, the 
 very heaviest is a woman one has ceased to love. 
 
 Thus thought the Count de Surgeres, a man of wit, a 
 votary of pleasure ; but hating reproaches, tears, jeal- 
 ousy, and threats. Of independent, somewhat philo- 
 sophical nature, he had, while a youth at Paris, been 
 among the Encyclopaedists, and this independence lent 
 itself ill to subjection. The fetters of the adulterer seemed 
 to him insupportable. 
 
 If he had been patient and kept, with the Marquis de 
 Louvigne*, the tiresome attitude of a titled lover, it was
 
 because he grew very tired of his own domain, and was 
 too poor to live at court, and because the marquise was 
 the only woman he could make love to in any of the 
 neighboring chateaux. 
 
 To find a rival for her he would have had to put him- 
 self out to look for a gentle chatelaine in some distant 
 manor or to lower himself to the town's folk and find a 
 lady in the town. M. de Surgfcres wisely contented 
 himself with the good fortune which he found in taking 
 up arms. 
 
 But events were coming, and it was partly the heroic 
 attempts of the marquis, who absolutely wanted to force 
 him into the woods, to make war on the hedges, and 
 partly the desire of the marquis to follow the example 
 of the Duchesses of Longueville, in that possibly terrible 
 game, in riding along the highways, a white cockade 
 in her hat, and pistols in her belt, that finally decided 
 the count to take the way of the emigrant. 
 
 That resolution had a double advantage in leaving 
 no doubt of her sentiment of fidelity to the king, and at 
 the same time delivering him from his fleshy Amazon 
 and from the gentleman who was over-fond of ambus- 
 cades in the woods. 
 
 He was alone, and comparatively free. He announced 
 his departure, one fine morning, and hurried off, pre- 
 tending that he had received a pressing message from 
 the Count de Provence, asking him to join him afar, in 
 great haste. 
 
 In his fear that the marquis should renounce his 
 sylvan warfare, and above all that the marquis would
 
 So gftadaw* gm$-(&tm. 
 
 desire to gallop across the plains with him, the count 
 added maliciously that the Count of Provence had 
 sent his approval of the faithful Louvigne*, for his 
 zeal for loyalty to the crown, and the provinces of the 
 West. 
 
 Charmed with this mark of royal confidence the mar- 
 quis sped his friend onward. 
 
 The marquise wept a little, but, quite consoled at the 
 idea of going to war, of wearing a hat and white cock- 
 ade, and of having a gun on the saddle of the mighty 
 charger who should bear her, she smiled through her 
 tears when the Count de Surgeres, making his adieux, 
 in her husband's presence, asked permission to kiss 
 her. 
 
 When he bent his lips to kiss her, though somewhat 
 kept back by the mountain of flesh that surrounded her. 
 Surgeres found time to say in her ear this sentence. 
 
 " Take care of Renee. I shall go and bid her good- 
 bye." 
 
 The marquise made an affirmative motion with her 
 head, indicating that she had heard and would remem- 
 ber his injunction. 
 
 The count, light, joyous and free, made a last sign 
 from his seat on horseback to his friend the marquis, 
 who was quite taken up with plans in which he went 
 out with his farmers, waiting for stray soldiers of the 
 Republic, or going out in small troops. Then the count 
 rode to a turn in the Tougeres road, opposite a white 
 house, dainty and decked with vines, which was called 
 f La Garderie."
 
 i&adam* gnn$-(&tnt. Si 
 
 There, in days gone by, had been a meeting-place 
 for hunters, a post for the guards of the Lords of 
 Mayenne. 
 
 The count checked his horse beside the fence en- 
 closing the court, in the centre of which stood the little 
 house. 
 
 He sprang to the ground, frightening and chasing 
 the chickens scratching in the grass, and the ducks 
 swimming in the middle of a pond which was half 
 covered with greenish slime. 
 
 A dog barked. 
 
 "Peace! Peace! Rammoneau," said a strong 
 voice ; "do you not know our good master ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is I, Father La Bris6e. What news at La 
 Garderie ? " 
 
 "No news, sir," said the old keeper, standing in his 
 doorway, dressed in his velvet coat, booted, with knife 
 in his belt, ready to bring out his dogs for the chase, 
 and to cock his gun at his game at sunset. 
 
 Inside, everything was scrupulously clean and bright, 
 scoured to shining, in kitchen and dining-room ; the 
 brass on the hunting-horns shone, beside riding whips, 
 boars' tusks, antlers, stags' heads, foxes' tails, etc., 
 which decorated the walls. 
 
 " Will monseigneur do me the honor to come in 
 and rest a little and have a mug of cider ? " 
 
 " That ought not to be refused, and at another time ; 
 but to-day, my good La Brisge, it is impossible. I am 
 going away on a long journey." 
 
 La Bris6e made a movement to show he was sorry. 
 6
 
 %2 Padam* £nn$-<Seut. 
 
 " Ah, monseigneur is going away," he said, " at such 
 a time, too. What is to become of us ? " 
 
 "I am coming back, my old La Brise"e — I am going 
 on a journey — simply a pleasure tour." 
 
 Monseigneur can go and come as he likes," said the 
 old keeper resignedly ; " has monsieur the count any 
 orders to give me for the time he is away ? " he added in 
 his usual tone, as a submissive servant. 
 
 " Oh, nothing much, La Bris6e ; the right of hunt- 
 ing will presently be abolished and will leave you at 
 leisure." 
 
 La Bris6e made a tragic gesture, and sighed. 
 
 " It is the abomination of desolation. If one could be 
 
 allowed to suppress " But he stopped, remembering 
 
 that his master was there, and the old man, at heart a 
 partisan of all the reforms of the Revolution, save in 
 what concerned the chase, closed his remarks exclaim- 
 ing, «' suppress the killing of game ? That should never 
 be done." 
 
 " You will see — I should say, we and many others 
 will see, La Brise"e — But let us speak of that which is 
 here. Where is Ren6e ? " 
 
 " Mile. Ren6e is with my wife, very near here, at the 
 farm of Verbois. They will not be long — I expect them 
 in a quarter of an hour." 
 
 «■ I cannot wait — I must sleep at Rennes to-night. 
 Kiss Ren6e for me. Adieu, my good La Bris6e. I shall 
 return ! — I shall return ! " 
 
 The Count de Surgeres rode off, making a sign 
 of farewell to his keeper. He sprang lightly and nimbly
 
 i&adame £att0-<*fctw. $3 
 
 to his saddle. The idea of a tender scene with Renfie 
 had tormented him until now. He hated these effusions 
 of love. 
 
 It was not that he was quite incapable of tenderness. 
 Ren6e was his daughter. The child of his amowrs 
 with the Marquise de Louvigne\ He had, for this 
 child of a passion long since cold, a sort of mild affec- 
 tion. He had undoubtedly looked after her, but from 
 afar ; and though he had not spared in money and 
 gifts, he had been farless lavish in his caresses. 
 
 As she had been born, happily for all parties, while 
 the Marquis de Louvigne* was away at a convention of 
 gentlemen which met at Rennes, Ren6e had been con- 
 fided to the care of La Bris6e and his wife. 
 
 The child had been brought up quietly, never seeing, 
 save from afar and by chance on a walk, her father, 
 and more rarely still her mother, the Marquise de 
 Louvigng, both of whom, in the presence of others, 
 farm-hands, or curious villagers, refrained from show- 
 ing any special interest in her. 
 
 She did not know her true parentage, and believed 
 herself the child of La Brisge and his worthy but un- 
 aristocratic consort. 
 
 The count and the marquise, one the greatest lady 
 in the neighborhood, the other the master of the estate 
 where La Brisge was keeper, allowed themselves to be 
 suspected in nothing, not showing in their occasional 
 visits the real tie which bound them to her. 
 
 Thanks to the liberality of the count, Ren6e had 
 enjoyed an excellent education, and was accustomed
 
 84 §#adam* £m$-(&ent. 
 
 to maintaining the independence to be found in 
 daughters of a good family. 
 
 She had learned to ride ; and galloped, fearlessly 
 and quite alone, across field and wood, on a little mare, 
 taken from the chateau stables. Father La Bris€e 
 had taken her in his journeys to the woods, and the girl 
 had become a good huntress. 
 
 One day, when La Bris^e, having finished his lunch 
 in the woods, was sleeping in the shade of a beech, like 
 one of Virgil's shepherds, she had gently stolen his 
 gun. Very softly she had gone away, avoiding the 
 crackling of dead leaves under her feet, and the break- 
 ing of dry branches. 
 
 She reached a clearing where the hunting hound, 
 seeing her with a gun, and not looking to see who 
 carried it, started out in quest of game. He started 
 a pheasant, and Rene"e anxiously raised her piece to 
 her shoulder, aimed — fired. 
 
 With a heavy flapping of wings the bird fell. 
 
 Ren6e stood an instant stunned ; though assured by 
 the sound of her shot, she looked with surprise not un- 
 mixed with pride at this evident victory, upon her 
 game, which lay motionless upon the damp grass, its 
 feathers ruffled, its beak open. 
 
 The dog had sprung upon the prey, and wagging 
 his tail, brought it to her in his mouth. 
 
 With a caress Renfie repaid the beast for his prey, 
 which she took from him ; and, like a miser with his 
 treasure, she hid her game in the pocket of the man's 
 coat she wore for hunting, and went back to find La
 
 gjftadame g%n$-(&m. 85 
 
 Brisee, awakened by the shot, and much excited. He 
 was looking for his gun, which he believed had been 
 stolen by poachers. 
 
 First he scolded Rene"e, then made up for it by 
 praising her courage, this budding huntress ! 
 
 He was sorry to have been deprived of his gun 
 while sleeping, but proud of the good use to which his 
 pupil had put the weapon. 
 
 After that Ren6e accompanied him on his expedi- 
 tions, whenever it was feasible, and frequently shot her 
 rabbit or roebuck. 
 
 So Renge had grown familiar with much tramping, 
 with fatigue, with powder, and with arms. 
 
 Frequently, in their hunting, her gun under her 
 arm, she had gone alone, far from Father La Bris6e, 
 who was busy watching the snares he had set for 
 game. On such days, hares, pheasants and partridges 
 might safely sit and plume themselves, even call — • 
 Ren6e paid no attention to her gun, nor to the appeals 
 of her dog. Then she struck the plain beside a mill 
 where, near the rippling stream that fed it, there stood, 
 behind a grove of poplars, a little verdant cot, made of 
 wild plants, vines, grasses, ivy, climbing and intertwin- 
 ing in a green network. 
 
 It was not only the freshness of this pleasant retreat, 
 nor the murmur of the stream over the stones, nor yet 
 the deep calm under the heavy shade, that attracted her. 
 
 For Marcel, the miller's son, these silent banks of 
 the river had an equal attraction. 
 
 As often as possible, these two young people met there.
 
 86 P»dam* jSawsi-Gktt*. 
 
 Book in hand, the young man walked slowly to where 
 he saw Renge coming from the chase, and met her. 
 
 He pretended to read, as she pretended to hunt. But 
 their thoughts were elsewhere, and book and game 
 were only pretexts. 
 
 Ren6e was seventeen, and Marcel was entering his 
 twentieth year. 
 
 The son of a well-to-do countryman, and the nephew 
 of the curate, Marcel had learned a little Latin and 
 they had thought he would take Orders ; but the 
 Church did not attract him. Filled with the charms 
 of nature, loving woods, and fields, and flowers, seek- 
 ing to study the secret of universal life and to find 
 out its mystery, Marcel had shown a great aptitude 
 for natural science. 
 
 With the sanction of his uncle, the curate, he had 
 been able to take some lessons in anatomy with an old 
 doctor, a friend of the priest's. By dint of study and 
 patient labor he had prepared for his first degree, 
 which he had taken at Rennes. 
 
 He was now a physician, and in his projects for the 
 future, sketched beside the babbling stream with Rene"e, 
 who, for him, neglected the chase, and used her gun 
 only to explain her long absence, he saw himself first 
 at Rennes, later at Paris, where alone he could follow 
 ' science and achieve fame and fortune, practising the 
 great art of healing, which the ancients believed to 
 be a divine attribute. 
 
 Peaceful and sentimental was Marcel ; and his read- 
 ings of Rousseau, made him something of a philos-
 
 <pher. He worshipped nature, and his profession of 
 faith was that of the vicaire Savoyard. His thought, 
 enlarged beyond the circle of actualities and things im- 
 mediately around him, embraced all humanity. He 
 believed himself a citizen of the world, and held that 
 the entire globe was the fatherland of humanity. 
 Several works of Anacharsis Clootz had fallen into his 
 hands, and formed his doctrine of a universal Re- 
 public. 
 
 In this projected course, the young cosmopolitan 
 physician did not dream of going alone to Paris and 
 glory. 
 
 Ren6e was to go with him, Ren€e, who was to be 
 his bride ; for these two young people, without ever 
 having said so plainly, loved each other. 
 
 They were nearly of an age, they cared for each 
 other, and their fortunes seemingly were alike ; so there 
 seemed no possibility of anything which should mar 
 their happiness. 
 
 Marcel, son of the miller, whose lord was the Count 
 de Surgeres, did not descend in the scale by marrying 
 her he believed to be the daughter of the count's chief- 
 keeper, father La Brise'e. 
 
 Good Mother Toinon, the keeper's wife, had surprised 
 their secret, one day when she had gone to get grass 
 for her rabbits, on the river-bank. 
 
 She had not scolded much, but she had surprised 
 Marcel a little, even in her reticence and slight grum- 
 blings ; for Mother Toinon had insinuated that an ob- 
 stacle existed on Rente's side.
 
 88 gj&adame £m$-(&m. 
 
 The miOer's son, whose well-to-do father might have 
 had some opposition to his marriage with a simple 
 keeper's daughter, did not guess what La Bris6e wife 
 meant. The keeper had no place, however, in her vague 
 remarks. Was his consent nothing, or was there no 
 reason to be uneasy ? Marcel did not place much 
 credence in the remarks of the keeper's wife, nor in the 
 objection which was to arise on Rente's part. 
 
 When the Count de SurgSres had suddenly left the 
 country, to join the princes abroad, Mother Toinon had 
 said, regarding the lovers narrowly, " Now, my dears, 
 if you want to marry, you have only to ask the miller's 
 consent." 
 
 Marcel, not understanding why Mother La Bris£e 
 said his father's consent would now be sufficient, 
 went to find him and tell him of his desire to marry 
 Renee. 
 
 The miller, while declaring that he had nothing to 
 say against the girl, had tried to dissuade his son. He 
 had showed him that he was too young ; he had still to 
 work to make a position for himself; lastly, he said 
 what fathers always say, when they do not quite ap- 
 prove a marriage, and are unable to give good reasons 
 for refusing their consent. 
 
 Surprised at this resistance, which was not what he 
 had expected, for the young man supposed his father 
 would bring up the relatively inferior condition of a 
 keeper's daughter, Marcel resolved to find out the 
 reasons of his father's refusal. 
 
 His mother — mothers are ever foolish when it cornea
 
 Padame gm$-(&m. 89 
 
 to the happiness of their sons — told him that Master 
 Bertrand Le Go6z, the notary and administrator of the 
 Count's affairs (who had become his substitute ii his 
 absence, and had his general power of attorney), had 
 thrown most amorous glances toward La Garderie. 
 Sweet Ren€e pleased him, and he had asked her in 
 marriage, and was acceptable to La Bris6e. 
 
 Marcel was really unhappy, and anger shot forth in 
 flames at this confidence of his mother's. 
 
 So he had Master Bertrand as a rival ! That villain- 
 ous, old, disagreeable man, to whose account a thousand 
 ills had been placed ! 
 
 But Ren6e did not love the notary. She would not 
 have him. She would frown down his pretension. He 
 was sure of her. On that score, he could be easy. As 
 for La Brisge, he understood the old man's hesitation ; 
 for he was under Master Bertrand Le GoSz, who, 
 entrusted with all matters by the Count, was at liberty 
 to dismiss a keeper. 
 
 There lay the danger. Though Goe*z would not dare 
 dismiss, for such reason, an old and faithful servant 
 like La Brise"e, who was the pride and the model of old- 
 time foresters. 
 
 Therefore the wily attorney had taken care to gain the 
 influence of the miller. It was in his power to renew 
 the lease of certain tracts of country, belonging to the 
 Count de Surg^res, which was indispensable to the 
 miller for feeding his mill. 
 
 Le Goez had made that bargain readily. 
 
 Let Marcel give up all pretension to Rene"e, or he
 
 9<> Padame £an$-&tnt. 
 
 would not renew the lease, and the miller, ruined, 
 would have to give up his mill and leave the country. 
 
 The young man, having learned the projects and 
 calculations of the secretary, said simply that he 
 wanted to go and find him in his study, among his 
 papers, and break his back. 
 
 His mother dissuaded him from it. Le Goe*z was 
 powerful and vindictive. True, he had the power of a 
 noble, and for that reason, perhaps, he affected most 
 violent revolutionary principles. 
 
 He talked about decapitations, and had advised the 
 installation of a tribunal, charged with judging anti- 
 revolutionists, in every community. He was a municipal 
 officer, and corresponder with the influential agitators 
 of the sections in Paris, the bailiff Maillard, the Mar- 
 quis of Saint-Hugure, Tournier, the American, and 
 other men of action. It was well to keep peace with 
 such a man, not to brave him. 
 
 " What shall I do, then ? " the young man had asked. 
 
 "Go away," said his good mother, "dream no more 
 of Renge. Go to Rennes, where you will finish your 
 studies, become a great physician, and find forgetful- 
 ness, rest, and perhaps fortune.* 
 
 The young lover shook his head and went away 
 sadly, without answering his mother. He wanted 
 neither rest nor oblivion. He knew well that far 
 from Rene"e he would not find happiness. He would 
 remain in the country and save Rene"e from the odious 
 secretary. Ah, he thought with heart open to vague 
 aspirations of life, that he would seek a new country
 
 Pattern* £M$-<8tnt. 91 
 
 where liberty flourished without danger ; he would go 
 away to that America where France had helped to 
 fight for independence ; there he would work, he would 
 study, he would become a hard-working and useful citizen, 
 far from the noise of camps, far from all the tumult of 
 battle in old Europe. Naturally, in the dream of emi- 
 gration, Renee went with him. 
 
 On the evening of that decisive conversation with his 
 mother, Marcel found Renee once more on the banks of 
 the stream, whose song, at that twilight hour, seemed 
 most melancholy, most sad. 
 
 A crimson bar at setting indicated the death of day, 
 wrapped in a shroud of red and gray clouds. 
 
 The moon, meanwhile, scattering the clouds slowly, 
 rose in the east, and its radiant disk shone between the 
 tall and leafy branches of the poplars. 
 
 Renee and Marcel, seated in the grass on the banks 
 of the little river, held each other's hands and looked, 
 where, like a circle of silver, the tender, pale planet 
 rolled through space. 
 
 It was a solemn moment, a nuptial hour. 
 
 Like the songs of birds calling to each other in the 
 month of May, under the branches, the voices of the 
 two young people alternated in the softness of the 
 evening. 
 
 " I love thee, my Rene"e, and shall ever love but 
 thee." 
 
 •« Thou alone, Marcel, dost fill my thoughts, and my 
 heart is thine forever ! " 
 
 •* We will never leave each other " \
 
 92 gftadame J?att0-(6m. 
 
 • We will live side by side 1 " 
 
 ' Nothing can part us " 
 
 « We will remain together until death ! H 
 ' Thou wilt swear to follow me, my Rene"e- 
 
 1 I swear that where thou goest I will go, Marcel 1 " 
 
 ' We will love each other always " 
 
 1 Ever will we love ; I swear it ! " 
 
 • May the branches, emblems of liberty, and the 
 trees which are the pillars of Nature's temple, may 
 these forest people receive and witness my vows ! " said 
 Marcel, with an emphasis which showed in both word 
 and gesture, as he raised his hand toward the trees 
 which the Revolution honored as symbols of the nation, 
 in sign of oath. 
 
 Rene*e imitated Marcel, and, like him, her hand raised, 
 vowed to love forever, and to follow always him to whom 
 she gave herself freely, and this was the oath under the 
 poplars which shone like silver under the soft moon's 
 light 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE INVOLUNTARY ENLISTING. 
 
 When the two young people had, with a chaste kiss, 
 sealed their reciprocal vows exchanged beneath the 
 serenity of the moonlight which flooded the sky and 
 lighted up the last clouds in the west, they thought 
 they heard a crackling of leaves behind them, followed 
 by a cry like the hooting of a screech-owl.
 
 Padame gm$-(&m. 93 
 
 That bird of ill-omen troubled them in their ecstasy. 
 
 They embraced each other fervently, yet with a 
 secret fear despite their rapture. 
 
 Marcel took a stone and threw it in the direction 
 whence the sound had come, seeking to dislodge that 
 importunate screamer. 
 
 «« Make off, villainous owl," cried Marcel, looking 
 angrily toward the dark wood where doubtless, amid 
 the trees, sat the witness of their love. 
 
 No bird flew thence. Instead of a flapping of wings 
 there was a sound as of footsteps retreating precipitately 
 from the lovers, and it seemed to them that they heard 
 among the leaves the laughter of a man. 
 
 Some one had surprised them, spied upon them, 
 heard them ! 
 
 They both returned to the village sad, silent and 
 uneasy. 
 
 " I fear this augurs ill," said Rene"e at the moment of 
 parting, beside the hedge of La Garderie. 
 
 " Bah," said Marcel, trying to make the girl feel at 
 ease, " it was some clown who wanted to amuse him- 
 self at our expense, some jealous fellow who was en- 
 raged at our joy. Let us think no more of the matter, 
 sweet ! We love each other, and have sworn to be true 
 to each other always, and so nothing can separate us." 
 
 And they parted, both alarmed by the warning 
 they had received. An enemy had surely watched 
 them! Who wanted to destroy their happiness ? Who 
 could thus follow and threaten them ? Who objected 
 to their felicity ? The memory of the words of the
 
 94 ptadam* #att0-$m. 
 
 miller's wife and the thought of that Bertrand Le 
 Go6z, who dared to desire to possess Rene"e, presented 
 itself at once to Marcel's mind. He reasoned with 
 himself and attempted to fortify himself against the 
 vague apprehension which penetrated his very soul. 
 «* Bertrand Le Gogz is a bad, jealous man," he said to 
 himself; " but what can he do to us, since Rene"e loves 
 me and has sworn to cleave to me ? " 
 
 He determined, nevertheless, to be on his guard, and 
 to watch the movements of the secretary. 
 
 The fear he experienced was not without foundation. 
 
 Le Go6z multiplied his visits to the mill. He had 
 warned Marcel's father twice that his lease was soon 
 to expire and that he need not count on renewing it. 
 By virtue of the right which the Count de Surgeres had 
 given him, Le GoSz signified to the miller that he would 
 have to give up his land. No delay would be allowed 
 him. 
 
 Always, too, the secretary warned Marcel's father 
 that, should he send his son to Rennes, and assure 
 him that the youth had given up all hopes of marry- 
 ing Ren6e, he would consider the renewal of the 
 lease. 
 
 The miller was much distressed, for his son clung 
 to his intentions, and swore he would wed Rene"e, in 
 spite of Bertrand Le Gogz ; on her part, the young girl 
 had answered all the overtures of the enamored sec- 
 retary with cold refusals. 
 
 Bertrand Le Go6z resolved to part them violently. 
 
 France was in arms. On all sides there came from
 
 gftadamc £ m$-(8tnt. 95 
 
 the towns volunteers who took pikes and muskets, and 
 went forth to die for their country. 
 
 The secretary, in his capacity of attorney of the 
 community, assembled, one Sunday morning, all the 
 young men around and addressed to them a warm 
 appeal, calling upon them to go to Rennes to re-enforce 
 the regiment of Ille-et-Vilaine. 
 
 Several volunteers came forward, enlisted, and left 
 next day. 
 
 Bertrand Le Goe*z expressed himself as objecting 
 strongly to the bad example and laziness of those who, 
 young, strong, and able to carry a gun, threw away 
 the honor of defending their country, and preferred to 
 grow weak in the company of old men and girls. 
 
 His harangue was meant directly for Marcel. 
 
 He, understanding exactly, what use Le Go6z meant 
 to make of his inaction, went directly to the keeper. 
 
 He found La Bris6e polishing his guns, and whis- 
 tling a hunter's song. 
 
 Rene"e sat sewing beside the keeper's wife. 
 
 She gave a cry of surprise at seeing Marcel enter. 
 
 Danger was ahead. She questioned him with a look 
 ■^begging him to reassure her. 
 
 " Father La Brise"e," said the young man, much 
 moved, " I come to bid you and Rene"e acneu ! I am 
 going." 
 
 '* O God," cried the young girl with her hand on her 
 heart. " Why are you going, Marcel ? Does that 
 wicked Le Go6z still want to take away your father's 
 land ? "
 
 96 Pattern* gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 " That is not my only reason for going away." 
 
 " And where are you going, lad ? " asked the keeper 
 quietly, still polishing his gun. 
 
 "I do not know. Throughout the village I am 
 taunted with being idle ; yet it is not fear that keeps 
 me from taking a musket, but because I consider war 
 as a plague, and the people who go into it as sheep 
 going to the slaughter, as my master Jean-Jacques has 
 demonstrated ! Why do they kill each other for in- 
 terests which touch them not ? War for life is just — 
 that is, when slaves take up arms, — it is the war of 
 liberty against tyranny, and that Jean Jacques Rousseau 
 himself would have approved." 
 
 "Then you have enlisted, lad ? " inquired La Brise"e. 
 " It is well — very well ! You have done as the others 
 have done. You are good — you will go and kill 
 those Prussian thieves, I hope. Pity you never cared 
 for the chase. You are not like Rene"e — she would 
 make a fine soldier. But you will learn courage, 
 Marcel." 
 
 Rene"e had risen, weak and deathly pale. 
 
 " I am about to leave the country," said Marcel, with 
 rising emotion, " because I can no longer live amid 
 threats and reproaches. Father La Brise"e, I am going 
 with my tttther and mother, who are likewise driven 
 out, to establish myself in America." 
 
 " What ! " said the keeper, astonished, letting his 
 gun fall; "you are not going into the army? What 
 will you do in America, good heavens ! " 
 
 " I want," said the young man, firmly, " to take
 
 Padame ^aajs-dfotw. 97 
 
 with me, as my wife, your daughter Rene"e. There we 
 will found a family, there we will be happy under the 
 great trees of the wilderness ! " 
 
 Rene"e had fallen against La Brise'e, saying, " Father ! 
 father ! come with us to that America, which I do not 
 know, but which must be beautiful, since Marcel says 
 we can be happy there." 
 
 The keeper had risen, much troubled, and address- 
 ing his wife, who sat motionless, as though she had not 
 heard, still drawing her needle through, mechanically, 
 and said : 
 
 " Well, there's another ! Take Rene*e to America ! 
 Marry her ! What do you say, old woman ? " 
 
 Mother La Brise'e stopped sewing, lifted her head 
 and said severely, " I say that it is all beastly ! It is 
 time to stop it ! It is necessary, La Brise'e, to tell these 
 two turtle-doves something. They do not know they 
 are not equal. Tell them, thou, about it." 
 
 Then La Brise'e revealed to Ren6e that she was the 
 daughter of the Count de Surgeres and could not marry 
 a miller's son. 
 
 But she said of her absent father, that, having left 
 her to the paid care of La BrisSe, he had no right to 
 dispose of her, nor to keep her from giving herself to 
 the man she loved. She considered that the irregularity 
 of her birth placed her beyond social conventionalities, 
 wherefore she proposed to be quite free. 
 
 The Revolution was everywhere, and sowed in the 
 quietest minds, even in the soul of a young girl like 
 Renee, the germs of independence and liberty. 
 7
 
 98 Pattern* £an0-$m. 
 
 Marcel reflected. The new position of Rene"e had 
 upset all his projects and disconcerted him. 
 
 The nobility to which Ren6e belonged did not seem 
 to him a serious obstacle. The Revolution had abol- 
 ished classes and declared all men equal. But Renge 
 was rich. She could not follow, as she had promised, 
 the son of a ruined miller, like himself ; what was 
 pure love and youthfulness, in other eyes would seem 
 like a calculating cupidity on his part for captivating 
 her unworthily. No ! He could not accept such sacri- 
 fice, though Ren6e was ready to make it. He must 
 force himself to banish remembrance and he would 
 leave France and seek no more for happiness, only for 
 rest and oblivion. He would go alone to America. 
 
 His resolution was quickly taken. He would declare 
 his decision to leave the country, to put distance be- 
 tween himself and his love — when some one knocked. 
 
 Madame La Bris6e went to the door. Bertrand Le 
 Goez was there. He wore a scarf and was accompanied 
 by two commissioners of the district, wearing hats with 
 tricolored plumes, and the insignia of municipal 
 delegates. 
 
 As La Bris6e stood, astonished at the sight of the 
 three personages, Le Go£z said to one of the commis- 
 sioners, indicating the young man, *• Citizens, there is 
 Marcel. Do your duty ! " 
 
 "Are you going to arrest me," said Marcel, as- 
 tounded. " What have I done ? " 
 
 " We simply come to ask you, citizen," said one of 
 the commissioners, " if it is true that you are about to
 
 Paiiam* gm$-(&tne. 99 
 
 leave, to desert your home, and your flag, as your 
 father, the miller has said ? " 
 
 " I have thought of doing so." 
 
 "You see," said Le Go6z, triumphantly, taking the 
 commissioners to witness. 
 
 " Then, you desire to emigrate ? You want to bear 
 arms against your country ? Do you not know that 
 the law punishes those who desert now ? Speak ! " 
 
 " I never meant to desert. I do not emigrate. I 
 can no longer live here. Poverty drives me and mine 
 forth. I go to find beneath another sky work and 
 liberty." 
 
 •• Liberty is to be found beneath the standard of the 
 nation," said the commissioner. " As for work, the 
 nation will give you plenty ! You are a doctor, are 
 you not ? " 
 
 " I shall be ; I must still get one more diploma." 
 
 " You shall have it — in your regiment ! " 
 
 *« My regiment ! What do you mean ? " 
 
 " This. We have an order for you," said the second 
 commissioner. " Our armies need surgeons, and we 
 are charged, my colleague and I, to find them." 
 
 He handed a paper to Marcel, saying, "Sign here, 
 and in twenty-four hours be at Angers. They will tell 
 you there to which corps you are assigned." 
 
 «' And if I refuse to sign ? " 
 
 " We will arrest you immediately, as a refractionary, 
 an agent of emigration, and we will take you to Angers 
 but to prison. Sign ! " 
 
 Marcel hesitated.
 
 ioo ptRdame gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 Bertrand Le Gogz, winking, said to one of the com- 
 missioners : "You would have done better to follow my 
 advice and arrest him at once. He will not sign, he 
 is an aristocrat, an enemy of the people." 
 
 La Bris6e and his wife sat, struck dumb, watching 
 the scene. 
 
 Renge, meantime, who had approached Marcel, taking 
 a pen, and handing it to him, said, softly : " Sign, Marcel ! 
 It is imperative, I ask it of you ! " 
 
 " So you want me to leave you — to leave you defence- 
 less against all the attempts of that wretch," he said, 
 pointing to Le Goez. 
 
 Ren6e answered, whispering : " Sign ! I shall go to 
 you — I promise it." 
 
 Marcel said : " You — among soldiers — you in the 
 army ? " in a subdued voice. 
 
 " Why not ? I am like a boy ! I can handle a gun ; 
 ask my father — ' she is not like you.' Go — sign ! " 
 
 Marcel took the pen and nervously signed the deed 
 of enlistment, then addressed the commissioners. 
 
 " Where must I go ? " 
 
 " To Angers — where they are raising a regiment 
 from Mayenne and Loire. Good luck, Sir Doctor." 
 
 " I salute you, Commissioners." 
 
 «' Have you nothing to say to me," said Le Go8z, in 
 a jesting tone. 
 
 Marcel pointed to the door. 
 
 " You are wrong to be angry with me. Now that 
 you are a good ' sans-culotte ' and serve your country, I 
 esteem you, Marcel ; and to prove it I will renew the
 
 Padame £att0-$*tt*. 101 
 
 lease for your parents," said the secretary, laughing 
 cruelly. 
 
 Bertrand Le Goez retired rubbing his hands. He 
 had gained his point. His rival was going far away, 
 among the enemy. Rene"e, of whose birth he knew the 
 secret, was in his power. Would Marcel ever return ? 
 
 And she, once his wife, would bring him part of the 
 count's domain, of which he was taking care. He saw 
 himself already master of those vast estates of which 
 he was now but a keeper. He could show himself 
 good-natured toward Marcel's parents, and let them 
 keep their lands ; he would have them for allies and 
 Marcel could not influence them against him. Every- 
 thing reassured him that some day he should go about, 
 not as inspector, but as veritable owner, then, with 
 Renee on his arm, as his wife, over the count's lands, 
 whom the emigrant laws had power to keep out. He 
 took good care to make good her inheritance. 
 
 Rene"e, meantime, after declaring to La Brise"e and 
 Toinon that she never would have, in spite of Ber- 
 trand, any other love, and that some day she would 
 marry Marcel, had gone, at evening, to the usual tryst- 
 ing place, on the river-bank, under the poplars. 
 
 There she met Marcel, very sad and uneasy. His 
 hand trembled feverishly, and tears stood in his eyes. 
 
 She reassured him, repeating her promise to see him 
 in the regiment, 
 
 And when he again seemed incredulous, she said, 
 firmly : •' You shall see ! Wouldn't I make a fine sol- 
 dier ? " she added, laughing. " Why ! I haven't your
 
 102 Padam* £m$-(Btnt, 
 
 ideas about war ! I am no philosopher ; but I love 
 you, and mean to follow you everywhere." 
 
 " But the fatigue — the rations ? The gun is heavy 
 and the knapsack as well. You have no idea of the 
 painful work of war, poor child ! " Marcel said this to 
 dissuade her from the attempt, which, to him, savored 
 of madness. 
 
 " I am strong — I can do it. Many young men go 
 daily to the war who are not as robust as I, and they 
 have not, as I have, a lover beside the standard," she 
 added proudly. 
 
 " But if you should be wounded ? " 
 
 " Are you not a surgeon ? You would take care of 
 me — save me." 
 
 Some days after, at dusk, one might have seen, walk- 
 ing slowly along, a young man, going to Angers, 
 carrying at the end of a cane a small bundle of clothes 
 and wearing the costume of the National Guard. This 
 young man presented himself, as soon as he got to 
 Angers, at the mayor's office, and was enrolled as a 
 volunteer, in the battalion of Mayenne-et-Loire, under 
 the name of Rene" Marcel, son of Marcel, the miller of 
 Surgeres. 
 
 The young man had said that he wished to enlist in 
 the company where his brother Marcel, already en- 
 rolled, acted as aide. 
 
 So the young girl was admitted without difficulty. 
 No one suspected her sex. This enlisting of young 
 women, in masculine attire and with strange names, 
 produced, occasionally, at that time, confusion and all
 
 1 §Nadam* <fatt.$-(S*t«. 103 
 
 sorts of discoveries. The regiments of the Revolution 
 received, thus, many feminine recruits. 
 
 There are preserved, among the military annals of 
 the Republic, obscure names and records of, glorious 
 deeds of service performed by these heroic warrior- 
 maids. Their names are inscribed on a deathless 
 page. 
 
 In the regiment of Mayenne-et-Loire, where Ren£e 
 became a great favorite and was called the " Joli Sar- 
 geant," having attained to silver stripes, a cruel decep- 
 tion was soon exposed. 
 
 She could not be very long near him she had come 
 to find. A superior order came to aide Marcel to go 
 to the 4th Artillery at Valence, where they were badly 
 in need of surgeons, and who were hurrying to Toulon. 
 
 The separation was cruel. The necessity of conceal- 
 ing their grief and hiding their tears augmented the 
 bitterness of parting — every one watched the two, and 
 too great show of emotion would have betrayed them. 
 
 They embraced each other at parting, each promis- 
 ing to make every effort to rejoin the other. 
 
 Then came Rente's visit to Captain Bonaparte, 
 which showed how anxious she was to be once more 
 near him she loved. 
 
 Thanks to the protection of young Robespierre, 
 who was Bonaparte's friend, the exchange was 
 effected, and we will not tarry to see the meeting, 
 under the command of Beaurepaire, the heroic 
 defender of Verdun, of Renee, enlisted for love, and 
 Marcel, the humanitarian philosopher, the pupil
 
 104 Padame gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 of Jean-Jacques, the apostle of peace and universal 
 fraternity, a citizen of the world, as he called him- 
 self, having found a somewhat involuntary enlistment. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE CONFIDENCE OF MADAME SANS GENE. 
 
 After the departure of the •* Pretty Sergeant," 
 Bonaparte, engrossed in thought, began again to work. 
 Following on the chart his vast projects for the de- 
 fence of the Mediterranean coast, he cast an ambitious 
 glance on the mountains between France and Pied* 
 mont, the key to Italy. 
 
 In the midst of these strategic calculations a knock 
 at the door made him lift his head. 
 
 " Who comes now ? " he thought. He was impatient 
 at being again disturbed. " It seems to be a day for 
 visits." And he called, " Who's there ? " 
 
 " It is I," answered a woman's voice, «• Catharine, 
 the laundress." 
 
 *' Come in," he growled. 
 
 Catharine entered, a little embarrassed, and said, 
 taking her basket from her arm, •* Do not disturb your- 
 self, Captain ; I have brought your clothes. I thought 
 you might need them." 
 
 Without looking up, Bonaparte said, " The clothes ? 
 very well. Put them on the bed." 
 
 Catharine stood still, amazed. She neither advanced
 
 nor retreated, and kept her basket in her hand. She 
 thought, " I must have a foolish look ! But this man 
 imposes upon me in a way that is beyond my power to 
 control." 
 
 She who was called through the Saint-Roch quarter, 
 la Sans G6ne, and who really justified that appellation, 
 was actually timid. 
 
 She stared at the bed to which Bonaparte had 
 pointed ; she shifted her basket on her arm ; then, too, 
 she felt in her apron-pocket for the bill she had 
 brought, but could not decide what to do. 
 
 She " shook in her shoes," as they say. 
 
 Bonaparte continued to study the chart before him, 
 seeming to pay no further attention to her. 
 
 At last she shook herself slightly, to let him know she 
 was there. 
 
 " He is not at all gallant," she thought. " Doubtless, 
 though one is decent and doesn't come for — anything 
 out of the way, one may still be worth looking at." 
 
 And, somewhat piqued, she began again her light 
 movement. 
 
 " What ! you still here ? " Bonaparte said, with little 
 politeness, and, after a short silence, he added, with 
 his accustomed brusqueness, '* What do you want ? " 
 
 " Citizen, pardon me, Captain ! I wanted to tell you 
 — that I am about to be married," said Catharine. 
 
 She was as rosy as a red-cheeked apple. Her bosom 
 heaved under her linen kerchief. Decidedly the cap- 
 tain made her lose her self-possession. 
 
 " Ah, you are going to marry ? " said Bonaparte,
 
 106 iftadam* gm$-(&tm. 
 
 coldly. " Well, so much the better for you, my girl. 
 I wish you much joy. I presume you are going to 
 marry some good fellow who keeps a laundry ? " 
 
 " No, Captain," said Catharine, quickly and coolly, 
 " a soldier, a sergeant." 
 
 " Ah, well ! You do well to marry a soldier, made- 
 moiselle," said Bonaparte, in a more friendly tone ; 
 41 to be a soldier is to be doubly a Frenchman. I wish 
 you good luck." 
 
 Bonaparte went back to his work, little interested in 
 the love-affairs of his laundress, but he could not help 
 smiling, as he looked at Catharine's plump figure, 
 which was radiant with health, and her cheeks were 
 so charmingly rosy, in fine contrast to her reserved 
 manner, and the hypocritical quiet she assumed when 
 she brought in his washing. 
 
 He was always fond of plump women, alike when he 
 was the thin and starved young officer and when he 
 was the nervous consul ; even as the stouter em- 
 peror, he always preferred to be surrounded by robust 
 figures. 
 
 Catharine's ruddy beauty drew him a moment from 
 his strategical preoccupation, 
 
 With a rather brutal gallantry which was usual with 
 him, he came quickly, toward the young laundress 
 and laid his heavy hand upon her neck. 
 
 Catharine gave a little shriek. 
 
 The future victor was not one to hesitate. He be- 
 gan the attack. 
 
 He redoubled his force, and caught Catharine, mak-
 
 Padame ^ang-Gkn*. 107 
 
 ing her retreat until she reached the bed, on which she 
 sat, and began to defend herself. 
 
 This she. did, without false modesty, without show- 
 ing herself at all frightened. 
 
 And Bonaparte, forgetting all about Toulon, seemed 
 anxious to hasten his work of getting near her, by 
 shortening the siege and assaulting the place at once. 
 She made an outwork of her basket, which she set before 
 her, like a gabion, saying to the surprised besieger, 
 " No, no, Captain ! It is too late ! You cannot take 
 me ! I have capitulated ! So my husband says." 
 
 " Really ? " said Bonaparte, stopping. " Then this 
 marriage is really serious ? " 
 
 " Very serious, and I came to tell you, besides an- 
 nouncing my marriage, that I cannot do your washing 
 any longer." 
 
 •• You will shut up shop, my pretty one ? " 
 
 " The shop would fare ill these days. And then, 
 too, I want to follow my husband ! " 
 
 " To the regiment ? " asked Bonaparte, amazed. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " I've seen that before." And, thinking of Rene"e, 
 who enlisted to be with Marcel, he said, " Ah, 
 the army has at present more than one family. So, 
 you, too, are going to learn to fire your ammunition, and 
 perhaps to manage a cannon," he said, in a teasing 
 tone. 
 
 " I can use a gun, Captain, and as for the cannon, 
 I should be glad to take lessons of you, but my husband 
 is in the infantry," she said, laughingly. " No, I shall
 
 108 paoam* gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 not fight, unless I have to do so, but they need canteen- 
 carriers in the regiments. I shall supply drink to my 
 husband's comrades ; and I hope to have your patron- 
 age, Captain, if you should serve with us." 
 
 " I shall write myself one of your customers, but not 
 just yet. The minister will not let me fight, nor — " He 
 was going to say " nor eat." But he thought better 
 of it, and simply closed his sentence with, — " nor spend 
 money at the canteen. That will do later — much 
 later, my girl," he added with a sigh. 
 
 And he returned to his table, a prey to sad thoughts. 
 Catharine, without saying a word, for she was dis- 
 turbed by the sadness of this young officer (whose story 
 she knew), began rapidly to arrange the clothes on the 
 bed as her client had bidden her. 
 
 Then, with a courtesy, she went to the door, opened 
 it and said, as if in thought, " Oh, I ruined one of your 
 shirts, by accident, and have replaced it — it is there 
 with the drawers and handkerchiefs. Au revoir, 
 Captain." 
 
 " Au revoir! Luck to your canteen, my pretty 
 girl," said Bonaparte, who was already deep in study. 
 
 As she came down the stairs of the H6tel de Metz, 
 Catharine said to herself: " I took him his bill, too ; 
 b«t I hadn't the courage to give it to him. Bah ! He'll 
 pay me some day — I believe in him — I am not like that 
 man Fouche\ I am sure he will make his way." 
 
 Later, she thought, laughing all alone, and put into 
 a good-humor by an amusing reminiscence, " How he 
 tormented me, that captain ! Oh, he had mixed up all
 
 Padam* j&miff-tifctM. 109 
 
 his papers, too. There was no harm in it. Why, it 
 amused him a little, and he has very few occasions to 
 romp, poor young man." 
 
 And she added, blushing a little, "If he had desired 
 it ! Oh, not now — at another time, before I was 
 promised to Lefebvre ! " 
 
 She stopped herself in the retrospective regret she 
 felt in regard to the thin, sad artillery officer. 
 
 Pursuing her train of thought she exclaimed, gayly, 
 " Really, he did not think of it, else he never would 
 have done it ! I must run and see if Lefebvre is at the 
 shop. He loves me well ! And I am sure he will make 
 me a better husband than Captain Bonaparte 
 would ! " 
 
 She had scarce entered her shop when cries and 
 shouts resounded through the street. She opened the 
 door to see what was going on. 
 
 The entire neighborhood was aroused. 
 
 Then she saw Lefebvre, without gun or buff-coat, but 
 bearing his sword in his hand, a weapon ornamented 
 with a golden dragon. 
 
 His comrades surrounded him, and seemed to be 
 carrying him in triumph with them. 
 
 "Catharine, I am a lieutenant," cried he, gayly, stop- 
 ping beside his betrothed. 
 
 " Long live Lieutenant Lefebvre," shouted the Na- 
 tional Guards, throwing up hats and guns. 
 
 " Add, my comrades," said the new Lieutenant, pre- 
 senting Catharine, " Long live Citizeness Lefebvre. for 
 here is my wife I We are to be married next week >
 
 no gjttadame gnn$-$tnt, 
 
 " Long live Citizeness Lefebvre ! " shouted the enthu- 
 siastic guards. 
 
 " Long live Madame Sans-GSne," responded the 
 crowd of neighbors. 
 
 " Why do they shout so loud ? " asked Catharine 
 softly of her husband, thinking of Neipperg, lying in 
 the next room. They will make our sick man — H 
 
 In the little room of the H6tel de Metz, meantime, the 
 penniless and unemployed artillery officer, having 
 finished with his map, arranged methodically on a deal 
 shelf the clothes Catharine had brought. 
 
 " Why 1 she left no bill," said the future emperor, 
 well satisfied with this oversight, for he would have had 
 to tell her he could not pay her. 
 
 He added, making a mental note of his debts, 
 
 " I must owe her at least thirty francs. The devil t 
 I must go and settle with her the first time I get some 
 money. She is a good girl, this Catharine, and I shall 
 not forget it ! " 
 
 And he dressed to go and dine with his friends the 
 Permons. 
 
 That little confidence made Napoleon, many years 
 after, speak kindly. 
 
 It was only after many years that she found, at a 
 most unexpected moment, the payment ofthat forgotten 
 wash-bill. 
 
 And those readers who wish to follow with us, will 
 find again in the following pages, Neipperg, Blanche^
 
 the Pretty Sergeant, Marcel, and little Henriot, and the 
 many escapades and adventures of Catharine, the laun- 
 dress, later the Marechale Lefebvre, then Duchess of 
 Dantzig, who was ever sympathetic and popular, a 
 good, jolly companion, heroic and charitable, bearing 
 the Parisian nickname of Madame Sans-Genc.
 
 BOOK SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN THE POST-CHAISE. 
 
 '* See, they will not stop ! See how the postilion . 
 makes his whip crack in passing L'Ecu ; he seemed not 
 to see us ! " 
 
 " Transient travellers are not numerous now-a- 
 days." 
 
 " We can see no more of them ! They go to the 
 Lion d'Or." 
 
 " Or to the Cheval Blanc." 
 
 Sighs alternated with these words, sadly exchanged 
 between the stout keeper of the hotel of L'Ecu and his 
 heavy wife on the threshold of the chief inn of Dam- 
 marten. 
 
 Passengers in coaches were rare after the events 
 which had followed the 20th of June. 
 
 The vehicle which had passed before the disappointed 
 eyes of the keepers of L'Ecu had left Paris early in the 
 evening. It was really the last which got safely over
 
 the border, for the order to hold all who wanted to 
 leave Paris was issued that night as soon as the reso- 
 lution to attack the Tuileries at dawn had been taken. 
 
 Informed by friends of that which was going on at 
 the sections, and of the movement which was coming, 
 the Baron de Lowendaal had postponed his marriage 
 with the daughter of the Marquis de Laveline, and had 
 hurriedly made ready to depart. 
 
 Being a farmer on a large scale, he feared the near 
 approach of confiscation by the national powers. The 
 Baron de Lowendaal scented danger. 
 
 The eve of August ioth, therefore, had seen him 
 jump into a post-chaise, accompanied by his factotum, 
 Leonard, carrying with him all the money he had been 
 able to collect, and ordering the driver to proceed, if 
 need be, with fresh relays of horses. 
 
 The baron travelled as one who feared for his life. 
 
 At Crgpy it became necessary to halt. The horses 
 could do no more. 
 
 Morning had followed night, and, across the plain 
 great day was driving away the clouds and lifting the 
 darkness. The last stars set in the blue vault of the 
 sky, where, on the side near Soissons, the sun rose. 
 
 The Baron de Lowendaal was going to his chateau, 
 near the village of Jemmapes, on the Belgian border. 
 Originally a Belgian, but become quite French, the 
 baron thought he would be secure there. The Revo- 
 lution would never spread to the Belgian territory ; 
 besides, the army of the Prince of Brunswick was as- 
 sembled on the frontier ; it would not be slow in bring* 
 8
 
 H4 Padam* gm$-(&cnt. 
 
 ing the " sans-culottes " to reason and in re-establishing 
 the king. 
 
 He had quitted France but for a short time, until 
 he should marry the Marquis de Laveline's charming 
 daughter. A little wedding tour ! 
 
 He had fixed the sixth of November for the solemni- 
 zation of his marriage, because he had to arrange a 
 considerable piece of business in the town of Verdun, 
 where he had a tobacco farm. 
 
 He had decided to leave Paris quickly, so as to be 
 sure of escaping should he be followed. His horses 
 were excellent and could not be overtaken. 
 
 He set out, after having arranged some protective 
 measures between himself and the patriots. 
 
 His nose at the curtain, he sniffed the morning air, 
 and when they had passed the first houses of Cr6py, 
 quite reassured, he ordered the driver to halt. 
 
 The latter obeyed very gladly. He had been sorry 
 to rush thus on the way without food for his beasts, 
 without a lamp, without a pleasant chat. He could 
 tell so much, too ! It was not every day that one could 
 see Paris arming itself and preparing to dislodge a king 
 from the palace of his fathers ! That was news, surely. 
 How one would be listened to and feasted who could 
 relate what passed at the sections ! 
 
 At the Hotel de la Poste they took a relay. 
 
 Whikr the host and his servants pressed round, offer- 
 ing the baron a bed, proposing breakfast, enumerating 
 the various refreshments, and turning about with an 
 uneasy air, the confidential clerk, Leonard, went off Cot
 
 Pattern* gM$-(&mt. 115 
 
 a moment under the pretext of seeing that no over- 
 inquisitive citizens were about. 
 
 After the attempted escape of the king at Varennes, 
 not only had the municipalities become more vigilant, 
 but everywhere there were men ambitious to rival the 
 glory of Drouet, who had had the honor to arrest Louis 
 XVI. Volunteers examined and searched every sus- 
 pected vehicle. A post-chaise appealed most strongly 
 to the vigilance of the patriots. 
 
 Happily for the baron, local patriotism had not yet 
 been aroused when his chaise made its noisy entrance 
 into the quiet town of Cre"py-en-Vak>is. 
 
 While the traveller sat down to table before an appe- 
 tizing cup of chocolate, brought hot by a buxom waitress, 
 Leonard had found his way into the stable. 
 
 There, by the light of a lantern, he sat down to read 
 the letter Mademoiselle de Laveline had given him at 
 parting. 
 
 Blanche had earnestly asked, adding to her prayer 
 two double Louis d'or, that he should not give that let- 
 ter, a very important one, until the baron was quite gone 
 from Paris. 
 
 Leonard, scenting a mystery whose discovery might 
 be turned to use, resolved to learn the contents of this 
 serious message. 
 
 " The secrets of masters may often bring the fortunes 
 of servants," he soliloquized. 
 
 He had noticed that this marriage, which pleased 
 the baron so much, seemed very distasteful to Made- 
 moiselle de Laveline.
 
 n6 Padame gm$-(&tm. 
 
 Perhaps in that letter, left in his care, he would find 
 a grave revelation from which he could draw much 
 profit. Surely, but with such care, that he could give 
 this strange missive its original aspect, he began to 
 open with his knife the seal, which he had warmed at 
 the lantern-flame. 
 
 He read, and his face expressed the greatest surprise 
 when he drew out the secret he had sought. 
 
 This was the contents of Blanche's letter : 
 
 " Monsieur le Baron : 
 
 " I owe you a guilty avowal, which I must make, that I 
 may dispel an illusion concerning me, which facts would 
 not take long to disclose. 
 
 " You have given me some affection, and you have 
 obtained my father's consent to a marriage in which 
 you have thought to find happiness, perhaps love. 
 
 " Good fortune cannot come to you from such a union ; 
 I could promise you no love, for my heart belongs to 
 another. Forgive me that I do not give you his name, 
 who possesses all my soul, and whose wife I consider 
 myself to be, before God ! 
 
 " I have a final revelation to make to you. I am a 
 mother, Monsieur le Baron, and death alone could part 
 me from my husband, the father of my little Henriot. 
 I shall follow M. de Laveline to Jemmapes, since he 
 desires it ; but I trust that, informed of the obstacle 
 which stands immovably against the fulfilment of your 
 plans, you will pity me and spare me the shame of 
 having to tell my father the real cause which makes 
 this union impossible. 
 
 •' I rely, monsieur, on your discretion as a gallant man. 
 Burn this letter and believe in my gratitude and my, 
 friendship. 
 
 " Blanche."
 
 g&adam* g*n$-<8tM. 117 
 
 Leonard, having read it, gave a cry of surprise and 
 joy. 
 
 " Whew ! There I can make a fortune," he said. 
 
 He turned the letter again and again in his hands, 
 as he closed it, as if trying to squeeze out of it, by 
 telling its secret, all the money he thought it contained. 
 
 " I thought there was something," he said with a 
 grin ; «« M. the baron wanted Mademoiselle Blanche, 
 and mademoiselle didn't want M. the baron. But I'd 
 never have imagined that Mademoiselle Blanche de 
 Laveline had a child — and I'd have supposed, still less, 
 that she would relate her escapade to M. the baron ! 
 What creatures women are ! She doesn't know, little 
 Miss Blanche, what she has done ! what folly ! The 
 stupidity was in committing the secret to paper. It is 
 well it was I." 
 
 He stopped ; replaced the letter, which had explained 
 matters, and in the half-light of the stable, he turned 
 it over in his hands saying, 
 
 " She wrote it herself. She can't deny the writing. 
 Oh, she is altogether too naive ! She might regret what 
 she has told in a moment of abandon and over-excite- 
 ment of nerves. Happily it is I to whom she has 
 confided the care of her honor and her fortune." 
 
 He hesitated a moment. Then putting the letter 
 into his pocket he added : 
 
 '* Mademoiselle Blanche will pay well some day, per- 
 haps — when she has become Baroness de Lowendaal — 
 that is sure to be — for the return of this letter ; so I 
 shall keep it and demand a good price to give it up."
 
 n8 Padmtw gm$-(&tm. 
 
 And Leonard laughed again, thinking of his gains. 
 
 '* Perhaps," he muttered, " I shall not be content with 
 money — I may ask more — or at least another reward, 
 for I, too, find Mademoiselle Blanche fair. But, at 
 present, I must simply guard well this proof, this 
 weapon — and encourage quietly my master's hopes, 
 who, more now than ever, must marry Mademoiselle 
 Blanche." 
 
 And Leonard, after buttoning his coat carefully, 
 felt, to be sure that tell-tale letter was there, and with 
 the deep and fierce joy of a usurer, guarded the paper 
 which might some day place in his hands the impru- 
 dent victim who had signed it. 
 
 He found the baron, on his return, a little uneasy, 
 though having breakfasted, because a crowd of curious 
 folk had assembled before the hotel, and were looking 
 at the chaise. He had asked twice to have the horses 
 put in. 
 
 Leonard explained his absence, by saying that he 
 had gone to see that nothing would hinder their de • 
 parture. 
 
 The baron was satisfied, and in high spirits he re- 
 entered his chaise, which rolled thundering over the 
 streets, now no longer the king's highway.
 
 Paflame %m$-®m. 119 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT THE FRUIT-SHOP. 
 
 At the door of her fruit-shop, in the Rue de Mon- 
 treuil, at Versailles, Mother Hoche managed to serve 
 her customers and to cast an occasional glance at a 
 little fellow, rosy and chubby, who played in the space 
 between piles of cabbage and heaps of carrots. 
 
 " Henriot ! Henriot ! Don't put that into your 
 mouth ! You'll make yourself ill," she cried from 
 time to time, as the little fellow attempted to suck at 
 a carrot or to eat a turnip. 
 
 And the good woman continued to attend to the 
 orders of the housekeepers, at the same time sighing, 
 " The little imp, what an appetite he has, and he must 
 handle everything ! But he's a sweet babe just the 
 same." 
 
 Then she added, turning to the customer she served 
 smilingly, " And with this, what else do you want ? " 
 
 Suddenly she stopped in her dainty work, which con- 
 sisted of measuring herbs for a country-woman who 
 was going to make a salad — she gave a loud cry of 
 surprise. 
 
 On the door-step, in front of a lieutenant — on whose 
 arm was a fresh and dainty young woman, in an or- 
 gandie gown, and with a high hat on her head — stood
 
 120 gKadame £m$-<&tnt. 
 
 a tall fellow with a proud air and a martial face, who 
 came toward her. 
 
 He wore a grenadier's uniform. He smiled and put 
 out his hand. 
 
 " Eh, well, Mother Hoche, don't you know me ? " he 
 asked, advancing quickly and embracing the good 
 woman, who stood moved and trembling with joy and 
 pride. 
 
 The customers, abashed, stood still and stared at the 
 cabriolet in which the young man and his two compan- 
 ions had come from Paris. They admired the new 
 uniform, the hat, the scarf, the belt and the shining 
 gold of the sabre of this young soldier. 
 
 And the neighbors murmured, " He is a captain." 
 
 " Ah, I know him well," said one of the best-informed 
 housekeepers, " he is little Lazare, the shopkeeper's 
 nephew, whom she has educated as a son ; we have 
 often seen him playing with the lads of his age at the 
 Place d'Armes, and now he's become a captain." 
 
 " Yes, my good Mother Hoche," said Lazare Hoche 
 to his excellent aunt, his adopted mother, " you see I 
 am captain. Ha ! It is a surprise ! named but yes- 
 terday, it is true. I vow I couldn't get here sooner. As 
 soon as I received my promotion I ran hither to em- 
 brace you. I wanted that you should be the first to 
 enjoy my rank, so I invited myself and my two friends 
 here." 
 
 And Hoche, turning, presented his two friends. 
 
 ** Francois Lefebvre, lieutenant, a companion of mine 
 in the French Guard. A good fellow ! He is, besides.
 
 ptadam* £»ttjg-<$nt*. 121 
 
 the man who took me to get my arms," said Hoche, 
 tapping his companion's shoulder familiarly. 
 
 " And now you are my superior," said Lefebvre 
 gayly. 
 
 " Oh, you will overtake me ! You may even leave 
 me far behind ! War is a lottery in which all the world 
 can draw a good number ! The only condition is to 
 live ; but let me finish my introductions. Mother, this 
 is the good Catharine, Comrade Lefebvre's wife," said 
 Hoche, introducing to the market-woman the ex-laun- 
 dress of the Rue Royale-Saint-Roch. 
 
 Catharine took two steps forward rapidly, without 
 ceremony, and embraced the market-woman, who 
 kissed her warmly on both cheeks. 
 
 " Now," said Hoche, " that you know each other, we 
 will leave you a moment, mother." 
 
 " What, are you going ? " exclaimed the good woman, 
 displeased. '* It was not worth the trouble of coming 
 for this." 
 
 " Be easy, we must go away a little while. Lefebvre 
 and I have some people — officers — waiting for us," re- 
 plied Hoche, winking to his companion to warn him to 
 be silent. " But we are coming back ; it will not take 
 us long, I fancy. Meantime, you will prepare us a 
 ragout such as you alone, mother, know how to cook." 
 
 "Of goose and turnips, eh, laddie ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is delicious ; and then Catharine wants to 
 talk to you about the little chap who is looking at us 
 with such wide-open eyes as he sits there ! " 
 
 " Little Henriot ? " asked the woman, surprised.
 
 i22 Padam* £an.*-<5m. 
 
 " Yes," Catharine interposed. " I must talk to you, 
 my good woman, about little Henriot, on whose ac- 
 count I am here, else I had let Lefebvre come alone 
 with Captain Hoche. They did not need me for their 
 business in the woods of Satory. I must see you about 
 the little one." 
 
 " Well, we will talk about the child, and you can 
 help me scrape the turnips," said the woman, " and 
 then we will kill a chicken, with a stuffed omelette ; it 
 will suit you, eh, lads ? " 
 
 " That stuffed omelette will be famous," said Hoche 
 to Lefebvre. " Mother makes it so well ! Come, 
 Francois, we must leave these two to talk and cook. 
 Later, ladies ! We are being waited for now ! " 
 
 And the two friends went to the mysterious trysting- 
 place, of which Catharine seemed to know something. 
 
 The two women, left alone, began preparations for 
 the meal. 
 
 While shelling peas and helping to pick the chicken, 
 Catharine told the market-woman that she had come to 
 take the child to his mother, and that that was the rea- 
 son of her coming. 
 
 The good woman was much moved. She had be- 
 come much attached to Henriot. He reminded her of 
 Lazare, when he had played, a little lad, on the door- 
 step. 
 
 Catharine also told her that her husband was going 
 away, whence arose the haste in taking away Blanche 
 de Laveline's boy. 
 
 "Where is he going ?•" asked Mother Hoche.
 
 Padame ^an.s-i&ene. 123 
 
 " Why ! to the frontier, where they are fighting. 
 Lefebvre will be made captain ! " 
 
 " Like Lazare ! " 
 
 "Yes, in the 13th Light Infantry. He has been 
 ordered to go to Verdun." 
 
 " Well, your husband is going to the army, and why 
 can't little Henriot stay here ? You can see him just 
 as often as you like, and you can come for him at the 
 last moment when he has to be taken to his mother ! " 
 
 "There's a little difficulty," laughed Catharine, " and 
 that is, that I am going with Lefebvre." 
 
 " To the regiment ? You, my pretty girl ? " 
 
 "Yes, to the 13th, Mother Hoche! I have in my 
 pocket my commission as canteen-bearer ! " 
 
 Catharine smiled to the child, who had not stopped 
 looking at her, with the deep and fixed glance of child- 
 hood, which seems to ponder and to engrave on the 
 young mind all it sees, hears, touches, learns. 
 
 Then she drew from her bosom a great official docu- 
 ment, signed and sealed with the seal of the War- 
 office. She showed it triumphantly to the older wo- 
 man, saying, " You see, I have a regular commission ! 
 and I must rejoin my detachment in eight hours, at the 
 latest; it is necessary to deliver Verdun. Down there, 
 there are royalists conspiring with Brunswick, and we 
 are going to root them out," added the new cantiniere. 
 
 Mother Hoche looked at her with surprise. " What I 
 You are cantiniere, there," she said shaking her head ; 
 then looking almost enviously at Sans-Ge'ne she added, 
 " Ah ! it's a fine thing. I should have loved to do such
 
 i24 Padame £att0-(5m. 
 
 a thing too, in my time ! One marches to the beat of 
 the drum ! — one sees the country — one always carries 
 joy about with one — the soldier is at his best beside the 
 canteen ! He forgets his misery, and dreams of being 
 a general or a corporal. And then, on the day of 
 battle, one can feel that one is not a useless woman, 
 good only for idle tears and stupid fear at the sound ol 
 the cannonade ! One is part of the army, and from 
 line to line one travels, giving to the defenders of the 
 nation, heroism and courage, in a little glass, for just 
 two sous. The eau-de-vie which the cantiniere carries 
 is fire as well, and her little cask has more than once 
 helped to decide the victory. How I admire you, and 
 how much I'd like to be like you, girl. Really, were I 
 younger, I would ask to go with my dear Lazare, as 
 you are going with Lefebvre. But the child ? What 
 will you do with little Henriot in the midst of a camp, 
 during engagements, in the fire of battle ? " 
 
 " As cantiniere of the 13th, I have a right to a horse 
 and wagon. We have already bought one, by dint of 
 economy," said Catharine proudly ; " I sold out my 
 laundry ; and Lefebvre, when he married, received a 
 small sum, that came as inheritance from his father, 
 the miller at Ruffach, very near my home, in Alsace. 
 Oh, we will want for nothing. And the little lad will be 
 made as much of as a general's son. Won't you have 
 such a fine time, you'll not be sorry you came with us ? " 
 she said to the boy, as she lifted him up and kissed 
 him. 
 
 Just then the sound of footsteps was heard ; and
 
 Padam* gm&-(&tnt. 125 
 
 the child, quite frightened, hid his head on Catharine's 
 shoulder, shrieking 
 
 Hoche entered, leaning on Lefebvre arm. 
 
 He wore a bloody handkerchief, as a bandage, hiding 
 half his face. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, mother," he called from the 
 door. " If's nothing ! Only a cut which won't keep 
 me from my meal," he added gayly. 
 
 " O God ! You are wounded ! What has hap- 
 pened?" cried Mother Hoche. "You have taken him 
 to a place where they tried to kill him, Lieutenant 
 Lefebvre ! " 
 
 Hoche began to laugh, and said, " Mother, don't 
 accuse Lefebvre ! He acted as my witness in an affair 
 that is now over. A duel with a colleague. I tell you 
 again, it's nothing." 
 
 " 1 was quite sure you wouldn't be much hurt," said 
 Catharine ; " but he " 
 
 Hoche did not answer. He was busy quieting his 
 adopted mother, and in getting water to bathe a bleed- 
 ing cut on his face, which crossed his forehead and 
 stopped just above his nose. 
 
 " Hoche has been as valiant as ever," said Lefebvre. 
 " Just fancy, long ago in the Guards, and later in the 
 militia, a lieutenant, named Serre, who is, by all odds, 
 the worst fellow in any company, — he had been after 
 Hoche, on account of a racket made in a tavern, where 
 Lazare happened to be treating some of his old com- 
 rades. This fellow reported Lazare — he had had him 
 put into a cell for three months, for refusing to give the
 
 i26 gftadame g%n$-(&tnt. 
 
 names of the men who were being sought — and when 
 he came from prison, a meeting was decided between 
 Serre and Lazare. You must know that Serre had a 
 reputation as a swordsman — he was the terror of the 
 quarter — had killed or wounded several men in duel- 
 ling." 
 
 " It was risky to fight that fellow," said mother 
 Hoche, quite upset by the thought of her dear Lazare's 
 danger. 
 
 " But," said Lefebvre, " the duel could not come off, 
 for Lazare was only a lieutenant, and Serre was a 
 captain " 
 
 " They have fought now " 
 
 *• Yes, since he had become the equal of his op- 
 ponent." 
 
 " But he who is so brave, so agile, how did he happen 
 to get that dreadful cut ? " 
 
 " In a very simple way, mother," laughed Hoche ; 
 " I am a poor duellist, for I believe that a soldier leaves 
 his post who risks his life in a personal quarrel ; yet, 
 I could not remain quiet under the threats and insults 
 of that cad — he ill-treated the recruits, and had insulted 
 the wife of an absent friend." 
 
 Lefebvre took Hoche's hand and pressed it warmly, 
 saying, with tears in his eyes, " That last was for me, 
 It was for us he fought ! " he added, turning to Catharine. 
 " It was he, this man Serre, who pretended that- 
 you had a lover hidden in your room on the ioth of 
 August." 
 
 " The monster ! " cried Catharine, furious, " where is
 
 Padame ^awe-Gkn*. 127 
 
 he ? Presently he'll have an affair with me ! But tell 
 me where is the wretch ? " 
 
 " In the hospital — with a sword-thrust in his vitals. 
 He's there for at least six months. If he gets well I 
 shall perhaps meet him again, and I will settle for him 
 at one time, both on Hoche's account and on my 
 own." 
 
 " We shall have other use for our swords, Friend 
 Lefebvre," said Hoche, emphatically. " The fatherland, 
 is in danger ; we must leave personal rancor — my 
 adversary had calumniated, had insulted me — besides, 
 he had insinuated that I had asked to be sent to the 
 army of the North, so that I might flee ; therefore, 
 despite my repugnance, I had to take a sword, and 
 show that cad that he couldn't frighten decent men, and I 
 have given him a lesson that will last him. Now, let 
 us talk of other things, and if the ragout is ready, let 
 us sit down." 
 
 " But that wound ? " said the mother, anxiously, as 
 she set upon the table a meal from which arose a 
 pleasant odor. 
 
 " Bah," said Hoche, lightly, sitting down and un. 
 folding his napkin, " the Austrians and Russians will 
 doubtless give me some more s and one cut more or 
 less will be of no consequence ; besides, it is dry now, 
 see ! " 
 
 And lightly he lifted the handkerchief which bound 
 his head, and showed the wound, which, later, was a 
 deep scar on the martial countenance of the future gen* 
 eral of Sambre-et-Meuse.
 
 i28 gHadam* £att$i-<6*itt. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 THE YOUNG LADY OF SAINT-CYR. 
 
 The meal over, Mother Hoche and Catharine got 
 everything ready for little Henriot's departure. 
 
 They found his holiday clothes, which were packed 
 into a trunk, and into which the good woman put also 
 boxes of sweetmeats, little cakes and candies. 
 
 The child helped greatly, well pleased with these 
 preparations. 
 
 Childhood loves change ! And wondering at the 
 gold-hilt on Hoche's sword, with which he played, 
 young Henriot began to enjoy the prospect of going 
 away. He saw, already, the joy of travelling. And 
 besides, he said to himself, that where they were going 
 to take him there would be soldiers, very many soldiers, 
 exercising, and that they would surely let him play 
 with the hilts of all their swords, and he would live 
 among them. 
 
 He forgot all about the tenderness and the care of good 
 Mother Hoche ! Far from being sad, the idea of going 
 away, lar away, was anything but disagreeable. 
 Childhood is ungrateful, and its innocence is admirable, 
 yet it goes hand in hand with an all-pervading selfish- 
 ness, perhaps necessary and most useful, which pro- 
 tects and strengthens the weak creature and makes it
 
 Pate* £att$-<S*tte. 129 
 
 concentrate upon itself its attention, its instinct of 
 self-preservation, and its desire to live. 
 
 Hoche and Lefebvre, letting the women go, sat astride 
 their chairs, talking of the revolution which was begun, 
 of the war which was rising at all points on the frontier. 
 
 They had gone out of the shop, taking up a position 
 against the fence of the fruit-shop, on the Montreuil road. 
 Glad to be alive, full of the joy of youth, with hopes in their 
 hearts and valor in their eyes, these two heroes, prom- 
 ised to the army of the Republic, sat, after eating 
 Mother Hoche's excellent meal, smoking, laughing and 
 watching the passers-by. 
 
 This Montreuil, to-day called the Avenue de Saint- 
 Cloud, was the great highway for foot-passengers from 
 Paris : farmers, soldiers, and villagers. 
 
 For the sake of economy, many quiet travellers took 
 the river-boat to la Samaritaine, at the Pont Neuf, and 
 from the Sevres bridge went a-foot to and from Ver- 
 sailles. 
 
 Among the going and coming of these humble peo- 
 ple, Lefebvre suddenly espied a thin young man with 
 long hair, whose worn uniform was that of the 
 artillery. 
 
 The passer-by, who seemed in a hurry, accom- 
 panied a young girl in a black gown who carried a 
 small box in her hand. 
 
 Both seemed pensive, as they walked along the road. 
 
 Lefebvre, looking at them attentively, suddenly ex- 
 claimed, "If I'm not much mistaken, that's Captain 
 Bonaparte " 
 9
 
 130 Padame ^attjs-Gfotw. 
 
 •• Who's Bonaparte ? " asked Hoche. 
 
 " A good Republican ! An excellent artilleryman, 
 and a warm Jacobin," replied Lefebvre. " He is 
 a Corsican, and it seems they took away his commission 
 for his opinions. They are all aristocrats, run by priests, 
 on that island ! But I'll go and ask my wife, she knows 
 more about it than I do." 
 
 He called Catharine, who came in great surprise. 
 
 "What does he want, my husband?" she said, 
 placing her hands on her ample hips, a favorite attitude, 
 of which all her dancing-masters, Despreaux and all, 
 had much trouble in breaking her when she became 
 marchioness and duchess. 
 
 " Was not that Captain Bonaparte who passed down 
 the road there, with that young girl," asked Lefebvre. 
 
 " Yes, I'd know him in a million, not because he 
 owes me money, either ! But I like Captain Bonaparte. 
 What can he be doing with a girl at Versailles ! Have 
 you any idea, Lefebvre ? " 
 
 " Call him, my dear Catharine ! " 
 
 " Suppose we ask them to stop and refresh themselves, 
 the girl, too ! It is warm and the road is dusty ! " 
 
 Lefebvre, with the consent of Hoche, rose, and ran 
 down the road, and overtook the captain and his com- 
 panion. He gave them the invitation. 
 
 Bonaparte's first movement was to refuse. He was 
 never warm nor thirsty. And besides, he and the girl 
 whom he escorted had no time to lose, as they wanted 
 to take the boat to Sevres, and it left in an hour. 
 
 " Bah ! There's another in five hours," said Lefebvre,
 
 *' and mademoiselle would perhaps not be sorry to rest 
 a moment," he added, turning to the young girl. 
 
 She intimated that she would be glad to have a glass 
 of water. 
 
 So Bonaparte followed Lefebvre. They brought 
 out into the street a table and chairs, placing them in 
 the shade, and then out came glasses and bottles of 
 good acid wine, like gooseberry syrup. 
 
 They drank to the nation, and Bonaparte, growing 
 cheerful, presented his sister Marie-Anne, better known 
 under the name of Elisa, who was destined to wed 
 Felix Bacceoche", and become successively Princess of 
 Piombino and Lucques, and afterwards Grand Duchess 
 of Tuscany. 
 
 Elisa, whose continual ugliness became, like that of 
 her sisters, very trying to Napoleon, and who was 
 always cross amid her greatness, ever anxious to see 
 her little daughters married to kings, was now sixteen 
 years old. She did not dream of her great future nor 
 of its consequent envious traits. 
 
 She was a tall girl, dark and slender, with a sallow 
 complexion, long, heavy black hair, very sensual lips, 
 a rather prominent chin, a perfectly oval head, and 
 eyes deep and' full of intelligence. Her look was full of 
 pride, and her eye took in disdainfully the plain men 
 with whom she had to sit down before a fruit-shop. 
 
 Elisa was one of those young ladies of Saint-Cyr, 
 whose education, conducted on Madame de Maintenon's 
 rules, was paid for by the royal treasury, and who 
 thought herself directly descended from Jupiter.
 
 132 gfladame ^ans-tae. 
 
 A decree, on August 16th, had suppressed the edu- 
 cational institute at Saint-Cyr, as a royalist house- 
 hold. 
 
 Parents had had to take their daughters away 
 quickly, and the house was soon empty. 
 
 Bonaparte, for lack of money, had been slow to take 
 his sister from the deserted convent. 
 
 It was necessary that the house should be emptied 
 by September 1st. 
 
 On the advice of her brother, Elisa had addressed 
 a letter to the director of Versailles, asking for the 
 sum necessary to send her home. 
 
 M. Aubrun, at that time Mayor of Versailles, issued 
 the following certificate : that Mademoiselle Marie- 
 Anne Bonaparte, born January 3, 1777, entered June 22, 
 1784, as pupil in the school of Saint-Louis, was still 
 there, and needed a sum of three hundred and fifty- 
 two livres to return to Ajaccio, the residence of her 
 family. 
 
 By virtue of this authorization, Bonaparte had gone 
 to Versailles that morning to get his sister. He was 
 taking her with him to Paris, to send her to Corsica. 
 
 Lefebvre and Hoche congratulated the captain upon 
 having been able to end so nicely this family matter. 
 
 Bonaparte told them also that the opportunity for 
 asking his sister's return to her family, had opened the 
 way for him to ask for his re-instatement in the army. 
 
 "Then," said Hoche interestedly, "you will be able 
 to rejoin your regiment, too ! " 
 
 " The minister of war has re-instated me in the 4th
 
 Padam* gm$-(&m. 133 
 
 Artillery, with my rank as captain," said Bonaparte, 
 ■ but I am going to take my sister to Corsica. There, 
 • I am authorized to take command of my regiment of 
 volunteers." 
 
 "Good luck, comrade," said Hoche, " there may be 
 fighting there too." 
 
 " There will be fighting everywhere," was the re- 
 joinder. 
 
 " It is a pity that one is not able to kill them on two 
 sides at one time," said Catharine, enthusiastically. 
 
 " Ah, if circumstances favor me, my friends," said 
 Bonaparte, emphatically, " I will find you occasions to 
 perish with honor, or to reap commissions, titles, glory, 
 dignities, riches, in the harvest of victory. But excuse 
 us, my sister and me, it is growing late, and we must 
 go on foot to Sevres." 
 
 " And we, before we betake ourselves to deliver 
 Verdun, which the Prussians threaten, must go back to. 
 Paris, to take this future soldier," said Catharine, gayly r 
 pointing to little Henriot, who stood dressed, ready to 
 go. The child looked impatiently at these people who 
 delayed and stood around without getting ready and 
 deciding to start out. 
 
 "We may meet again, Captain Bonaparte," said 
 Hoche, giving his hand to his colleague. 
 
 " On the road to glory," said Lefebvre. 
 
 " To get there," added Bonaparte, laughing, " I must 
 get the boat at the Sevres bridge. Come, Mademoiselle 
 de Saint-Louis," he said, pointing to the horizon, and 
 calling his sister.
 
 134 Madame £att0-<8etw. 
 
 The two talked on the road. 
 
 " How did you like that captain," asked Bonaparte. 
 
 " Captain Lefebvre ? " 
 
 " No, not he. He's married. His wife is that pretty 
 Catharine — but the other — Lazare Hoche ? " 
 
 " He's not at all bad ! " 
 
 ■* How would you like him for a husband ? " 
 
 The future grand duchess blushed and made an 
 impatient movement. 
 
 " Oh, you don't like him," said her brother, quickly, 
 interpreting as a refusal that slight movement. " It's 
 a pity. Hoche is a good soldier and a man of the 
 future." 
 
 "I haven't said that M. Hoche displeases me," said 
 Elisa, *' but, my brother, I am rather young to think of 
 marrying, and besides " 
 
 " Besides what ? " 
 
 " I wouldn't have a man who was not devoted to the 
 king. No, I shall never marry a republican ! " 
 
 " You are a royalist ? " 
 
 " Everybody at Saint-Cyr was." 
 
 " That's what justifies the decree of closing it," said 
 Bonaparte, smiling. " Why, what aristocrats the young 
 girls become at Saint-Louis ! We'll have to re-establish 
 the entire nobility to find husbands for them." 
 
 *' Why not ? " said the proud Elisa. 
 
 Bonaparte raised his eyebrows, and did not again 
 allude to his sister's ambitious suggestion. 
 
 Elisa's reply did not shock him. But he was disturbed 
 by great visions.
 
 Padame $an£-<S*iw. 135 
 
 " Then," he thought, " despite her education at Saint- 
 Louis, one could easily find her a husband. These 
 little girls think anything possible ! Without dowry, 
 and with brothers who have no standing, ah, it would 
 be very hard ! " 
 
 Ever haunted by the spectre of family, seeing ever 
 the lamentable vision of his mother, Letizia, surrounded 
 by her large family, before a fireplace ever dark, with 
 a larder often empty, he felt himself growing afraid of 
 the responsibility he had assumed in declaring himself 
 the head of the family. 
 
 The future of his three sisters tormented and weighed 
 upon him. 
 
 He was anxious to see them settled, and looked about 
 to find husbands for them. 
 
 He had met Hoche that day : he need not have been 
 angry with himself for suggesting him to the pupil 
 from Saint-Cyr. True, Hoche was only a captain, 
 but one could predict that he would surely rise. 
 
 He murmured, irritably, as he considered his sister's 
 refusal. " There are men who, as captains, wouldn't 
 marry a penniless girl — what has she to risk ? " 
 
 But, he added, in answer to a secret thought, in his 
 heart, " Captains should marry, if they find a rich, in- 
 fluential, agreeable woman, who can be useful to their 
 relatives, give them position, and a place in the world, 
 but it is not to young girls they should address them- 
 selves." 
 
 Considering marriage as a means of helping his 
 family from their never-ending want, he would not
 
 136 Padanw £M$-(&tnt. 
 
 have to go far to find in a union, however dispropor- 
 tionate, a refuge against poverty, an instrument of 
 fortune, a step by which he could rise from a miserable 
 captain's rank ; and how easily he could conquer such 
 a position if need be ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BONAPARTE'S FIRST DEFEAT. 
 
 Next day, after having secured the money allowed 
 to the young lady from Saint-Cyr to return to her fam- 
 ily, Bonaparte went with his sister to Madame Permon. 
 
 He wanted to present his sister to her before her 
 departure for Corsica. 
 
 Another project led him, at the same time, to his 
 friend's widow. 
 
 Madame Permon, mother of the future Duchess of 
 Abrantes, was a Greek by birth, had lived in Corsica, 
 and was still a very handsome woman. 
 
 Her coquetry made her deny her age, and, light, 
 frivolous, knowing how to dress, and to move, in a 
 time when luxury was both expensive and dangerous ; 
 surrounded with the pretty trifles of the Louis XV. 
 period, with artistic furniture from that dainty and 
 sensual epoch, she seemed, to the poor young Corsican, 
 a queen of grace and elegance. 
 
 He saw her surrounded by all these attractions, and 
 her regal bearing, which had always charmed him, hid
 
 $tadam* £att0-Gktt*. 13? 
 
 from his poor, but loving gaze, the wrinkles already 
 visible, and the avoirdupois which usually comes with 
 years. 
 
 The Permons had, too, a fine fortune. Bonaparte, 
 who in days gone by had often sat with Junot, Marmont, 
 and Bourrienne. at their table, supposed that the widow 
 had a tidy sum still. 
 
 These considerations decided him to attempt a double 
 march. 
 
 Leaving Elisa with Laure, Madame Permon's elder 
 daughter, he accompanied the lady into a little parlor, 
 and proposed to her to marry her young son. 
 
 And when Madame Permon asked curiously to whom 
 he proposed allying her son, he said, " To my sister, 
 Elisa." 
 
 " But she is so young," said Madame Permon, "and 
 I know that my son does not now think of marrying." 
 
 Bonaparte bit his lip and then answered, •• Perhaps 
 my sister, Paulette, who is very pretty, would please him 
 better. And," he added, " that it could easily be ar- 
 ranged to marry Laure Permon to one of his brothers, 
 Louis or Jerome." 
 
 " Jerome is younger than Laure," said Madame Per- 
 mon, laughing. " Really, my dear Napoleon, you are 
 a great priest, to-day — you want to marry all the world, 
 even the children." 
 
 Bonaparte affected to laugh, and said, in a rather 
 embarrassed tone, that really the marriage of his family 
 was one of his greatest trials. 
 
 Then, catching Madame Permon's hand suddenly, he
 
 138 ptadamc £Htt£-6ftt*. 
 
 amprinted on it two burning kisses, saying that he had 
 decided to begin the union of the two families, his 
 •dearest dream, by marrying her, as soon as convention- 
 ality, on account of her recent bereavement, would 
 permit. 
 
 Stunned, by finding herself the object of this unex- 
 pected devotion, she knew not what to do ; she began 
 to laugh in the face of the suppliant. 
 
 Bonaparte seemed hurt by her hilarity, but Madame 
 Permon hastened to explain. 
 
 " My dear Napoleon," she said, taking a most ma- 
 ternal tone, " let us be serious ; you do not know my 
 age ! Ah, you did not guess at it even. I shall not 
 tell it you, because it is one of my little foibles to hide 
 it ; but I shall tell you that I am old enough to be your 
 mother, or Joseph's, who is your elder brother. Let us 
 leave this nonsense. It hurts me, coming from you." 
 
 " I was not playing," said Bonaparte, in a hurt tone, 
 " and I did not know that I asked what was so laugh- 
 able. I care not for the age of the woman I shall 
 marry. Besides, without flattering you, you seem no 
 older than thirty." 
 
 "I'm much older than that." 
 
 " I don't care — to me you are young and fair," cried 
 Bonaparte, ardently, " and you are the woman I have 
 dreamed of as a companion." 
 
 '* And if I do not consent to such folly, what will you 
 do?" 
 
 " I shall seek elsewhere the happiness you refuse 
 me," said Bonaparte, emphatically. " I shall marry,"
 
 he added, after a moment of reflection. '* My friends 
 lave selected for me a woman as charming as your- 
 lelf — about your age — whose name and birth are most 
 honorable. I shall marry, I say ! Reflect ! " 
 
 Madame Permon had little to reflect on. Her heart 
 was not her own. She loved secretly a cousin of hers, 
 a great rogue called Stephanopolis. She had intro- 
 duced him to Bonaparte, and wanted to make him 
 enter the Convention's Guard, which was being formed. 
 
 For this fellow, who later died prosaically in stupidly 
 cutting a corn on his foot, she refused the offer of Bona- 
 parte and gained his ill-feeling. 
 
 On what threads do destinies hang ! Married to 
 Madame Permon, Bonaparte might never have become 
 general-in-chief of the Italian army, might have served 
 unknown in the artillery, going through war without 
 glory. 
 
 Bonaparte, in that conversation, had manifested a 
 desire to marry advantageously, to espouse a wealthy 
 woman, who could facilitate his entrance into active 
 life, and open for him the way to great society, now 
 debarred, but which he was ready to enter proudly, 
 though now he saw it but from afar. 
 
 The double refusal of Madame Permon was destined 
 to make of the pupil of Saint-Cyr the Princess of Piom- 
 bino, and the future General Bonaparte the husband oi 
 Josephine.
 
 14° gftadam* j&utt-Gfcn*. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE SIEGE OF VERDUN. 
 
 M. DE Lowendaal had hurried to shorten the dis- 
 tance between Cr6py-en-Valois and Verdun. 
 
 He had gone at once to the Court-house. 
 
 Two great interests had combined to carry him to 
 the scene of war, and to come into a city that might at 
 any moment be taken. 
 
 It was necessary to collect his money and do it cau- 
 tiously, for opposite the town of Verdun lay his tobacco- 
 farm. 
 
 And another grave care made the baron's coming to 
 Verdun necessary. 
 
 He wanted, on the eve of marrying Blanche de Lave- 
 line, to rid himself of a tie now insupportable to him, 
 and to break away from a love of some years standing. 
 
 He had met, at Verdun, a young girl of good family, 
 but no fortune, who had come from Angers to enter a 
 convent. 
 
 Mademoiselle Herminie de Beaurepaire had not yet 
 taken her vows. She was not yet initiated. She had 
 resigned herself to the taking of the veil, so that her 
 brother might take his place in the world and get a 
 company together.
 
 gttiutame £m$-(&m. 141 
 
 The Baron de Lowendaal had had no trouble in 
 turning Herminie from the cloister. 
 
 Called to Paris by the care which his great wealth 
 required, the baron soon forgot all about poor Herminie. 
 
 Intoxicated with a love for Blanche de Laveline, he 
 was more than indifferent to the girl who looked for 
 him with alternating hope and fear, in the sadness of 
 an old-fashioned house with a rich, but invalid old 
 aunt. 
 
 Perplexed, the baron asked himself what sort of ex- 
 planation he could make to her who considered herself 
 his wife — revolving the question from the moment the 
 chaise left the gates of France, on the Chalons road. 
 
 He must absolutely cut loose and let Herminie un- 
 derstand that she could count no more upon him. 
 
 He crossed the town anxiously, for the strangest and 
 most contradictory stories were afloat ; and went di- 
 rectly to the chief attorney, of whom he made his 
 demand. 
 
 He said that the finances of Verdun were in such a 
 condition that no payment whatever could be made. 
 
 But the magistrate added, taking on a mysterious 
 air, " There is, Monsieur le Baron, one chance for you 
 to reimburse yourself." 
 
 "What is it ?" asked Lowendaal quickly. 
 
 " If we have no money," said the man, " the Emperor 
 of Austria has, and if peace could be maintained, if 
 the hoVrors of a siege could be spared to this unfortu- 
 nate town — then, I could answer for your reimburse- 
 ment, Monsieur le Baron."
 
 t42 Padame &M$-<&mt. 
 
 The baron hesitated to reply. 
 
 Cosmopolitan, like all financiers, it made little dif- 
 ference to him whether his money came from the 
 French King or the Austrian Emperor. 
 
 He was not troubled by patriotic scruples. 
 
 He experienced no indignation, on hearing the magi- 
 strate suggest his betraying the town to the enemy. 
 
 The baron asked if the attorney were exactly in- 
 formed, if he were sure that the troops of the Prussian 
 King and the Austrian Emperor, masters of Verdun, 
 would be able to guard the town and preserve it against 
 the attack of the volunteers who were coming. 
 
 He calculated at once the chances which the pro- 
 posed bargain presented. 
 
 After having reviewed the various chances which the 
 affair presented, he asked about the re-enforcements 
 which were supposed to be coming from Paris to 
 Verdun. 
 
 " They will come too late," said the attorney. 
 
 ** Then, I'm your man," exclaimed the baron. 
 
 «' Well ! You came rapidly from Paris ? You spoke 
 to no one ? " 
 
 " I was really in a great hurry ! " 
 
 " Have you with you a discreet person, a good 
 boaster ? " 
 
 " Discreet ! Able to keep a secret ? " 
 
 «• And boastful ; that is, capable of spreading some 
 apparently improbable reports." # 
 
 «« I have the very man — Leonard, my valet. What 
 must he kee silence about ? "
 
 gttadame $m$-$tM. 143 
 
 «' Our projects." 
 
 " He shall not know them." 
 
 " Then he will surely be silent. The secrets one 
 does not know are easily kept." 
 
 " And how is he to show himself a talker ? " 
 
 «« On the news from Paris — the city in the hands of 
 brigands — the royal authority ready to descend, at the 
 approach of the Prussian and Austrian armies, and re- 
 take the power, and chase off the rebels." 
 
 " Is that all ? Leonard does not love the sans-cu- 
 lottes, and will readily attend to that mission." 
 
 " Your Leonard might add that he has, from a good 
 source, the news that eighty thousand English are com- 
 ing to land at Brest and march upon Paris." 
 
 " And the object of spreading these alarms ? " 
 
 "To justify our action of to-night." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " Here. We are to assemble the principal citizens 
 and dictate the terms of their answer to the Duke of 
 Brunswick. You are ours ?" he said. 
 
 " You have my promise, as I have yours, for the repay- 
 ment of my confidence." 
 
 " Between honest men, Monsieur le Baron, one needs 
 but one word," and he took his hand. 
 
 So the two conspirators parted ; one to send Leonard 
 to spread alarmist reports among the people, the other 
 to cement secret adhesions to his proposed treason.
 
 i44 gttadame £att0-<$flw. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ON THE MARCH. 
 
 On the way to Verdun, the volunteers of Mayenne- 
 et-Loire were happy, as, accompanied by a detachment 
 of the 13th Light Infantry, in which Francois Lefebvre 
 served as a lieutenant with captain's orders, they 
 marched and sang. 
 
 Enthusiasm sparkled in their eyes, the desire for con- 
 quest filled their hearts. 
 
 They passed through villages where women stood, 
 their children around them, as in a procession, and the 
 volunteers threw kisses to them. To the men they 
 promised that they would conquer or die. They went, 
 strong, confident, inspiring, to the shrill sound of the fife, 
 and the martial roll of the drum ; the tri-color flapped, 
 with joyous motion, in the wind, and the very soul of 
 patriotism was in their midst. 
 
 All, on quitting their native land, had made over 
 their property to their people, declaring that they might 
 already be numbered with the dead. 
 
 And these heroes went, with songs on their lips, to 
 die for their country, — a death which seemed for them 
 the fairest, and most desirable. 
 
 On the way, to shorten the long marches, they sang
 
 patlame ^aws-ta*. 145 
 
 to the music of the Carmagnole, some innocent and 
 |olly lay, like " La Gamelle," 
 
 " My friends, pray can you tell me, 
 Why all so gay, are we ? 
 
 Because that meal is best, 
 
 That's eaten with a jest. 
 We mess together always, 
 
 Long live the sound ! 
 We mess together always, 
 
 Long live the cauldron's sound I " 
 
 The refrain was carried along the line and the rear, 
 guard answered — 
 
 " Naught of coldness, naught of pride here, 
 Only friendship maketh high cheer. 
 
 Yes, without fraternity, 
 
 There is never gayety. 
 Let us mess together, lads, 
 
 Long live the sound ! 
 Let us mess together, lads, 
 
 Long live the cauldron's sound I " 
 
 As they neared Verdun, whose towers overlooked 
 the wooded plain, the commander, Beaurepaire, called 
 a halt. 
 
 He was anxious to observe the surroundings of the 
 place. 
 
 The Prussians were not far off; and, after recent 
 events, it was wise to beware of ambuscades. 
 
 On an elevation, amid the trees, well shut-In and 
 invisible from the town, the little army encamped 
 10
 
 146 Patlamc £m$-(&tnt. 
 
 They overlooked a verdant gorge, at whose foot 
 some houses were grouped. 
 
 A shepherd, who had followed the soldiers from their 
 meeting near Dombasle, was questioned by Beaure- 
 paire. 
 
 He could give no information on the possible move- 
 ments of the enemy's force. 
 
 Beaurepaire hailed the shepherd. He called to him 
 and asked : " Do you know the name of that little 
 village among the trees which the woods hide so 
 well ? " 
 
 " Yes, monsieur ; it is Jouy-en-Argonne." 
 
 A shudder, quickly repressed, escaped Beaurepaire. 
 
 He took his field-glass, and, from far above, looked 
 attentively, eagerly, and with sad eyes, upon the modest 
 village. 
 
 He could not take his eyes from it. Some one had 
 said he would find there something of prime impor- 
 tance to him. 
 
 There was no trace of an encampment, no sign of 
 bivouac ; nothing to speak of the presence of soldiers 
 appeared in the wooded slope. 
 
 Beaurepaire returned, pensive, to the volunteers who 
 had already built fires, and were busy cooking their 
 soup. 
 
 While some were getting wood, others brought water 
 from a spring that gurgled out a little above them, and 
 the cooks shelled peas, stolen, in passing, from the fields 
 as they came along ; and they accompanied their culi- 
 nary operations with another stanza of •• La Gamelle."
 
 Padame ^aitjs-^ttc. 147 
 
 * Many crowned heads, to-day, 
 Dying, famished far away, 
 
 Might envy the way 
 
 Of the soldier gay 
 Who eats our mess to-day. 
 
 Long live the cauldron's sound ! " 
 
 A chariot was stationed at some distance from the 
 cooks. A good old gray horse, unharnessed, browsed 
 the grass peacefully, stretching his neck to nibble the 
 young shoots of the trees, which he found toothsome. 
 
 The chariot bore this inscription : 
 13 Light. 
 Mme. Catharine Lefebvre, 
 Cantiniere. 
 
 Near the chariot a child played, rolling about on the 
 grass ; and, as if seeking safety, came from time to 
 time, to the cantiniere, who patted his cheek to re- 
 assure him, at the same time attending to her busi- 
 ness, for the troopers wanted the canteen opened. 
 Aided by a soldier, she put out a long plank, as a 
 table, on two trestles. 
 
 Very soon pitchers, jugs, and a little keg, with 
 glasses and cups, were set on the improvised table. 
 
 The canteen was mounted. 
 
 The men crowded around. 
 
 The road and the songs had made the good-humored 
 troop thirsty. 
 
 Soon glasses were filled, and they drank to the suc- 
 cess of the battalion of Mayenne-et-Loire, to the de- 
 liverance of Verdun, to the triumph of Liberty.
 
 148 padame gmfi-l&tnt. 
 
 Some had no money, but the cantiniere was a good 
 girl, and gave the poor ones credit. They would pay 
 after the victory. 
 
 Beaurepaire looked, smiling, upon the lively scene, 
 and his eyes turned again toward the village of Jouy- 
 en-Argonne, and he said, anxiously, «« I cannot go there ; 
 whom could I send ? Some one I could trust — a woman 
 were best — but where find su»h a messenger ? " 
 
 And he continued to look at the men grouped about 
 Catharine Lefebvre. 
 
 Aside, and seemingly indifferent to the joy of the 
 troops at rest, a sergeant and a young man wearing 
 the distinctive insignia of the sanitary corps, talked ex- 
 citedly, lowering their voices so as not to be over- 
 heard. 
 
 It was Marcel, who had rejoined Renee the handsome 
 sergeant. He had, thanks to the girl's exertions, ob- 
 tained, through Robespierre, on Bonaparte's recom- 
 dation, his exchange from the 4th Artillery. Sent to 
 the battery, detailed to follow the command of Beau- 
 repaire, he had met the regiment at Sainte-Menchould. 
 
 The exigences of the service, the difference of rank, 
 and the place of the aide at the end of the column, had 
 kept the young folks from exchanging confidences and 
 showing their joy at the re-union. 
 
 The unexpected halt, called by the commander on 
 the edge of the forest of Hesse, above the village ot 
 Jouy-en-Argonne, had at last given them the opportu- 
 nity. They were using it. 
 
 Beaurepaire went on, somewhat surprised at the
 
 Padam* £M$-<3tut. 149 
 
 seeming intimacy between the sergeant and the aide. 
 He waited to learn its causes later, when Lefebvre, 
 happening to pass, said to Marcel : 
 
 *■ You come from the 4th Artillery ? " He interrupted 
 the lover's tite-d-tete. 
 
 " Yes, lieutenant — in the right wing." 
 
 " Was Captain Bonaparte, who has been re-instated, 
 with the regiment, when you left ? " 
 
 " Captain Bonaparte was in Corsica. He' had gotten 
 leave, but he wrote to friends in Valence ; so we heard 
 in the regiment. They speak frequently of Captain 
 Bonaparte." 
 
 Beaurepaire, who had listened, came up and said 
 quickly, " Ah ! where is he ? I trust no ill has hap- 
 pened to him. Can you tell me, Major ? I, too, am 
 one of his friends." 
 
 " My commander," said Marcel, " Captain Bona- 
 parte is well, and now safe, with his family, at Mar- 
 seilles ; but he was in great danger." 
 
 " The devil ! Tell me all about it ! My dear Bona- 
 parte ! What happened to him ? " 
 
 " Pardon me, Commander," said Lefebvre, " do you 
 not think, to listen to the major's story, we would be 
 more comfortable seated, and with some refreshment? 
 My wife will serve it to us ! " 
 
 " Gladly," said the commander, sitting down. 
 " Here's to the health of Madame Lefebvre, the pretty 
 cantiniere of the 13th." 
 
 All three clicked glasses, while Lefebvre said to his 
 wife, with a wink,
 
 150 Padame Jtaw-titait. 
 
 " Listen to the major's tale ! He has news from 
 Corsica about your friend, Captain Bonaparte." 
 
 " Are you going to be jealous of poor Bonaparte ? " 
 said Catharine shrugging her shoulders. " Has any- 
 thing dreadful happened to him, Major ? ' 
 
 " He has escaped death by a miracle ! " 
 
 " Is it possible ? Oh, tell me about it quickly, major, 
 with the commander's permission ! " said Catharine, 
 sitting down on a tree-trunk, lips parted, ears pricked, 
 impatient for the news of her sometime client. 
 
 Marcel went on to tell how the Corsicans, hostile to 
 the Revolution, had desired to give themselves to Eng- 
 land. Paoli, the hero of the early years of the in- 
 dependence, had negotiated with the English. He had 
 sought to draw Bonaparte into the defection. The in- 
 fluence of the commander of the National Guard of 
 Ajaccio was necessary to him. But Bonaparte had in- 
 dignantly refused to participate in his treason. 
 
 Paoli, irritated, had incensed the people against him 
 and his. Napoleon and his brothers Joseph and 
 Lucien, were obliged to disguise themselves and flee. 
 
 Paoli turned his fury against Bonaparte's mother. 
 The house whither Letizia Bonaparte had fled with her 
 daughters had been assaulted, pillaged, burned. The 
 courageous woman had had to save herself that night, 
 before the dawn. 
 
 It was a sad flight. Some devoted friends, under the 
 orders of an energetic vine-grower, named Bastelica, 
 protected the fugitives. The Bonaparte family marched 
 in the centre of an armed force. Letizia led little
 
 Pauline, the future wife of General Leclerc, by the 
 hand ; Elisa, the girl who had just come from Saint- 
 Cyr, from a quiet school, fell upon adventures in the 
 exodus across the mountain, with her uncle Abb6 
 Fesch, whose best days were over ; little Louis played 
 around the column, shouting and asking insistently for 
 a gun. Little Jerome was carried by Savarea, the 
 devoted servant. 
 
 They avoided beaten roads. They sought abrupt 
 turnings. They tried to gain the river without being 
 seen by the Paolists. 
 
 Trees and stones in the path tore the clothes, hands 
 and faces of the crying children. 
 
 After a sleepless and weary night, they came to a 
 torrent. They could not cross it. Happily, they could 
 procure a horse and ford the stream. 
 
 They had scarcely crossed when a troop of Paolists, 
 in pursuit of the Bonapartes, passed quickly. 
 
 They threw themselves down, repressing even their 
 sighs. Madame Bonaparte quieted the frightened 
 Pauline, who was crying. The horse, too, seeming to 
 divine the danger, stood still, ears pricked, listening. 
 
 At last, beside a rock they saw Napoleon, who had 
 come, in a French ship, to take them across the gulf. 
 
 Bonaparte hastened to get them on board. Scarcely 
 had he met his people, when a shepherd came running 
 to them. The Paolists had discovered them. 
 
 They had just time to embark. The Corsicans, 
 reaching the bank, saluted the fugitives with a fire of 
 musketry, but they were beyond reach.
 
 1 52 Padame g*n$-(&tnt. 
 
 Once aboard, Bonaparte turned the single cannon of 
 the ship, and discharged upon the Paolists such a 
 devastating fusilade, that eight or ten of them were slain 
 upon the spot. The rest fled. The family was saved ! 
 
 " Brave Bonaparte ! " said Catharine, clapping her 
 hands. " Oh, those dastardly Corsicans ! If I could 
 only have been there with our men, eh, Lefebvre ? " 
 
 " Bonaparte was enough," said Lefebvre, " he's a fine 
 cannoneer." 
 
 "And a true Frenchman!" added Beaurepaire. 
 " He would not give up his country to an enemy. 
 Can you fancy Bonaparte dying thus on an island, an 
 English prisoner? It would have been absurd, and his 
 fate is too great for that. Thanks, Major, for your 
 tale ! When we have delivered Verdun, I shall write 
 and congratulate Bonaparte ! " 
 
 The commander had risen. Having thought the 
 rest sufficient, and seeing nothing suspicious about 
 Verdun, he gave the order to get ready to march. 
 They must be on the way in two hours, to' reach Ver- 
 dun a little before night, using the friendly dusk. 
 
 While the men, having eaten their soup and cleaned 
 their muskets, were reforming the column, the com- 
 mander turned to the now deserted vehicle, and 
 Catharine. 
 
 He made a sign to the cantiniere, that he wished to 
 speak to her. 
 
 In a low voice, he gave his instructions to Catharine, 
 who seemed to hear him with some surprise. 
 
 When he had finished, she said, simply, " I under-
 
 Padame £m$ <5ent. 153 
 
 stand, Commander ; and when I leave Jouy-en-Argonne, 
 and come to Verdun, what then ? " 
 
 •' Come to us at once if the town is quiet. Wait and 
 follow, if the enemy have moved." 
 
 " Very well, sir ! I will put on my civil garb. I hope 
 you will be satisfied with me." 
 
 Then she called to Lefebvre, who was wondering 
 what secret mission the commander had thought fit to 
 intrust to his wife. 
 
 '« Francois, I shall see you at Verdun, by the com- 
 mander's order. Take good care of Henriot. See that 
 La Violette " — he was the young soldier detailed to take 
 care of the canteen — " takes care of the horse going 
 downhill — holds him by the bridle." 
 
 "He'll be taken care of," rejoined Lefebvre. "But, 
 Catharine, be prudent. If the Prussian cavaliers who 
 fight this battle should take you prisoner ? " 
 
 " You wretch ! Remember, under my blouse I carry 
 my two watch-dogs, ' said Catharine, gayly. 
 
 And lifting her skirt, she showed her husband the 
 stocks of two pistols, slipped into the belt where she 
 carried her money. 
 
 The volunteers, meantime, at a sign from Beaurepaire, 
 had fallen into line, and were ready to go on their way. 
 
 Catharine bravely descended the rapid incline of the 
 gorge, at whose foot lay the little village of Jouy-en- 
 Argonne. 
 
 She had reached its first houses, when over wood, 
 field and hill, came the full-voiced song of the volun- 
 teers, on their way to Verdun.
 
 iS4 gjftadame £m\#-(&tnt. 
 
 Ah ! 5a ira ! 9a ira ! 5a ira ! 
 Little and big we are soldiers at heart ! 
 
 Ah ! 5a ira ! 5a ira ! 9a ira ! 
 During the battle let no one betray — 
 
 Ah 9a ira ! 9a ira ! 9a ira ! 
 
 And the echo of the valley repeated, " Ca ira ! ca 
 ira ! " responding to the martial note of the brave boys 
 going to conquer for their country, and singing under 
 the sacred banner of Liberty. 
 
 CHAPTER VII, 
 
 THE FORSAKEN. 
 
 Herminie de Beaurepaire was in a great wing of 
 the house of Blexourt at Verdun, transformed into an 
 oratory, under the inspiration of her bigoted aunt, 
 Madame de Ble"court. 
 
 Two crucifixes and a small improvised altar, on 
 which stood a Virgin Mary, holding in her arms the 
 Infant Jesus, and spreading a robe of blue and an 
 aureole of gilded wood over the scene ; candelabras 
 and two vases of flowers completed the decoration of 
 the chamber, which had been turned into a chapel 
 after the suppression of the religious houses. The 
 pious aunt meant that Herminie should continue to 
 prepare for the conventual life to which she had been 
 destined, so as to be ready when the convents were re- 
 opened.
 
 iftadame jfow-tifcut. 15s 
 
 When Lowendaal appeared on the threshold of the 
 oratory, Mademoiselle de Beaurepaire gave a cry or 
 surprise, started, then stopped, looking at him doubt- 
 fully, hesitatingly, timidly waiting for a word, a sign, a 
 movement of his lips, a cry from his heart. 
 
 The baron stood coldly,' somewhat embarrassed, 
 twitching his lips, and not daring to speak. 
 
 " Ah, you are come, monsieur," said the young 
 woman, in a tremulous tone. " I thought I should 
 never see you again, so long a time has elapsed since 
 we met in this place for the last time, and then down 
 there, at the village of Jouy-en-Argonne." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, Jouy ! And how is the child ? Quite 
 well, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Your daughter is growing ; she is nearly three 
 years old. Ah, would to God the child had never 
 lived ! " and Herminie's eyes were suffused with tears. 
 
 " Do not cry ! Do not be unhappy ! " said the baron, 
 without losing his calm indifference. *' Look, Herminie,. 
 be reasonable. Your tears and sighs may attract at- 
 tention — all the house is already talking of my coming ; 
 do you want them to know that which it is to your 
 interest to hide ? " 
 
 Herminie raised her head and said proudly, " When 
 I gave myself to you, monsieur, it was my heart alone 
 that spoke — to-day reason dictates my course of action. 
 The hour of madness that made me yield to your em- 
 brace is over ; I live no longer for love. The flame ot 
 the past is extinguished in me. In looking over my 
 life I find now only cinders and ruin. But I have z
 
 is 6 Padame JtaHtat. 
 
 child — your daughter Alice — I must live for her, for 
 her sake I must keep up appearances." 
 
 " You are quite right ! The world is pitiless, my 
 dear Herminie, in cases of little adventures like ours ! 
 But we were both, as you say, unreasonable ; madness 
 filled our brains ; it was an intoxication — we are now 
 fully awakened. But it is always thus ; one cannot be 
 all one's life mad and drunk." 
 
 And the baron made a gesture indicative of foolish- 
 ness and cynical disgust. 
 
 Herminie advanced toward him, severely, almost 
 tragically. 
 
 " Monsieur le Baron, I no longer love you," she 
 said. 
 
 " Really, it is a great misfortune for me." 
 
 «' Do not jest ! Oh, I know quite well that you no 
 longer love me. Did you ever love me ? I felt for you 
 a moment's distraction — a flash of heart-fire — no, not 
 of the heart — it was rather a sensuous pleasure, a way 
 of using the unemployed hours in a dark, provincial 
 retreat. You had come here on business. The life of 
 gentlemen and soldiers, with their easy pleasures and 
 their wild carousing, seemed to you dull and beneath 
 your dignity ; you, a brilliant personage at court, a 
 visitor at Trianon, a friend of the Prince de Robau and 
 the Count de Naibonne. You saw me in my corner, 
 sad, alone, dreaming." 
 
 " You were charming, Herminie ! You are ever 
 desirable and lovely, but then you had for me an 
 irresistible attraction, a piquancy, a savor."
 
 ^aflame £nn$-(&tM, 157 
 
 «« I have lost it all now, have I not ? " 
 
 «* No, I protest," said the baron gallantly. 
 
 " Do not lie to me. I am changed in your eyes. 
 You see how it is. I told you it would be so. I loved 
 you once, and now I care no longer for you." 
 
 " I like it better so," thought the baron. And he 
 added to himself, ** Ah, things are going smoothly. 
 The rupture will come without a fuse, without tears 
 and reproaches. It is perfect." 
 
 He extended his hand to Herminie. 
 
 ■" We shall be friends, shall we not ? " he said. 
 
 The young woman stood unmoved, refusing the hand 
 Lowendaal offered. 
 
 A curl of her lips showed her disdain. 
 
 " Listen to me," she said, in a cold voice. "I was 
 far from thoughts of love here. I was destined to the 
 convent, and I was quite ready to obey them who 
 offered me the cloister as a dignified and worthy 
 retreat for a girl of my position, with a great name 
 and no fortune. Here, with Mademoiselle de Bid- 
 court, I waited for the hour to take my vows. You 
 told me that I would not regret the world, which I had 
 scarce seen, but one glimpse of which (though false) 
 would be gladdening. I had envied those of my com- 
 panions whose wealth would enable them to marry and 
 go through life with joy in their hearts and pride on 
 their faces, beside husband and children. This happi- 
 ness was not for me. I was becoming resigned " 
 
 " You were one of those to whom life should have 
 given nothing but joy ! "
 
 158 Padam* gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 " And to whom she has given only bitterness. Par- 
 don me, sir, that I remind you of these sad occurrences. 
 But it was then, when my abandonment seemed com- 
 plete, and when I saw my youth, my desire, my 
 dreams all sacrificed — it was then that you came to 
 me. Did I know what I was doing ? Alas, I knew 
 not ! Oh, it is of no use to begin recrimination ; but 
 to-day, in this interview which is to be decisive for us 
 both, perhaps, let me put one question to you." 
 
 " What ? Speak ! You are at liberty to put ten, 
 aye, twenty questions ! What do you fear ? What 
 doubt possesses you ? " 
 
 " I no longer fear," said Herminie sadly ; " alas, I 
 have forfeited the right to doubt ! Monsieur le Baron, 
 you swore to make me your wife ; are you come to-day 
 to fulfil your promise ? " 
 
 *• The devil ! Now it's out," thought the baron ; and 
 with a smile that scarce hid a grimace, he murmured, 
 "Your demand staggers me — and, I vow, embarrasses 
 me — I have not forgotten that once, in a moment of 
 madness, as you just called it, I did make that promise. 
 Oh, I do not retract it — but I pray you to remember 
 that I hold for you ever most respectful, ardent, sincere 
 sentiments ; yet " 
 
 " Yet you refuse ? " 
 
 " I did not say so." 
 
 •• Then you consent ? Look you, answer directly. I 
 have told you that I no longer fear or doubt. I might 
 add that Hope, which once walked by my side has sud- 
 denly, at a turn of the road, forsaken me. I await
 
 Padame gm$-(5tnt. 159 
 
 your answer with the calmness of a heart where all is 
 still — where all is dead." 
 
 " Heavens ! My dear Herminie, you take me at a 
 disadvantage. I did not come to Verdun exactly for 
 the sake of marrying. Weighty matters, interests of 
 prime importance, made my presence here necessary ; 
 and it were a poor time to choose for nuptial joys." 
 
 "Do not speak of joy between us two. So you refuse ? " 
 
 " No — but I pray you accord me delay. Wait till 
 peace is established — it will not be long " 
 
 " You think so ? You hope that the cowards and 
 traitors will carry the day, and that Verdun will not 
 defend itself? " 
 
 " I believe that defence is impossible. The artisans, 
 villagers, smiths, and cobblers, will not be able to 
 resist the armies of the king and the emperor." 
 
 " Do not insult the brave men who fight like heroes 
 to rid themselves of traitors and incapable rulers," said 
 Herminie energetically. 
 
 " I insult no one," said the baron in his insinuating 
 tones. " I simply ask you to consider that the town has 
 no garrison." 
 
 " It will have one, very soon," murmured she. 
 
 «* What did you say ? " cried the baron, astonished. 
 
 " I say — Look ! Hark ! " And Herminie made a 
 sign for the baron to listen. 
 
 A confused murmur, cries, and cheers came toward 
 the town. 
 
 The joyous sound of drums was mingled with the 
 tread of marching feet.
 
 160 gftadame gm$-<&tnt. 
 
 The baron grew pale. 
 
 "What is this uproar ? " said he. " Doubtless some 
 uprising. The inhabitants, who insist on opening the 
 gates, and will not listen to the idea of a siege." 
 
 " No, that noise is a different one, Monsieur le 
 Baron ! Once more, will you hold to your promise and 
 give to our child, to our daughter Alice, the name, the 
 rank, and the fortune which are her due ? " 
 
 " I have told you, madame, that just now I will not 
 — I cannot do so. Listen — I have important matters 
 to see to — What, the devil ! Be patient ! I tell you, 
 when peace is established ! When the rebels are 
 punished, and when his majesty returns quietly (not to 
 the Tuileries, for the Revolutionists could take it too 
 easily) but to Versailles, then I shall see ! I shall 
 decide ! " 
 
 *' Take care, sir ! I am a woman who will take ven- 
 geance on one who swears falsely ! " 
 
 "Threats ! Well," said the baron, sneering, " I like 
 it best so. They are less dangerous than your tears ! " 
 
 " I repeat once more, take care ! You think me 
 weak, alone, and uninfluential ! You may be mistaken." 
 
 " And I tell you, madame, that you cannot frighten 
 me ! " 
 
 " Do you not hear the approaching noise ? It is the 
 soldiers that come here ! " 
 
 " Really ! It is strange ! Can the Prussians be in 
 the town already ? " murmured the baron. 
 
 And he listened, with evident inward satisfaction, 
 adding to himself, " They are come in good time, our
 
 Padame Jtettg-Gtot*. 161 
 
 friends, the enemy, to cut short this stupid history^ and 
 to give me a decent pretext for getting away from this 
 tiresome girl." 
 
 *• They are not Prussians," said Herminie, trium- 
 phantly ; " they are the patriots who have come to help 
 Verdun." 
 
 " The re-enforcements they expected ! Why, it cannot 
 be ! Lafayette is with the Austrian powers. Dumouriez 
 is in camp at Maulde. Dillon is bought by the allied 
 forces. Whence, then, can re-enforcements come ? " 
 
 " You shall know." 
 
 And Herminie, opening the door of her oratory, said 
 to a woman who was in the next room, with two little 
 children, " Come in, madame, and let M. le Baron de 
 Lowendaal know whose drums they are that wake this 
 town ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF THE VOLUNTEERS. 
 
 A FAIR young woman entered. 
 
 She gave a military salute and said, looking directly 
 at the baron : " Catharine Lefebvrc, cantiniree in the 
 13th, at your service. You want to know the news ? 
 It is the battalion of Mayenne-et-Loire which is making 
 its entry into Verdun, with a company of the 13th, 
 which is under command of my husband, Francois 
 Lefebvre. Hein ! mademoiselle, it is a fine surprise 
 for the world ! " 
 II
 
 1 62 gjBadam* £m$-<&tnt. 
 
 The baron murmured, disappointedly, " The battal- 
 ion of Mayenne-et-Loire ! What is it doing here ? " 
 
 " What are we going to do ? " said Catharine. 
 " Why ! Burn out the Prussians, reassure the pa- 
 triots, trample on the aristos if they dare to move." 
 
 "Well told, madame ! " said Herminie. " Now, please 
 name the chief of the volunteers at Mayenne-et-Loire ; 
 it will please monsieur." 
 
 " The commander is the brave Beaurepaire." 
 
 " Beaurepaire ! " said the baron, frightened. 
 
 " Yes, my brother ! who, an hour before his entry 
 into the town, sent me this brave woman to let me 
 know and reassure me," said Herminie, whose pale 
 face was aglow with joy. 
 
 " One would imagine this news disconcerted you, 
 little man," said Catharine Lefebvre, tapping the dis- 
 concerted baron familiarly on the shoulder. »« You 
 can't be a patriot ! Ah, be careful ; look you for the 
 aristos who wanted to talk of capitulation ; they will 
 have little sport among us ! " 
 
 •• How many volunteers are there ? " asked the baron 
 solicitously. 
 
 «• Four hundred, and then there is my husband, 
 Lefebvre's, company. That makes in all five hundred 
 hares who want to stir the town, see ! " 
 
 The baron's face had become calm again. 
 
 " Five hundred men ! The ill is not so great as I 
 feared ! These five hundred wretches cannot take the 
 town, particularly if the population, now well worked 
 up, demand a capitulation. The worst is the pres-
 
 $tadame gm$-(&tnt. 163 
 
 ence of this Beaurepaire ! How shall I get rid of 
 him ? " 
 
 Herminie, meantime, had been to get one of the two 
 children in the next room. 
 
 She brought in a little blonde child, pale and fright- 
 ened, who tottered on her thin legs, and said, " Here is 
 your daughter, monsieur, do you not want to kiss her ? " 
 
 Lowendaal, hiding a scowl, turned to the child and 
 kissed her forehead quickly. 
 
 The child was afraid and began to cry. 
 
 Then entering from the other room, a little lad, wear- 
 ing a liberty cap with the national cockade, came to the 
 little girl and quieted her, saying, " Don't cry ! We'll 
 go and play, Alice ; they're going to shoot ! Poum ! 
 Poum ! a cannon is such fun ! " 
 
 Catharine Lefebvre looked proudly at him, saying, 
 *' That's my little Henriot, a future sergeant I am 
 bringing up, while I have as yet none of my own to 
 teach the defence of the Republic." 
 
 Herminie pressed the cantiniere's hand affectionately 
 and said to the baron : 
 
 " This excellent woman is travelling with the regi- 
 ment. When they reached Jouy-en-Argonne, Com- 
 mander Beaurepaire called her and asked her to find a 
 certain house in the town, where there was a child he 
 named — he described the house to her— then he asked 
 her to take the child and to apprise me of the arrival 
 of the volunteers, of the presence of a protector for my 
 child's unfortunate, forsaken mother. That is how your 
 daughter happened to be here, monsieur ! "
 
 1 64. g&adanw £att0-tfnie. 
 
 "Then," stammered Lowendaal, "the General 
 Beaurepaire knows " 
 
 " Everything," said Herminie, firmly. " Oh, it was 
 a sad confession ; but I had no hope save in my 
 brother, and I knew not how he would receive the 
 sad confidence I gave him that day when, discouraged 
 and weary of everything, I hoped to die." 
 
 «• And your brother was lenient ? " said the baron, 
 trying to seem calm and indifferent, though he was be- 
 ginning to be much agitated. 
 
 " My brother has forgiven me — he has hastened to 
 come and help me — to set me free. The volunteers o* 
 Mayenne-et-Loire, enrolled by him, have crossed France 
 at a run " 
 
 " Ah, heaven, what marches they were," exclaimed 
 Catharine. " We were so anxious to arrive in time to 
 help the good town of Verdun ; but General Beaure- 
 paire seems to have wings on his feet." 
 
 The roll of the drums came nearer. The town 
 seemed joyous. Cries of delight rose loudly on the 
 banks of the Meuse. 
 
 " I must go," said the baron. " I am expected at the 
 Court-house." 
 
 " And I must meet my husband," said Catharine. 
 " Come, march, young recruit ! " she added, taking 
 hold of little Henriot. 
 
 The boy resisted. He had kept the little girl's petti* 
 coat in his hand, and seemed anxious to stay with her. 
 
 " See the dandy," said Sans-Ggne, good-humoredly, 
 •• he attaches himself already to the ladies 1 Ah, he is
 
 gj&adame gxn$-(&tnt. 165 
 
 a promising boy ! March, little one, you shall come 
 again — you shall see your little maid again when we 
 have given the Prussians a necessary thrashing." 
 
 " Madame," said Herminie, much moved, *' I shall 
 never forget what you have done for me. Tell my 
 brother I bless you and shall come to him. As for 
 this child," she added, pointing to Alice, who smiled at 
 little Henriot as if she, too, wanted him to stay, " if by 
 any misfortune I should be unfit to defend, love, and 
 guard her, see that she gets to my brother." 
 
 "Count on me ; I have already this little lad to take 
 in my carriole, and that would give me a pair sufficient 
 to make me patient while I wait for the arrival of any of 
 my own. May it not be long," she said, laughing her 
 jolly laugh and laying her hand upon her ample breast. 
 •* Au revoir, madame, I must go now, my soldiers need 
 me there, and Lefebvre will be astounded not to find 
 me in the ranks." 
 
 Taking little Henriot, who had become sulky and 
 cross at being taken so soon from little Alice, Catharine 
 hurried to rejoin the detachment of the 13th, which was 
 encamped in the town. 
 
 Herminie, after a frigid bow to the baron, had re- 
 treated into the next room with her child, whom she 
 covered with kisses. 
 
 Lowendaal went off, sadly, in the direction of the 
 Court-house, saying to himself, " If a capitulation could 
 rid me of this Beaurepaire. But no ! that enraged fel- 
 low is capable of defending the town and making me 
 marry his sister. Ah ! into what a wasp's nest I have 
 run."
 
 1 66 Padame £an.«i-<S*tte. 
 
 And ill-satisfied with the turn of affairs, the baron 
 went to the Court-house, where the notables were 
 already assembled, on the convocation of the President 
 of the Directory, Ternaux, and the Attorney-general 
 Gossin, two traitors, whose names should be kept 
 nailed on a pillory by posterity. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BRUNSWICK'S MESSENGER. 
 
 In the great hall of the Court-house of Verdun, by 
 the light of torches, sat the members of the districts 
 and the great men. 
 
 Commander Bellemond was there, too. 
 
 President Ternaux having opened the meeting, At- 
 torney-general Gossin explained the situation. 
 
 The Duke of Brunswick had encamped before the 
 gates of the city. Should they be opened to him and 
 should the imperial generalissmo be hailed as a liber- 
 ator, or should he be shut out, and should cannon-shot 
 answer cannon-shot until the town was laid low ? It 
 was fear that suggested the question. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the attorney in a low voice, "our 
 hearts bleed at the idea of the horrors which would 
 result to Verdun from a siege. Gentlemen, resistance 
 against so strong an enemy were madness. Will you 
 receive a person who comes to you with a conciliatory 
 message ? "
 
 Padame gm$-(8tnt. 167 
 
 And the president looked solicitously at the assembly, 
 asking their co-operation. 
 
 *• Yes, we will," answered several voices. 
 
 " I shall then, gentlemen," said the president, ** intro- 
 duce the person who bears the message." 
 
 A movement of curiosity was made. 
 
 All eyes turned towards the door of the president's 
 office. 
 
 It opened quickly, admitting a young man in citizen's 
 costume. He was very pale, and carried his arm in a 
 sling. 
 
 He seemed to have been very ill. 
 
 *' M. the Count de Neipperg, aide-de-camp of General 
 Clerfayt, general-in-chief of the Austrian army," said 
 the president, presenting Brunswick's messenger. 
 
 He was none other than the young Austrian whom 
 Catharine had saved, on the morning of the ioth of 
 August. 
 
 Scarce well of his wound, under Catharine's excellent 
 care, he had left Paris and reached the Austrian head- 
 quarters. 
 
 Though still suffering, he had been anxious to enter 
 upon active duty. The memory of Blanche de Laveline 
 caused him keener suffering than his hurt. And, think- 
 ing of his child, little Henriot, exposed to all the perils 
 of his strange birth, in the remembrance of Lowendaal's 
 power and the marquis's desire to force Blanche into a 
 marriage which would part them forever, Neipperg 
 felt a slow and exquisite torture. He must forget, and 
 war would leave him little time for sad retrospection. 
 So he was glad to be able to serve once more.
 
 1 68 Padam* gm&-(&tnt. 
 
 General Clerfayt, appreciating the bravery and tact 
 of Neipperg, had made him his aide-de-camp. 
 
 As he spoke French perfectly, the general had chosen 
 him to carry to the great men and the authorities of 
 Verdun the propositions for capitulation. 
 
 After saluting the assembly, the young envoy made 
 known Brunswick's conditions : they consisted in the 
 surrender of the town, with its citadel, within twenty- 
 four hours, under penalty of seeing Verdun exposed to 
 a bombardment, and its inhabitants delivered after the 
 assault to the fury of the soldiers. 
 
 Amid absolute silence were these hard conditions 
 spoken. 
 
 It were well to call one's-self a royalist, as these 
 men would have to do who feared for their property ; 
 and yet it was hard for these rich villagers to hear, 
 without resenting it, such haughty and insulting con- 
 ditions. 
 
 Several of those poltroons would not have been sorry 
 to take part in a brave protestation, though only for 
 form's sake and to save the appearance of honor. 
 
 But no word was spoken. No one seemed to dare to 
 call down upon Verdun the anger of the Germans. 
 
 Neipperg stood motionless, his eyes dropped. He 
 was inwardly indignant at the cowardice of these mer- 
 chants, who preferred shame and the dismembering of 
 their country to a resistance which would expose their 
 houses to the play of artillery. 
 
 Within himself he thought these could not be the 
 Frenchmen of the ioth of August against whom he had
 
 Padam* JtaHBctt. 169 
 
 fought, and who had made the impassioned assault upon 
 the Tuileries. 
 
 He had only admiration for the patriots who had 
 wounded him. The heart of a true soldier keeps no- 
 ill-feeling after the battle. But the craven fear of these 
 men made him angry, and their shameful silence hurt 
 him. 
 
 He wanted to get away, to breathe freely, where he 
 could not see this revolting spectacle of collective cow- 
 ardice. 
 
 His old wound seemed to inflame in contact with, 
 these trembling wretches, these arrant traitors. 
 
 He looked up and said, coldly ; « You have heard, 
 gentlemen, the communication of the general ; what 
 answer shall I take to the Duke of Brunswick ? " 
 
 And he waited, paler than at his entrance, his hand 
 laid upon the table for support. 
 
 A voice spoke in the general silence : " Do you think, 
 gentlemen, that in bowing before the merciful senti- 
 ments of the Duke of Brunswick you could best make 
 answer ? or shall we let the duke fire upon the 
 town ? " 
 
 It was Lowendaal who spoke. 
 
 Neipperg recognized his rival. A flush mounted to 
 his brow. 
 
 He made an instinctive movement to step up to the 
 baron and provoke him. 
 
 But he reflected — he was an ambassador — he had a. 
 mission to fulfil and could not act aggressively now. 
 
 Another thought crossed his mind at the same time.
 
 170 Padame £att$-$nw. 
 
 «' If the Baron de Lowendaal were in Verdun, was 
 Blanche de Laveline there, too ? " 
 
 How could he find out ? How see and speak to 
 her? 
 
 He hoped the baron would unconsciously let him 
 know Blanche's retreat. 
 
 He must seem, therefore, to be quiet, and must look 
 and listen. 
 
 A quick murmur had followed Lowendaal's words. 
 
 "What's he meddling for?" said the men, talking 
 together. " Has he houses, ware-rooms, merchandise 
 in the city ? Does he expect to take part in plun- 
 dering the town ? Since resistance is impossible, and 
 the commander knows it, what good would it do to 
 permit a universal massacre and expose our homes and 
 our goods to an artillery fire ? " 
 
 " Our population is wise ; it declines the horrors of 
 a siege," said the president. "The proposition of the 
 Marquis de Lowendaal would strike only an imbecile. 
 Now we have in the town no brawlers ; they have all 
 left the city and taken refuge near Thionville ; there 
 they met a few of their own kind, and one Billaud- 
 Varennes, who bought them arms. We trust they 
 will never return to Verdun. Gentlemen, are you 
 minded to imitate them ? Do you want to be shot 
 down ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! No bombardment ! We will sign at 
 once ! " cried twenty voices. 
 
 And the most anxious ones seized pens, and, turning 
 toward the president, asked him to let them sign at once
 
 $Uulame JtauH&*t. 171 
 
 the acceptance of capitulation which had been prepared 
 in advance before the arrival of the Austrian army. 
 
 Neipperg looked in silence upon the meeting, peace- 
 ably begun, but which now threatened to become a 
 quarrel. 
 
 The Baron de Lowendaal stood aside. 
 
 " I might as well not have spoken," he said. 
 
 Already the president, pen in hand, sought to main- 
 tain his right to sign first, as head of the town, the 
 order of capitulation, when a distant fusilade sounded, 
 and drums were beaten in various quarters, while 
 directly below the windows of the Court-house were 
 heard voices singing the " Ca ira ! " 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 beaurepaire's oath. 
 
 Every one had risen in wild bewilderment. 
 
 The least stunned had sought the windows. 
 
 The town seemed lighted as for a fe"te. 
 
 In the market-place torches burned, and women and' 
 children clapped their hands and formed a fantastic 
 circle around the red light. 
 
 It was the volunteers of Mayenne-et-Loire who had 
 sung the "fa tra," giving the signal for the uprising of 
 the bewildered town. 
 
 There were few men in the crowd ; they stood apart,
 
 172 Padame gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 seeming to participate only with their eyes in the martial 
 tumult. 
 
 The attorney-general spoke to the president. 
 
 " Those damned volunteers are making a great 
 noise," said M. Fernaux impatiently. 
 
 M. Gossin answered, shrugging his shoulders, 
 "Patience ! the Duke of Brunswick will soon rid us of 
 them ! " And he added, " I trust those escaped devils 
 will not draw down a bombardment upon us ! " 
 
 At that moment a red light filled the space, and a 
 flaming bolt fell against one of the houses on the 
 corner, while a loud detonation shook the court-house. 
 
 " Ah ! I foresaw it ! " cried the attorney. " The 
 Prussians are firing our houses ! There is the bom- 
 bardment you asked ! Are you satisfied, Baron ? " 
 
 He had turned to seek Lowendaal, but the latter had 
 disappeared. 
 
 Impatient, and anxious to follow him, and believing 
 that Lowendaal had betaken himself to Blanche de 
 Laveline, Neipperg wanted to retire. 
 
 " I have no further business here, gentlemen," he 
 said, taking his leave. " The cannon has spoken, so I 
 well may be silent. I shall return to my place. My 
 answer is your powder which has been set to do its 
 fell work." 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte," begged the president, " do 
 not go ! remain ! it is a mistake ; all will be explained 
 — arranged ' ' 
 
 " I cannot see how," said Neipperg, with a grim 
 smile. " Listen ! The cannon from your ramparts
 
 Padame gm$-(Stnt. 173 
 
 answer our howitzers. The drum beats in your streets. 
 It seems to me they are coming to the court-house to 
 get shot and to find extra ammunition." 
 
 In reality the drum was heard on the stairs of the 
 court-house, and many feet ascended the steps. They 
 heard on the pavement of the vestibule the stocks of 
 the guns. 
 
 " Do they dare come here ? " cried the exasperated 
 attorney. "Monsieur le G6n6ral," he cried to Belle- 
 mond, director of the fortifications and of the artillery ; 
 " Come quickly ; sign an order for the silencing of the 
 drums and the retreat of the men to their quarters 
 which have been assigned to them ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered the faint-hearted officer, " I 
 shall give orders ; in a quarter of an hour Verdun will 
 be quiet " 
 
 •• In a quarter of an hour Verdun will be in flames, and 
 we shall chant the Marseillaise to the sound of the 
 cannon ! " cried a loud voice behind them. 
 
 The door had been pushed open, and Beaurepaire, 
 accompanied by Lefebvre, and surrounded by the 
 soldiers of the 13th and the volunteers of Mayenne- 
 et Loire, terrible as gods of war, burst in among those 
 frightened civilians. 
 
 The president attempted to assert his authority. 
 
 " Who authorized you, sir, to come and trouble the 
 deliberations of the municipality and the citizens as- 
 sembled in council ? " he asked, in a voice which he in 
 vain endeavored to render firm. 
 
 "They say," said Beaurepaire quietly, " that you are
 
 174 Padam* ^ang-flkne. 
 
 scheming here for an infamous act of treason ; that you 
 talk of rendering up the city ! Is it true, citizens ? 
 Speak ! " 
 
 " We do not need to apprise you, General, of the res- 
 olutions of the authorities ; go back with your men, and 
 stop this firing which you have ordered without per- 
 mission of the council for the defence," exclaimed the 
 president, feeling himself upheld by his associates. 
 
 Beaurepaire reflected a moment, then taking off his 
 hat said, respectfully : 
 
 " Gentlemen, it is true, I did not wait for orders 
 from the council for the defence, to fire upon the Prus- 
 sians, who already surround the gates and are prepared 
 to enter at the first signal — a signal they seem to expect 
 from here. I have barricaded the gates ; my good 
 friend, Lefebvre, here, has placed his look-outs on both 
 sides of every palisade, and the enemy has retired. 
 At the same time, to keep them from seeing too closely 
 what we are doing on the ramparts, I have sent a few- 
 balls among them which have made the Austrians 
 keep back ; they were too anxious to pay us a visit. 
 I had just arrived with my men when I learned the 
 state of things, and I vow I never thought of consider- 
 ing the advice of a defensive council." 
 
 "You were wrong, Commander," said the artillery 
 director, Bellemond. 
 
 "Comrade," said the general, "that is my business. 
 I shall answer, if need be, for my conduct to the repre- 
 sentatives of the people, who will soon be here. I 
 respect the Commune of Verdun and her civil officers.
 
 Padarne gm$-(&tne. 175 
 
 I trust they are patriots, ready to do their duty. I 
 shall take their orders for all that concerns the interior 
 service and the political measures. I know the obe- 
 dience soldiers owe to the representatives of the people. 
 But for that which regards me as a soldier, and the fire 
 of the howitzers I direct against the Prussians, you must 
 let me, comrade, do as I will. Take that as your answer^ 
 I am here as your equal, and we have but to act together 
 to repulse the enemy and save the town." 
 
 These words, uttered in a strong voice, impressed 
 Bellemond, a subaltern but lately promoted, and who- 
 would have acted bravely had he not been dominated 
 by the president and the attorney. 
 
 " But," he suggested, " since such council exists,, 
 should you not consult them before beginning a bat- 
 tle ? " 
 
 " When the enemy is at the gates, and when the sol- 
 diers within the town hesitate, the council for defence,, 
 when consulted, could give no other order to the head 
 of the troops than to bar the way, place his men oa 
 the ramparts, open his guns upon the approaching 
 enemy, and fire ! That is what I have done, com- 
 rade ! just as if I had had time to consult the council 
 over which you preside. But, really, could there have 
 been other advice ? Could they have given me a dif- 
 ferent order ? All they can reproach me with is not 
 having opened fire quickly enough. But the ammuni- 
 tion was wanting. There it is ! Listen ! Ah, it grows 
 •warm ! " 
 
 Louder and louder reports followed Beaurepaire's
 
 176 P«4amc £a«i@i-$*Jtt. 
 
 words. It was from the direction of Porte Saint-Victor 
 that they came. 
 
 The men trembled. Many feared for their houses, 
 for surely the Prussians and Austrians would answer 
 that furious cannonade by a rain of shot. 
 
 «' Great heaven ! there's a brave man," thought Neip- 
 perg, watching the open countenance of Beaurepaire. 
 ** A look at him makes up for this shameful sight." 
 
 And he advanced to him politely, saying, " General, 
 I dare not leave you in ignorance as to who I am — the 
 Count de Neipperg, aide-de-camp of General Clerfayt." 
 
 «« In civilian's garb ? " Beaurepaire looked sternly at 
 the man who thus came to him. 
 
 " I did not come here to speak, General, but was 
 simply charged to deliver a message to the town of 
 Verdun and its defensive council, from the general- 
 issimo." 
 
 " Doubtless a demand to capitulate !" 
 
 " You are correct, sir." 
 
 «« What did they answer here ? " 
 
 Beaurepaire threw an accusing glance upon the men 
 and the municipal officers, who lowered their eyes and 
 turned their heads. 
 
 Gossin whispered to the president, " If this agent of 
 Brunswick tells all, that confounded Beaurepaire is 
 quite capable of having his brigands shoot us, my poor 
 Ternaux." 
 
 " I fear so, my friend Gossin," rejoined the president, 
 sadly. 
 
 Neipperg, however, said quietly, " I have not yet
 
 Padame $attj*-<5m. 177 
 
 had time to receive the reply of these gentlemen. You, 
 yourself, took charge of the answer to the general- 
 issimo." 
 
 This frankness pleased Beaurepaire, who said pres- 
 ently, " So, sir, your mission is ended. Will you per- 
 mit me to conduct you, personally, to the outposts ? " 
 
 " I am at your command, General." 
 
 Beaurepaire, before leaving the hall, turned a last 
 time to the president and the attorney-general, saying 
 to them : 
 
 " Gentlemen of the Commune, I have sworn to my 
 men to die with them amid the ruins of Verdun rather 
 than render up the town. I trust you are of my opin- 
 ion ? " 
 
 " But, General, if the entire town wanted to capitu- 
 late ? If the inhabitants refused to permit themselves 
 to be besieged ? What would you decide ? Would 
 you continue, despite the wishes of the populace, your 
 murderous fire ? " asked the president. " Well, what 
 would you do ? We await your reply." 
 
 Beaurepaire waited a moment, and then said, " Should 
 you force me to give up the town, mark me well, sirs, 
 rather than submit to such shame and such treason 
 against my oath. I will kill myself ! I have sworn to 
 defend Verdun to the death i' 
 
 He went toward the door, returned abruptly, and 
 rapping the table with his hand cried, " Yes, to t?>« 
 death ! To the death ! " and he left, followed by Neip- 
 perg, leaving the council in terror. 
 
 " He'd kill himself! Faith, it would be a fine thing, 
 12
 
 178 gftadam* gnn$-(&t i at. 
 
 and a comfort for everybody," thought Lowendaal, who* 
 had just entered noiselessly into the council chamber. 
 
 They questioned him as to the doings in the town. 
 
 ••They are firing from various quarters," he said, 
 with his cynical smile. "The volunteers fly to the 
 ramparts like deer. Several of them have been struck 
 down. Ah! those fanatics of the 13th ; among them is 
 a female demon ; they tell me she is the wife of Captain 
 Lefebvre, a cantiniere, who goes and comes, carries- 
 ammunition, stands beside the cannon, pulls the 
 lighted cotton from the Prussian bombs which fall 
 upon the slopes. I actually think she has fired the 
 guns of the fallen soldiers about her, and has not 
 retired until every shot was spent. Happily, there are 
 few soldiers like this Amazon, or the Austrians could 
 never enter here ! " 
 
 " Do you still hope for it, Baron ? " said the president. 
 
 " More than ever. This siege was necessary, as I 
 told you ! The inhabitants were not sufficiently im- 
 pressed. My servant, the faithful Leonard, had to tell 
 many stories, beside my instructions, and yet they were 
 not convinced. They hesitated to accept* the capitula- 
 tion. By to-morrow morning they will demand it." 
 
 " You restore our confidence ! " 
 
 " I tell you, President, they will force you to sign the 
 capitulation." 
 
 " Heaven grant it," sighed the president, " but the 
 Duke of Brunswick's envoy has returned to his quar- 
 ters. How shall we cause his return ? He had the 
 papers."
 
 gjftadame £nn$-(8ent. 179 
 
 •' It will do if some trusted messenger will go to the 
 Austrian camp, and carry your duplicate, with the 
 assurance that to-morrow the gates will be open to the 
 generalissimo." 
 
 " Who will undertake such a mission ? " 
 
 " I," said Lowendaal. 
 
 " Ah, you will save us," cried the president, who, 
 rising in an ecstasy of joy, embraced him as if he were 
 a herald announcing a victory. . 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 LEONARD'S MISSION. 
 
 Some moments later, Lowendaal, with the duplicate 
 letter of capitulation, left the court-house, and joined 
 Leonard, who was waiting for him. 
 
 In a low voice, though no one was near, the baron 
 gave him a detailed order. 
 
 Leonard seemed surprised, showing, however, that he 
 understood the task which was being given him ; but, 
 at the same time, seeming somewhat embarrassed if 
 not frightened, he repeated his master's instructions 
 twice over. 
 
 The latter said, severely, " Do you hesitate, Master 
 Leonard ? You know that, although we are in a 
 besieged town, there are prisons, and police to take there 
 those who — like a certain person I know — who coun*
 
 180 p»tae gan$-(5tnt, 
 
 terfeited the seal of the State and gave to the employes 
 of aides and magazines false receipts." 
 
 " Alas, I know it, Baron," said Leonard, in a sub- 
 missive tone. 
 
 " If you know it, do not forget ! " rejoined the baron. 
 " I am sorry, Leonard, to be obliged to remind so de- 
 voted a servant as yourself, that I saved him from the 
 gallows ! " 
 
 " And that you can send me back there ! Oh, sir, 
 I shall remember it ! " 
 
 " Then you will obey ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! But remember it is serious ; it is a ter- 
 rible thing you ask me to do ! ' " 
 
 " You exaggerate the importance of this matter and 
 ignore the confidence I choose to repose in you ! By 
 heaven, Leonard, I am used to more docility, more de- 
 votion, from you ! You are growing ungrateful ! To 
 forget benefits is a dreadful fault ! " 
 
 " Oh, monsieur, I shall be eternally grateful to you," 
 wept the wretch whom Lowendaal had found stealing 
 from farms with the aid of false stamps. " I am ready 
 to follow and to obey wherever you choose to take or to 
 send me. But what you order now is " 
 
 «' Abominable ! You have raised scruples, Master 
 Leonard," sneered the baron. 
 
 " I should not dare find abominable any task M. le 
 Baron set me. I wanted to say " 
 
 " Well, your idea was ? I am curious to know your 
 opinion." 
 
 •' Oh, sir — the — thing — is dangerous — oh — not for any
 
 ittadame Jfatt0-<S*tte. 181 
 
 but myself," he hastened to add. »■ For should I be 
 taken, they will roast me alive and not get your 
 name, as having ordered the task." 
 
 " Even then, none would believe you," said the baron, 
 dryly, "you have no proof of such an order from me. 
 Besides, to reassure you, let me say, I have made pro- 
 vision for your retreat should you be discovered ; but 
 it is not probable." 
 
 " Really ? " said Leonard, much pleased. 
 
 " My post-chaise will await you on the Commercy 
 road, near the Porte-Neuve. There is no fighting on 
 that side." 
 
 «' But how shall I pass through ? " 
 
 " As on a mission from the council for defence. 
 Take this passport and return to me to-morrow at day- 
 break, in the Duke of Brunswick's camp." 
 
 Here Lowendaal gave Leonard a town passport. 
 
 "I shall obey," said Leonard. 
 
 " Be careful not to do your business so ill as to be 
 captured by Beaurepaire's enraged volunteers. If you 
 should be arrested, I could no longer hide your history. 
 Then, there would be the gallows. Or, perhaps, im- 
 mediate death as a spy." 
 
 Leonard shivered. " I shall be careful, monsieur," 
 he said. 
 
 " Very well ; you understand ! Go ! and in the em- 
 igrant's camp I shall await your news." 
 
 " I shall do my best, sir. It is all one to me ; yet you 
 ask me to do a very onerous thing, and I fear the 
 chaise will wait in vain at Porte-Neuve."
 
 i82 ittadame £nn$-(&tnt. 
 
 " Imbecile ! In a town besieged on all sides, where 
 everything is. in flames, surveillance is impossible. 
 Remember, I count on you, Master Leonard. If you 
 play me false, or if you grow weak, you may rest as- 
 sured that, as soon as I re-enter Verdun, my first call 
 will be the court, and my second to find the functionary 
 charged with taking care of the galley-slaves, and see- 
 ing to the departure of the next crew for Toulon. 
 Adieu, Master Leonard, until to-morrow, at dawn." 
 
 And Lowendaal went quickly toward the Porte- 
 Neuve, while Leonard, perplexed, meditating on the 
 fulfilment of his mission, said to himself: 
 
 " How shall I penetrate, without arousing suspicion, 
 into the house of Madame de Ble"court ? How reach 
 •General Beaurepaire in the dead of night, alone and 
 unarmed ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE EMIGRANT CAMP. 
 
 Lowendaal, on leaving Leonard, murmured, with a 
 self-satisfied air : " That fool will do just as I told him ; 
 he is a little afraid ; but his fear of the galleys will be 
 greater than his terror of Beaurepaire's sword. To 
 place a man between two such startling alternatives — 
 to be sent to the galleys, or to risk being sent there if 
 •captured — any sensible man — and Leonard is no 
 dolt — would choose the risk. First he will go and try
 
 Padsme gm$-(&tnt. 183 
 
 to escape ; then he will go a little unwillingly and un- 
 certainly — but go he will finally. Do not soldiers act 
 so, too ? When they are sent to the cannon's mouth, 
 it is not always love of glory that urges them, but the 
 fear also of being shot if they prove cowardly. To be 
 good soldiers they must keep with the body of troops. 
 The punishment, falling upon many heads, attaints no 
 one specially. Leonard is alone — he dare not turn back 
 — and like the good Talthybius, the herald in the palace 
 ot Atrides, I shall hope soon to see, from the emigrants' 
 camp, the expected signal." The baron smiled com- 
 placently, having no scruples on the subject, and loving 
 to show his literary knowledge and his erudition in the 
 matter of great authors. 
 
 He strolled on through the night, through the de- 
 serted quarters of the town, hearing the distant shots, 
 and following with careless eyes the luminous track of 
 the shells, which, like swift meteors, crossed the black 
 background of the sky. 
 
 There was no fighting around him. 
 
 Some few functionaries, awake upon the ramparts, 
 gave their call : «' Sentinels, keep your watch," at in- 
 tervals, in the silence, which, otherwise remained un- 
 broken about the Porte-Neuve, whither the baron went. 
 
 He found, several of the National Guards on duty 
 there, to whom, after his departure from the court- 
 house, the attorney-general had sent an order to pass 
 the Baron de Lowendaal. The head of the post readily 
 unbarred the door to let the baron out, and wished him 
 a safe return.
 
 184 Padam* gnn$-<Btnt. 
 
 Going eastward across the deserted field, the baron 
 reached a woodland whose slim trees rose on its edge, 
 and proceeded directly toward a fire which burned at 
 some distance across the plain — a bivouac of the out- 
 post, doubtless. 
 
 A cry of, " Who goes ? " uttered in French made him 
 stop. 
 
 " I was not mistaken," thought he : " these are 
 Frenchmen." 
 
 He stood still, calling out : "A friend : sent by the 
 municipality of Verdun." 
 
 A silence followed ; then he saw a dark object rise, 
 accompanied by a click of arms. 
 
 A light came toward him. 
 
 Four men, with the lantern-bearer, came to look at 
 him. 
 
 After having declined to do business with the cap- 
 tain of the division, and having asked to be taken to the 
 general-in-chief, the baron was politely invited to a 
 place beside the fire, while he awaited the general's 
 orders. 
 
 The invitation he accepted gladly, for it was a chilly 
 night. He sat down among the royalist volunteers 
 before the burning logs. 
 
 His arrival had been whispered through the camp, 
 and many sleepers awoke to hear the news, and to 
 learn what was going on at Verdun. 
 
 This camp of emigrants was strange and varied. 
 The army of Conde* was composed of volunteers from 
 all parts of France, but principally from the west ;
 
 $Radam* £att0-<S*n*. 185 
 
 they came to fight against the national army, to de- 
 fend the white flag, and to reoinstate the king and 
 crush the Revolution. Many had come somewhat un- 
 willingly. 
 
 Some were urged to it by their families, or fired by 
 others' example, or unable to remain upon their ruined 
 and plundered estates. 
 
 Some came from pure fanaticism, and many in the 
 hope of re-entering France with both triumph and profit. 
 
 This army of rebels and traitors was collected from 
 various provinces. The gentlemen among them con- 
 served their privileges, and concealed their infatuation. 
 They did not mingle with the rest. Bretagne had sent 
 seven companies of nobles — an eighth was in reserve. 
 The costumes, too, partook of the class distinctions. 
 The non-nobles wore an iron-gray garb ; the gentlemen 
 had uniforms of royal blue, with cocked hats. Thus 
 these insurgents, against the will of the nation, as- 
 sembled for the same cause and running the same risks, 
 attempted to keep alive, in their midst, the adherence 
 to hierarchies and the social distinctions which were 
 already a thing ot the past. The townsmen, with their 
 sombre coats of gray were far more self-denying and 
 devoted than the nobles, for they fought for privileges 
 in which they could never share. 
 
 Some deserters, still wearing the uniforms of their 
 division — they were mostly marine officers — formed the 
 only really military element of the organization. 
 
 The marine corps, brave, but superstitious, yet much 
 attached to royalty, had been mustered chiefly from
 
 186 gjftadame g»w-(&tnt. 
 
 the sons of families on the Breton coast, and all hostile 
 to the Revolution. The desertion of these marines en- 
 feebled the naval strength of the nation for a long 
 time, and despite the courage of the sailors, gave Eng- 
 land victories over French ships and strengthened her 
 supremacy on the high seas. The treason of these 
 royalist marine officers is too often overlooked, when 
 one counts the rigorous measures taken by the Con- 
 vention in the west. 
 
 The heroic resistance of fanaticism was less detri- 
 mental to the country than the flight of these experienced 
 marines — comrades of La PeYouse and D'Estaing, the 
 glorious adversaries of the English in the American 
 Revolution who quitted the bridges of their ships to 
 run behind Prussian generals, and allow themselves to 
 be shot by the National Guards. 
 
 These royal volunteers were poorly clad, poorly 
 armed, and poorly provisioned besides. Their guns, of 
 German manufacture, were clumsy and heavy. 
 
 Many of the nobles had only hunting arms. 
 
 The combination of this strange army made it seem 
 like a troop of insurgent Bohemians. Even the ages 
 were mixed. Old squires, bent and broken with years, 
 advanced side by side with young fellows. Entire 
 families, from grandsire to grandson, were together in 
 the ranks. It was touching and at the same time 
 grotesque. 
 
 The army of the princes had been deprived of artil- 
 lery, and despite the individual courage displayed by 
 most of these improvised soldiers, their attachment to
 
 padame gzn$-<&tm. 187 
 
 the royal cause was little assistance. The Prussians 
 and Austrians were not wrong in considering most of 
 these gentlemen only an incumbrance. 
 
 The Baron de Lowendaal listened, with his satirical 
 smile, to the confidences, boasts, and recriminations of 
 the volunteers. 
 
 They overwhelmed him with questions as to the con- 
 dition of Paris, when he had left it, and as to the favor- 
 able possibilities for the king's return. 
 
 The baron answered evasively, saying that, in his 
 opinion, all would arrange itself, although one must 
 naturally calculate upon the over-excitement of crowds, 
 and the ardcr with which men had hastened to enlist 
 as soon as the country was considered in danger. 
 
 The young gentlemen heard, with haughty sneers, the 
 careful answers of the baron who, on his side, learning 
 the hour at which the general would be ready to receive 
 him, seemed anxious to get his mission fulfilled. 
 
 While telling his irritable auditors all he knew about 
 the preparations of the entire nation, and their readi- 
 ness to die,' if need be, the baron kept one eye open 
 beyond the camp-fire, tow: '1 the ramparts of Verdun, 
 on the Porte-Saint-Victor's side. 
 
 He seemed to wait from minute to minute for a sig- 
 nal which, however, did not come. 
 
 At times he drew out his watch, consulted it anxiously, 
 hearing but indifferently the talk ar und him ; then he 
 glanced at u.e sky, ever dark abov^ the town. 
 
 " What is that dolt, Leonard, doing ? " he thought, 
 •« Can he have betrayed me ? Can his courage have
 
 1 88 Padame £att0-®*»e. 
 
 failed at the last moment ? Oh, I shall take fearful 
 vengeance on him. If he has deceived me, I shall 
 surely see him sent to the galleys." 
 
 And the baron, not caring to listen longer to the talk 
 of the volunteers, feigned to fall asleep, closed his eyes, 
 and lay, wrapped in his cloak, beside the embers of 
 the fire, where some one came to tell him that General 
 Clerfayt awaited him in his tent. 
 
 The baron rose and followed his guide ; not, how- 
 ever, without casting uneasy glances at the houses of 
 Verdun, which showed, from the high grounds, above 
 the ramparts. Plunged in shadow as wrYl as in 
 slumber, these houses seemed indifferent to the cannon- 
 ade which continued on the opposite side of the town ; 
 it had grown less and less ; the Prussians answered 
 but moderately to the shots of the besieged. Providing 
 for a siege which might, nay, which must, be long, they 
 husbanded their ammunition well. 
 
 In the general's tent, the baron found the aide-de- 
 camp who had been at the court-house. 
 
 He scowled, though he saluted, with ' scrupulous 
 politeness, the Count de Neipperg. 
 
 The latter returned his salutation icily. 
 
 The interview was short. 
 
 The Austrian general asked what was the attitude 
 of the town of Verdun. 
 
 And when the baron assured him that it was excel- 
 lent, and favorable to surrender, the general answered 
 by a silent movement, lifting the canvas of his tent and 
 showing the flaming shells flying over the ramparts.
 
 Padame #att.$-C3ett*. 189 
 
 The baron mechanically followed, with his eyes, the 
 general's motion. 
 
 Although he was master of himself on all occasions, 
 he could not repress a quick exclamation of triumph 
 and content. 
 
 He saw, in the northern quarter of the town, a flam- 
 ing color. Jets of flame shot through volumes of smoke 
 in that part of Verdun, which seemed to have been 
 spared until then by the besiegers. 
 
 " What is it ? " demanded the general, surprised at 
 this extraordinary emotion on the part of the city's 
 messenger. 
 
 " Nothing, General — nothing at all — weariness and 
 care — and the joy I feel in knowing that to-morrow the 
 horrors of the siege will be over for that fair city. That 
 is the explanation of my cry at seeing the shells and 
 flaming shot flying through space," said he, forcing 
 himself to be calm outwardly. 
 
 " Then you believe," said Clerfayt, " that the city 
 will open her gates to-morrow ? " 
 
 " I'm sure of it, sir. A man is to come to me this very 
 morning with the deed of capitulation signed." 
 
 " Why did you not bring it yourself? Why did you 
 not send it with my aide-de-camp, the Count de Neip- 
 perg here, who went, charged by myself and by the 
 Duke of Brunswick to bring your answer? " 
 
 " I was not certain, General, that the town would be 
 in a state to surrender to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Ah ! what was the obstacle ? " 
 
 " A wretch — a brigand-chief, General Beaurepaire — ■
 
 190 padatn* £atti9i-$*tt*. 
 
 entered last night by surprise into the town and wanted 
 to overthrow our plans, ruin all our hopes." 
 
 " This general is a brave soldier, and an able adver- 
 sary," said Neipperg to Clerfayt. 
 
 •« You have seen him ? " said Clerfayt, interested. 
 
 " Yes, and heard him speak. You should see him — . 
 it is he who has put Verdun so rapidly in a state of de- 
 fence. While he is about, I am not of monsieur's opin- 
 ion, — Verdun will not surrender." 
 
 And Neipperg cast a look of scorn *at the baron. 
 
 " What have you to say ? " said Clerfayt. " You 
 promise me the opening of the gates to-morrow morn- 
 ing. My aide-de-camp, who has seen the place and 
 knows the energy of its defender, says it will not yield 
 so readily. Answer me ! " 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," said the baron in his honeyed 
 tones, " I do not contradict the aide-de-camp. I made 
 you aware of that obstacle. I told you what caused my 
 hesitation, my fears. I was not sure, as I told you, that 
 Verdun would surrender." 
 
 And now you believe surrender possible ? " 
 
 " Certain, sir." 
 But — Beaurepaire ? " 
 Beaurepaire, sir, is dead ! " 
 Dead ! How do you know ? Who told you ? " 
 
 The baron bowed, and with a broader smile than 
 usual said, " Sir, permit me to get the official confirma- 
 tion of that news whose first messenger I am. The 
 man who shall bring me the signed deed of surrender 
 will tell you the end of General Beaurepaire."
 
 $t»dam* $att£-(*5aw. 191 
 
 "Very well, sir, we shall wait," said Clerfayt coldly, 
 signing to the baron that the interview was over. 
 
 When Lowendaal left, the Count de Neipperg said to 
 the Austrian general, " How does that spying fellow, 
 squinting from under his light and smiling mask, know 
 that Beaurepaire is no more ? He was living not two 
 hours since when I left Verdun ! Can they have mur- 
 dered him ? " 
 
 Clerfayt regarded his aide with some surprise. He 
 said, " My dear Neipperg, we soldiers make war loy- 
 ally and by daylight ; but these merchants who hold 
 out their hands to us, and open the gates of their town, 
 are capable of any cowardice. There are ill things 
 left over in the kitchen of victory. They who partake 
 of the feast must not trouble to think how it is pre- 
 pared. Otherwise none would care for — none would 
 kill for glory. Let us get our message ready, dear lad, 
 for by morning, if this baron speak the truth, w» will 
 have enough to do ; a town to occupy, posts to guard, 
 authorities to change and to look after, without count- 
 ing the triumphal entry of their majesties amid the 
 felicitation and homage of the people. At least we 
 will see if this Lowendaal spoke truth. We will send 
 messengers to this Beaurepaire, who seems to be a 
 hard adversary." 
 
 And while Neipperg sat down at the little table to 
 write at the general's dictation, the latter, lifting the 
 opening of his tent, called to one of the artillery officers 
 beside a battery : " Commander, continue your fire 
 upon the ramparts of Verdun until you see raised the 
 flag of truce."
 
 192 gflaflame £att0-(3*ttf. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CATHARINE ALARMED. 
 
 Leonard, as we have seen, left his master, and, per- 
 plexed and discomforted by the remembrance of a dis- 
 agreeable past, made his way to the Porte de France. 
 
 On that side the cannon roared constantly, and 
 Leonard did not love its music over-well. But he had 
 received exact orders and he felt he must execute them. 
 
 Where they were fighting, he hoped to find the man 
 he sought and concerning whom he had received orders 
 — this was General Beaurepaire. 
 
 Before gaining the side of the gate, where, on the 
 slope, stood several officers, and doubtless, too, he 
 whom the mission concerned, Leonard sauntered 
 toward a wagon about which were groups of men, and 
 before which was a table with bottles, glasses, pieces 
 of bread and sausages. 
 
 It was the canteen of the 13th Light Infantry. 
 
 Behind the table, which was lighted by two smoking 
 torches stood Catharine Lefebvre, alert, jolly, and ready 
 to serve drink and refreshment, answering to the re- 
 peated demands of the cannoneers and the soldiers 
 who came between shots to drink to the deliverance of 
 Verdun. 
 
 From time to time Catharine stopped pouring wine, 
 or cutting slices of sausage, to glance into her wagon.
 
 $tadam* gnn$-(Stnt. 193 
 
 There, on a tiny bed, little Henriot slept the dream- 
 less sleep of childhood. 
 
 "Ah, the cannon lulls him like a cradle-song," said 
 she, and Catharine returned to her distribution not 
 without a few words of energetic defiance of the Prus- 
 sians. 
 
 From the outset of the siege, Beaurepaire had moved 
 actively about, seeming to be everywhere at once ; he 
 had gone to the batteries, encouraged the gunners, see- 
 ing to the placing of gabions, and guarding the turrets 
 of the Porte de France ; while Catharine, leaving her 
 canteen, had also climbed the slopes. 
 
 There, like a fury of war, she had shamed the lag- 
 gards, encouraged the brave, helped the first wounded 
 men, and even, at times, seized a gun and discharged 
 it upon the Austrian cavaliers who had advanced under 
 the embrasures of the gates ; she had contributed ener- 
 getically to keeping off a panic and holding back the 
 enemy, who were surprised at so sturdy an extemporized 
 defence. Beaurepaire noticed and praised her. 
 
 The attack over, the enemy retired, having given up 
 the idea of taking a town so well guarded ; and Cath- 
 arine returned to her canteen and her neglected cus* 
 tomers. 
 
 She had, in a lull after the first combat, seen 
 Lefebvre, who, with his sharp-shooters, guarded the 
 parapets, and, from the walls, poured a deadly fire on 
 the Austrian infantry. 
 
 Reassured and happy — for this was her baptism of 
 fire — she had returned to her canteen, where she 
 13
 
 194 padame JSattf-Gfoiw. 
 
 worked with good-humor and much acceptance by the 
 troop. 
 
 While she was serving two artillerymen, she noticed, 
 a. little at one side, a civilian who watched them drink- 
 ing. 
 
 "Eh! my friend," she said unceremoniously, "why 
 don't you come and take a good cup of ' schuick,' as 
 we say ? You are a civilian, but, never mind ; to-mor- 
 row you'll be like the rest — in arms. Come ! you may 
 drink with the defenders of your country. We're all 
 brothers ! " 
 
 And as the man did not answer, and was about to 
 move away she called : 
 
 " Eh, friend, do not go off that way ! Have you no 
 money ? Never mind, I shall regale you to-day, to- 
 morrow you can pay me. What will you have ? " 
 
 The man answered dryly, " I do not drink." 
 
 " You are not thirsty, and you do not fight ? Then, 
 what do you want here ? " 
 
 The man hesitated, then said in a low voice, " I 
 wanted to speak to General Beaurepaire." 
 
 Catharine looked surprised. 
 You ? speak to the general ? What do you want 
 with him ?" 
 
 " I have important news to tell him." 
 
 Catharine shrugged her shoulders. " You choose ft 
 fine time, my lad." 
 
 " I choose the moment I can get." 
 
 " Possibly, but just now you can't see him." 
 
 The man shook his head, and said, " But I must see 
 him."
 
 Padam* gmt-(&tM. 195 
 
 Catharine distrusted her interlocutor. His insistence 
 was suspicious. She determined to tell her husband. 
 
 She signalled to one of the soldiers and told him to 
 find Lefebvre, and ask him when Beaurepaire could be 
 seen. 
 
 Excited by the noise of battle, his tongue loosened 
 by copious draughts taken with a man in town, the 
 soldier grew garrulous. He told, despite Catharine's 
 warning glances, that Beaurepaire had gone to sleep 
 for a little at a relative's house in town ; and at four 
 o'clock would be up again, and had ordered his horse 
 for that hour. 
 
 Catharine, losing patience, said, "You chatter like a 
 magpie — go somewhere and sleep — it will do you good. 
 You'll never be ready to meet the general at four 
 o'clock, as he told you to do. Go, or I'll call Lieutenant 
 Lefebvre ; he doesn't play with babblers and drunk- 
 ards." 
 
 " Very well ; I'll keep still and go," growled the 
 soldier, and went away. 
 
 Catharine turned once more to serve her soldiers. 
 
 Mechanically she looked for the man who had in- 
 sisted on speaking to the general. 
 
 He was gone. 
 
 Catharine thought she saw him going off in company 
 with the orderly, toward a tavern whose doors stood 
 open to the men who wanted to help, to defend and to 
 shelter the town. 
 
 She had a moment's suspicion that this man was a 
 conspirator and that some danger threatened Beaure- 
 paire.
 
 196 gjftadame £m$-<&tnt. 
 
 She wanted to follow him and to point him out to 
 Lefebvre, but could not think of leaving her canteen 
 just then. 
 
 The defenders of Verdun, passing the night in erects 
 ing defences, raising palisades, and setting cannon in 
 position amid a continuous fire, must find her ready 
 to wait upon them. 
 
 She shuddered uneasily, though trying to persuade 
 herself that she was unnecessarily alarmed and that 
 no harm could come to Beaurepaire from this man. 
 But Lowendaal, came, ever and again, into her mind. 
 
 The baron looked like a traitor. Could he have 
 planned aught against the valiant defender of Verdun ? 
 
 At last, Catharine could endure her anxiety no longer ; 
 and when, as the night advanced, the customers became 
 few, she said briefly that she must get a little sleep, and 
 sent away the last few soldiers, saying that, if they 
 did not feel the need of rest, they could find amuse- 
 ment on the ramparts, where there were a few men 
 trying to place gabions and set guns. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A HERO'S END. 
 
 After arranging her canteen, and giving a quick 
 kiss to Henriot, who slept peacefully, Catharine went 
 out into the dark streets. 
 
 Her fears were aroused. It must be in the house of
 
 Padame gm$-(5tnt. 197 
 
 Madame de Ble"court, whither he had ordered her to 
 take the little girl from Jouy-en-Argonne, that danger 
 threatened Beaurepaire. She divined sorrow, she 
 scented treason. 
 
 As she approached Madame Blgcourt's house, she 
 heard a shot. 
 
 It was not a surprising noise in a besieged city. 
 
 But that shot, in that isolated quarter, far from the 
 ramparts, and seemingly asleep, was frightful. 
 
 She was sure of misfortune, crime. 
 
 At the turn of the lane she saw the shadow of a flee- 
 ing man. 
 
 She seemed to recognize that strange person whose 
 looks at the canteen had aroused her suspicions. 
 
 She called to him — " Say ! Man ! Don't go so- 
 fast ! Who fired that shot ? " 
 
 But the fugitive redoubled his haste, and answered 
 not ; turning, he disappeared down a dark street. 
 
 Catharine hesitated an instant. Should she follow 
 him ? But she reflected that a man hurrying by 
 night through a besieged city was not necessarily a 
 culprit, and, besides, what connection could there be 
 between this unknown man and Beaurepaire ? It was 
 not there that the danger lay, if Beaurepaire was 
 threatened. 
 
 She must go to the Blgcourt house, and assure her- 
 self that the general was asleep and safe. 
 
 Catharine started again, and walked rapidly toward 
 the house, where Herminie de Beaurepaire must be 
 sleeping, with little Alice by her side, and where, doubt-
 
 198 gftadame £attjS-<*fcttc. 
 
 less, Beaurepaire, worn with fatigue, had thrown him- 
 self upon a bed, until he should be called to return to 
 the strife. 
 
 As she reached the door and knocked, cries and 
 calls arose from within. 
 
 Frightened people put out their heads, calling for 
 help. 
 
 In night-cap and gown, the old dowager of Bldcourt 
 appeared upon the balcony, waving her arms wildly, 
 despairingly. 
 
 At the same time a red light sent it's sinister glow 
 over the opposite house. 
 
 Clouds of black smoke poured from the open windows. 
 
 Great tongues of flames licked upward toward the 
 roof. 
 
 " Fire ! Fire ! " cried Catharine, " and the door 
 will not give way." 
 
 Servants, losing their heads, ran screaming down- 
 stairs, calling for keys. Finally, they opened the door 
 and rushed into the street. 
 
 Some neighbors, awakened by the noise, came up. 
 But the courageous Catharine was already in the 
 burning house. 
 
 The danger did not frighten her, and she told her- 
 self that there were lives to be saved. 
 
 She mounted the stairs through the smoke, guiding 
 herself by the glare of the flames. 
 
 One room, on the first story, had its door open — she 
 cried aloud ! 
 
 " Is any one asleep here ? save yourself, quickly ! "
 
 Padamc £m$-(&tnt. 199 
 
 The smoke kept her out. 
 
 No answer came ! 
 
 A glare of flame suddenly flashed through the gloom 
 and lighted the chamber. 
 
 Catharine uttered a cry of terror, There upon the 
 bed lay Beaurepaire asleep, lifeless, deaf to the mighty 
 tumult. 
 
 She rushed to him. 
 
 " General — quick— awake ! Get up — the house is on 
 fire ! " she cried. 
 
 He did not move. 
 
 The room was dark once more. 
 
 The smoke rolled in, thick, suffocating. 
 
 Catharine bent over, putting out her hands. 
 
 She tried in that smoky darkness to find the bed. 
 
 She wanted to help the general, thinking — "Can he 
 have fainted ? " 
 
 She touched the lifeless body ; she listened. No 
 sound of breathing came from the bed. 
 
 "What a strangely deep sleep," she thought — and 
 terror filled her strong, manly heart. 
 
 Nevertheless, she approached ; and laid her ear 
 upon the general's breast. 
 
 " His heart has ceased to beat," she murmured, with 
 a tone of intense agony. 
 
 A terrible silence seemed to fill the room. 
 
 She laid her hand upon his forehead and felt some- 
 thing thick, and sticky, on her fingers. 
 
 Frightened, she recoiled. 
 
 She felt stunned, weak, sick — she almost fell.
 
 200 gftaflsttu £att$i-<Sm. 
 
 He was dead — dead. 
 
 She roused herself. 
 
 " Ah, the window," she thought, astonished that she 
 had not sooner thought of opening it. 
 
 She went quickly, and let in the air. 
 
 It was high time. A moment more, and she would 
 have fallen, choked by the smoke. 
 
 The roar of the flames continued, and lit up once 
 more the bed where Beaurepaire lay. 
 
 The general seemed asleep, rigid, insensible. His 
 face was livid, his pillow red. 
 
 A gap in his temple, whence flowed a stream of 
 olood, revealed how deep was the slumber that held 
 the heroic dead. 
 
 " Ah, the wretches, they have murdered him ! " cried 
 Catharine, rushing from the room. She shouted an 
 alarm which no one heard in the general confusion, 
 and which was lost amid the horrors of the flames. 
 
 As she sought the stairs where lay the debris o< 
 stone, plaster, and wood-work, half-burned and send- 
 ing up sparks and black smoke, she heard a soft 
 voice singing in a plaintive tone, 
 
 Sleep, sleep, 
 
 Baby sleep, 
 
 Baby's sleep is long and deep. 
 
 Stunned, Catharine tried to find out whence this 
 unexpected song came. What deaf old nurse could 
 rock her charge with this soft lullaby amid the horrors 
 of that night 1
 
 ittadame gm$-(&tttt. 201 
 
 The voice came from the story above. Braving the; 
 flames which might at any moment attack the stairs- 
 behind her, and cut off her retreat, Catharine went up. 
 through the smoke. 
 
 She opened the door whence came the soft voice,, 
 singing, ever in the same tone, that simple cradle-song. 
 
 She saw, insensible, with vacant stare, and bent 
 head, Herminie de Beaurepaire, sitting on the side of 
 a bed, and holding in her lap little Alice, who was fast 
 asleep. 
 
 "Come quickly, madame," cried Catharine. " The- 
 house is afire ! " 
 
 But Herminie continued to sing and rock little Alice. 
 
 At Catharine's cry, the child awoke. 
 
 " There is no time to lose. Come ! Quick ! " cried! 
 Catherine, imperatively, and she took the trembling: 
 child by the hand. 
 
 Herminie, bowed gravely, and said, " Good-day, 
 madame ! Do you not know ? I am to be married !' 
 You are come to my wedding, are you not ? Shall I 
 not look well ? " 
 
 " She is mad ! Poor girl," thought Catharine, pity- 
 ingly ; " but I must not think of that now ! Come, you 
 must follow me ! " she said, giving a harsh tone to her 
 voice purposely. 
 
 The mad-woman rose, her eyes fixed, her arms hang- 
 ing by her sides, and moved automatically. 
 
 Catharine, taking little Alice, hurried to descends 
 She turned to see if Herminie were coming. The latter 
 continued to walk stiffly.
 
 202 £$adamc gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 As she passed the room where Beaurepaire lay, Her- 
 minie threw up her hands, gave a scream, and cried : 
 
 " He is there ! there ! The man ! with a pistol at 
 his temple ! He will kill me, too ! " 
 
 And she sank senseless across the doorway. 
 
 Catharine could not carry her. She must attend to 
 the child. 
 
 She hurried on with little Alice and rushed into the 
 street. 
 
 She had saved the child. 
 
 The soldiers, who had run up at sight of the fire, 
 which they attributed to a Prussian shell, began to 
 organize a chain. 
 
 She gave them the child, and recognizing some men 
 of Lefebvre's company, she begged them to go into the 
 house and try to bring out Herminie, who was still 
 alive, and the body of the general. 
 
 Three or four men went at once. 
 
 In a few moments they returned with the body of 
 Beaurepaire, and two soldiers held the mad-woman, 
 who cried : 
 
 " Let me go ! I must go and dress ! You do not 
 .know ! I am to be married ! Everybody is there ! 
 And the candles are lighted.' Oh, the church looks so 
 fine on a wedding-day ! " 
 
 It was sad to see her thus pointing to the terrible 
 flames that licked the remaining walls. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Madame de Bl6court had broken a leg in jumping 
 from the balcony to the street. She died in a few days.
 
 Padam* jSattf-Gkn*. 203 
 
 Herminie, whose senses had not returned, was taken 
 to a relative, who offered to take care of her. 
 
 Beaurepaire's body was borne to the court-house. 
 
 There the president and the attorney declared that 
 he had committed suicide to escape surrender. 
 
 It was said, they averred, that Beaurepaire had loudly 
 proclaimed that to be his intention the evening when 
 the conditions of surrender had been discussed. 
 
 Many witnesses would affirm it ; and the news of the 
 general's heroic death — dying rather than assist alive 
 at the surrender of a town he had sworn to defend — 
 was propagated by the traitors who had caused his 
 tragic end, and was accepted by the patriots. 
 
 He was accorded great funeral honors, this noble 
 Beaurepaire ; the Convention having also accepted the 
 explanation of an exemplary and glorious suicide. 
 
 The cowards who had aimed at the murder of Beaure- 
 paire, done by Leonard, opened next day the city gates 
 to the Austrian and Prussian armies, in virtue of the 
 treaty of capitulation which Lowendaal had taken to 
 Brunswick's general. 
 
 The King of Prussia made a triumphal entry int» 
 Verdun. 
 
 All the rich gentry hailed him. President Ternaux 
 gave a banquet at the court-house, and the attorney, at 
 dessert, compared him to Alexander the Great, taking 
 possession of Babylon. 
 
 The daughters of royalist houses, who were later ex- 
 ecuted, and whom poetry has glorified as martyrs, in- 
 sulted the devoted defenders of Verdun.
 
 204 Pattern* £an;S-6ctt*. 
 
 Robed in white with wreaths on their heads, they 
 carried the crown of the King of Prussia, victor oi the 
 town, by treason's aid. 
 
 Verdun, like Longevy, deserved to be known forever 
 as a city of cowards. 
 
 The frontier was unguarded, the way to Paris open, 
 and the Austrian and Prussian armies had only to 
 march on to the capital and inflict on it the punish- 
 ment set down by Brunswick. 
 
 And the royalists, intoxicated with hope, believed that 
 no fortress, no army, no resistance, could arrest the 
 victorious course of the allies. They had not thought 
 of Moulin de Valmy. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The garrison of Verdun had been allowed the honors 
 of war. They went out with arms and colors. 
 
 Lefebvre, now captain, was sent with the 13th Light 
 Infantry to the north. 
 
 Catharine took little Alice, whose mother, now in- 
 sane, had left her practically orphaned. 
 
 She slept beside little Henriot, glad to have found 
 her playmate of Verdun once more, and Catharine 
 said to Lefebvre, with a sweet smile, showing him the 
 two fair, sleeping children, " Say, dear heart, now we 
 have two children whom our country has sent us, and 
 none of our own ! " 
 
 Captain Lefebvre embraced his wife and suggested 
 that they might some day be blessed with children of 
 their own. 
 
 The couple took to the road, with anger in their eyes
 
 Patac jftutf-gfrtt*. 205 
 
 And hope in their hearts, swearing to retake the surren- 
 dered town and to drive out, at the point of the bayonet, 
 the Austrians and Prussians, who would never have 
 entered except tor the traitors of Verdun. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE UNKNOWN. 
 
 While these events were taking place in the east, 
 and while Dumouriez and Kellermann arrested the in- 
 vasion at Valmy, and saved France and the Republic, 
 by forcing the Austrians and Prussians to retreat, what 
 was Bonaparte doing ? 
 
 He was with his family, who had fled to Marseilles 
 for refuge, and he was penniless. 
 
 After wandering from lodging to lodging, in the poor 
 quarters, expelled by pitiless landlords, Madame Letizia 
 Bonaparte, undaunted and energetic, found a fairly com- 
 fortable situation in the Rue de Rome. The proprietor 
 was a rich soap merchant, named Clary, who showed 
 at once a great deal of sympathy for the exiles. 
 
 The Bonaparte family led a hard and narrow life. 
 
 Rising at dawn, Madame Bonaparte attended to the 
 household, cleaned, washed, prepared the simple meals, 
 and then set her daughters to work. One did the mar- 
 keting, another put things in order ; only the youngest 
 was allowed to play.
 
 06 Padame gnn$-(&mt. 
 
 During the day the mother and the two elder daughters 
 did sewing, which brought in a little money. 
 
 Joseph had a position as commissioner in the military 
 administration, but his emoluments were very slender. 
 
 As Corsican refugees, victims of their devotion to 
 France, the family received rations of bread from the 
 town. Bonaparte, again without pay, was unable to 
 support his family. 
 
 Face to face with the horrible spectre of poverty, he 
 lost courage and conceived, in his over-excited state, a 
 notion of suicide. 
 
 One day, having thrown his last sou to a beggar, he 
 sought a crag that projected far into the sea. 
 
 Here he fell into a profound reverie. 
 
 The smooth green water called to him. Useless to 
 his country, disarmed, thinking his genius reduced to 
 nothing, having no longer any confidence in himself ; 
 losing sight, in the darkness of the sky, of that star 
 which had guided him ; saddened by,, the feeling of 
 loneliness, and that insupportable idea of being a care 
 to his mother, instead of helping her, he considered, 
 fixedly and sternly, the water plashing gently on the 
 rocks before him. 
 
 Then, should he throw himself down, he would surely 
 kill himself. 
 
 And out of life his family would have one less to feed, 
 and could use all the bread doled out to the household 
 by public charity. 
 
 He stood thus, a prey to his sinister resolutions, 
 chiding himself, reproaching himself for hesitating to
 
 iftatUnit jSattf-tifcue. 207 
 
 die, persuading himself that he had nothing to hope for 
 on earth, and looking coldly down into the depths that 
 rolled below. 
 
 He stood thus a long time, on the edge of nothingness. 
 
 The sight of a bark, skimming along toward the 
 coast, awoke him from his despairing dream. 
 
 " I must do it," he said quickly. 
 
 He was calculating the distance and the spring 
 necessary to throw himself from the rock into the 
 water, when he heard his own name, and turned. 
 
 A man, dressed like a fisherman, ran toward him 
 with open arms. 
 
 Surprised and annoyed at being balked in his deter- 
 mination, he began to descend quickly down the rock, 
 and to seek a more secluded one, where he could put 
 into execution his dark resolve, when the fisherman 
 called, *' Is it really you, Napoleon ? What the devil 
 are you doing here ? Don't you recognize me ? Des- 
 mazis, your old comrade, in the artillery regiment of 
 la Fere ? Have you forgotten those jolly nights at 
 Valence ? " 
 
 Bonaparte recognized his old companion, and the 
 two men embraced. 
 
 Desmazis explained that he had emigrated at the be- 
 ginning of the Revolution. He lived peacefully in Italy, 
 near Savona, on the shore. Having heard that his old 
 mother, who lived at Marseilles, was seriously ill, he 
 had equipped himself at once, for he was very rich, and 
 had come, in fisherman's costume, to the port which he 
 had gained, without attracting attention.
 
 208 Ptottamt ^aw^-<5ene. 
 
 Assured of his mother's returning health, he had em- 
 braced her, and had helped, by his visit, her convales- 
 cence, and was now going off again. He had prudently 
 ordered his skipper to await him outside the harbor. 
 
 He waited for his gig. 
 
 " But you — what were you doing in this lonely spot ? " 
 he asked kindly. 
 
 Bonaparte stammered a vague explanation. 
 
 Then he ceased to speak, and fell again into a deep 
 meditation, looking again fixedly at the green water 
 falling in sparkles of silver against the black rock. 
 
 " Ah, what ails you ? " said the good Desmazis, 
 anxiously. " You do not hear me. Are you not glad 
 to see me ? What makes you suffer ? What misfor- 
 tune hangs over you ? Answer me — for you seem to 
 me like one mad enough to take his own life ! " 
 
 Bonaparte, won by his comrade's sympathetic tone, 
 revealed all to him, and confessed his suicidal inten- 
 tions. 
 
 " What ! Only that ! " said Desmazis. «« Oh, I cam* 
 in good time ! Hold," and he took off a belt, " hera 
 are ten thousand francs in gold. I do not need them. 
 You shall pay them back when you can. Take them 
 and help your family." 
 
 And he handed to Bonaparte, who stood as if stunned, 
 the ten thousand francs, a fortune for the penniless 
 officer. 
 
 Then, to escape thanks, and also to prevent reflec- 
 tion from inciting Bonaparte to refuse, Desmazis; 
 abruptly left his friend, saying, " Au revoir ! Mj
 
 Padam* J?att$-<5ftw. 209 
 
 -gig is coming — my men are waiting. Good luck, 
 Napoleon ! " 
 
 And, going quickly down the path by which he had 
 ■climbed to find his despairing friend at a fortunate mo- 
 ment, the generous Desmazis reached his ship, hoisted 
 sail, and was away toward the open sea. 
 
 Bonaparte, meantime, stunned, had let his preserver 
 go, without a word ; as if fascinated, he looked at that 
 gold which seemed to have fallen from the sky. 
 
 Then suddenly he started toward the town, and 
 entered the room where Madame Bonaparte sat sewing 
 with her daughters. He came in like a whirlwind. 
 
 He spread the gold pieces on the table, crying, 
 *' Mother, we are rich ! Girls, you shall eat every day 
 and each shall have a new gown. Ah, it is a windfall ! " 
 
 And he chinked the money joyfully, and enjoyed the 
 sound of the metal. 
 
 Years after, Napoleon had search made for his bene- 
 factor. Desmazis, hidden in a little village in Provence, 
 occupied himself with cultivating violets, and seemed to 
 have forgotten entirely the comrade he had once helped 
 so opportunely. 
 
 Napoleon had a hard time making him accept three 
 "hundred thousand francs as repayment, and he made 
 him, at the same time, administrator of the royal 
 gardens. 
 
 The ten thousand francs of his former comrade saved 
 not only Bonaparte and his family from starvation, but 
 they helped Joseph to contract a wealthy marriage, 
 •while providing for daily wants as well. 
 H
 
 210 ptadame gm$-<Btnt. 
 
 M. Clary, the owner of the house, had two daughters, 
 Julia and Dgsiree. 
 
 Joseph paid court to Julia, and she became his wife. 
 
 Bonaparte, always occupied with matrimonial pro- 
 jects, envied his brother's luck. 
 
 He cast his glances upon De'sire'e and declared his 
 affection on several occasions very seriously. 
 
 But he was repulsed, politely, gently ; but repulsed, 
 just the same. 
 
 The future conqueror preluded his manifold triumph 
 by two successive feminine checks. 
 
 De'sire'e, like Mme. Permon, was not attracted by his 
 sombre mien and his problematical future. Napoleon, 
 on the other hand, seemed long to feel Ddsirge Clary's 
 refusal. The tenacity with which he had followed her 
 could not but augment his irritation. The desire to 
 take a tremendous revenge upon the little woman who 
 had scorned him — who later was called upon to choose 
 among the brilliant assemblages of princesses and arch- 
 duchesses — contributed, largely, to throw him soon 
 into the way of the Widow Beauharnais, who was 
 destined to be the Empress Josephine. 
 
 As for D6sire"e Clary, her future, though less exalted, 
 was nevertheless, a brilliant one. She married Berna- 
 dotte, and we find her, later, Queen of Sweden. 
 
 Such, then, was the situation of Bonaparte, when Le- 
 febvre and his wife, in the ranks of the Army of the 
 North, marched toward the ever-memorable town of 
 Jemmapes.
 
 Pattern* JFatt0-<S*tt*. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XVI, 
 
 JEMMAPES. 
 
 Robespierre said, " War is absurd." But he added, 
 * We must go into it, nevertheless." 
 
 This was the " Credo" of the republicans. 
 
 War was absurd ! because they had no soldiers, no 
 generals, no arms, no ammunition, rations, nor money, 
 — nothing which could help a nation to take the field 
 for attack, or to maintain itself on its own ground by 
 barring the way of invasion. 
 
 All the generals were royalists or traitors, Dumouriez, 
 Dillon, Castine, Valence. 
 
 The young Duke de Chartres, afterwards Louis-Phi- 
 lippe, was favored by the general-in-chief. Dumouriez, 
 in a secret scheme embracing the far future, held for 
 the prince-royal a brilliant part, the young duke was to 
 ■occupy the Meuse and stop the advance of Austrians 
 and Prussians upon Valenciennes and Lille. His 
 laurels would be such as could be changed easily to 
 flowers for a crown. 
 
 But the Duke de Chartres did not conduct himself 
 very bravely on that great day at Jemmapes, and a 
 simple servant, Batiste Renard, in the service of 
 Dumouriez, rallied the prince's brigade, startled and 
 Teady to flee, deciding thus the victory at the centre.
 
 212 Pattern* $att0-(»fctt*. 
 
 The army — it was not an army, but a cohesion of 
 combatants, equipped wretchedly, many of whom stilt 
 wore their blouses and rustic attire, many without 
 guns, armed with pikes caught up in haste — was un- 
 disciplined and uninstructed. But they represented the 
 people, who, in a moment of enthusiasm, had caught the 
 arms at hand and sallied forth, pell-mell, for the deliver- 
 ance of their native land. 
 
 These enthusiastic volunteers went forth singing the 
 Marseillaise, the Carmagnole, and the Ca-t'ra, tunes 
 which beat time for their wild marches. But these 
 heroic troops had also faith and endurance. 
 
 At Jemmapes the improvised infantry of the volun- 
 teers of the Republic, commanded, it is true, by sub- 
 ordinate officers like Hoche and Lefebvre, who replaced 
 nobles who had gone over to the enemy, began the 
 work which made it, for twenty years, victor in battles. 
 • On November 5, 1792, when the sun set red as a 
 bloody banner on the horizon, the army of the Republic 
 encamped before the formidable position of Jemmapes.. 
 
 The neighboring heights of the town of Mons held 
 three villages, to-day active centres of the coal-trade, 
 Cuesmes, Berthaimont, and Jemmapes. 
 
 The Austrians held these heights. Outworks, pali- 
 sades, fourteen small forts, quantities of artillery, Tyrol- 
 ian sharpshooters in ambuscade in the woods, cavalry 
 massed in the valleys, ready to emerge out and cut 
 down the French as they came up toward the hills, — 
 such were the naturally impregnable obstacles which- 
 the soldiers of Liberty had to overcome.
 
 Padam* Jfe«*-6*tt& 213 
 
 The Duke of Saxe-Teschen, prince of the Empire, 
 lieutenant to the Austrian emperor and governor of the 
 Low-Countries, was the commander-in-chief, having 
 under him, Clerfayt, a capable general, whose sage 
 counsels were not destined to prevail. Clerfayt had 
 withstood Gallic impetuosity, and instead of waiting, 
 propbsed a sally in three columns, upon the unpre- 
 pared Frenchmen, thinking to scatter them before they 
 had formed in order of battle. The advantage would 
 thus accrue to the disciplined and battle-hardened 
 troops. 
 
 The Duke of Saxe-Teschen, happily considered that 
 little glory was to be gained from a night-attack ; he 
 wanted a great battle fought by broad daylight. 
 
 Dumouriez profited by the inaction of the enemy to 
 arrange his army in a semicircle. General d'Harville 
 commanded the extreme right ; Beurnonvelle the right 
 division toward Cuesmes. The Duke de Chartres oc- 
 cupied the centre directly in front of Jemmapes, and 
 General Ferrand held the left flank. 
 
 The order was to advance in column. The cavalry 
 was to protect the flanks. The artillery had been dis- 
 posed so as to command the valleys between the three 
 hills. The hussars and dragoons were massed between 
 Cuesmes and Jemmapes, to bar the way of the Austrian 
 cavalry. 
 
 These dispositions made in one part and another, 
 fires were lighted and the night passed in watching. 
 
 While the battle was about to begin, this is what 
 was going on in the Chateau de Lowendaal, in the
 
 214 Padam* gnntt-t&tnt. 
 
 centre of the village of Jemmapes, situate between the 
 two armies. 
 
 A stream and a wood protected it on the French 
 side, and the mountain rose behind, sheltering its tur- 
 rets from the Austrian fire. 
 
 Neutral ground between the two camps, the chateau 
 had been designated as advance post for both sides. 
 
 The French scouts, sent to reconnoitre, met under 
 the walls Austrian patrols. They had saluted each 
 other with a few random shots, then each little troop 
 had gone its way. 
 
 The Austrians held that the chateau was in the 
 power of the French, and the French declared that the 
 Austrians had taken up a position there. 
 
 The result was that the Baron de Lowendaal's resi- 
 dence was unoccupied, save by its usual inhabitants. 
 
 The Baron de Lowendaal had arrived the evening 
 before, and had received there, as he had expected, his 
 friend the Marquis de Laveline, and Blanche. 
 
 The troops had not yet begun to move, and the 
 baron, more than ever enamored of Blanche, reas- 
 sured by Leonard as to the conclusion of his love 
 adventure with Herminie de Beaurepaire, had not hesi- 
 tated to hasten the preparations for his marriage. 
 
 Beaurepaire was dead, and Herminie a person with- 
 out reason or social existence ; there was no obstacle 
 now. Lowendaal was free from her reproaches, her 
 tears, her threats. The living proof of this affair, little 
 Alice, had disappeared ; the baron found himself quite 
 free.
 
 Padarne gm$-(&m. 215 
 
 He neared the goal of his desires. In a few hours 
 he would possess Blanche. 
 
 The Marquis de Laveline had observed that the 
 moment and the place were ill-chosen for the celebra- 
 tion of a marriage, when the enemy might be upon 
 them any day. To this the baron simply replied that 
 he must fulfil his promise. He reminded him, even 
 brutally, that military operations could not alter the 
 settlement of debts, and that the marquis's lands lay 
 in Alsace, under the imperial arms, and he could not 
 easily escape from his engagements. 
 
 He added also a remark, to such effect that the 
 marquis ceased to object and said, " Then it simply 
 remains to make my daughter decide. I cannot force 
 her to the altar." 
 
 The baron had growled, " That is your business ! 
 See that you bring the little rebel to reason ! " 
 
 He sent for the notary of Jemmapes, and ordered the 
 chaplain of the chateau to have everything in readi- 
 ness to pronounce the nuptial benediction. 
 
 At midnight the marriage was to take place ; and, im- 
 mediately after, making use of the night, the couple 
 were to go to Brussels with the marquis. There, be- 
 hind the imperial army, they could await results in 
 safety. 
 
 Blanche, since her arrival at the chateau, had shut 
 herself up, giving access to no one. 
 
 The baron had insisted twice upon having an inter- 
 view ; she had refused to let him enter the apartment 
 which had been reserved for her.
 
 216 gttadam* 8nu$-(8m. 
 
 She stood anxiously waiting by a window for some 
 one who was late. Her eyes traversed the deserted 
 fields, looking in vain. 
 
 It was Catharine Lefebvre for whom she looked. 
 
 Her breast heaving, her heart beating wildly, stop- 
 ping now and then, with bitter sighs, her throat dry, her 
 hands shaking nervously, Blanche de Laveline re- 
 minded herself of the good woman's promises. 
 
 She believed in her. She told herself that if Catha- 
 rine did not come to the appointed meeting-place, if 
 she did not bring the child, it must be because some- 
 thing had happened to prevent. , 
 
 What could make Catharine Lefebvre fail thus ia 
 her promise, the unhappy Blanche could not guess. 
 She did not know that Catharine was with the Army of 
 the North. 
 
 She did not know that near her, where the fires of the 
 13th Light Infantry lighted up' the woods of Cuesmes, 
 and whence scouts had come, stood Catharine's canteen,, 
 and that there little Henriot and Alice lay asleep while 
 the scouts approached even under the walls of the Cha- 
 teau de Lowendaal. 
 
 Caths^ine had easily learned that Blanche de Lave- 
 line was at the chateau. 
 
 A countryman, devoted to the cause of liberty, had 
 reported that the evening before a fine gentleman and 
 a fair lady had come to the chateau. 
 
 In these elegant arrivals Catharine had no difficulty 
 in recognizing her friend, and now her plan was ar- 
 ranged ; she would go to the chateau, she would set
 
 Blanche de Laveline and tell her that little Henriot was. 
 with her, protected by Lefebvre's soldiery. 
 
 Then they would seek the least perilous means of 
 reuniting mother and child, and making it easy for 
 them to cross the lines. 
 
 Her resolve taken, Catharine, having put into her 
 belt the two pistols she always carried on the battle- 
 field, left the camp and went toward the Chateau de 
 Lowendaal. 
 
 She had said nothing to Lefebvre, for he would prob- 
 ably have disapproved of the expedition, fearing the 
 dangers his wife would encounter in crossing woods 
 and fields at night between two hostile armies. 
 
 But before going, she kissed little Henriot, who slept 
 beside little Alice, and she whispered to him, " Sleep,, 
 darling ! I am going to your mother." 
 
 Then she started, careless and brave, thinking lightly 
 of the Austrians who crossed the field, but a little un- 
 easy as to Lefebvre's opinion about her errand. 
 
 At the moment when she left a little clump of trees,, 
 the last outpost of the French, she saw coming toward 
 her — a tall, thin form. The shadow of a man, hidden 
 behind a tree, was distinctly visible. 
 
 She put her hand to her belt, took one of the pistols, 
 and said, softly, so as not to be heard by the neigh- 
 boring sentinels : 
 
 " Who goes there ? " And she stood ready to fire. 
 
 " No enemy, Madame Lefebvre, but a friend," said 
 a voice she knew. 
 
 " Who is the friend ? "
 
 218 Padwttf gnn$-(Stnt. 
 
 " Why, La Violette, at your service." 
 
 " Ah, you, silly boy ! you almost made me afraid," 
 said Catharine, and, recognizing her assistant at the can- 
 teen, a devoted, though simple lad, who was the butt of 
 the entire regiment. 
 
 La Violette was not a brave fellow, to all appearance, 
 and he was daily, as we have said, the object of jests. 
 
 Catharine had put back her pistol, laughing at her 
 sudden action in drawing it. 
 
 " Well, come," she said, " I mustn't scare you ! But 
 why are you prowling about here outside the lines, you 
 who are a coward ? " 
 
 La Violette made a step forward. 
 
 " I will tell you, Madame Lefebvre — I saw you leave 
 the camp, and that is why I followed." 
 
 " To act as a spy ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, but I thought you might be going where 
 there was danger." 
 
 " Danger ? Yes, yes, there is — but what is that to 
 you ? Danger and you are usually far apart." 
 
 " I have wanted for a long time past to become ac- 
 quainted with danger, and I thought I might find to- 
 night a fitting occasion." 
 
 " Why to-night ? " Catharine asked, surprised at the 
 young man's insistence. 
 
 " Because," said La Violette, a little embarrassed, 
 and seeking for words, " because at night, one is at 
 ease, one is not afraid of being seen." 
 
 " And you do not want to be seen ?" 
 
 " Ah, for that matter, no ! If I am afraid, at night
 
 no one can see it, while by day that frightens me. But 
 something tells me that beside you, Madame Lelebvre, 
 I should have no fear." 
 
 "You want to come with me, then?" Catharine 
 grew more and more surprised. 
 
 " Oh, do not refuse me ! Do not send me back ! " 
 begged the poor lad ; and he added in a tone of deep 
 sincerity and emotion, " I love you so much, Madame 
 Lefebvre. I should never have dared to say so by day- 
 light — at the canteen — before the men. But here — 
 where all is dark, I am braver — I scarce know myself." 
 
 Catharine had gone on walking while she listened 
 to La Violette. 
 
 She would have answered, and in a half-irritated, 
 half-satirical tone to her silly lover, but two shots just 
 then sounded through the night. 
 
 "Halt," said Catharine, who was ahead. "Take 
 care," she cried more loudly. 
 
 La Violette ran forward. Behind him rolled a round 
 object, like a moving hump. 
 
 Catharine had seen the assistant cantinier disappear 
 in a neighboring hop-field, whence the two shots had 
 come. 
 
 Fearing an ambush, she had stood still on the edge 
 of the field. 
 
 She heard a noise as of broken branches, the sound 
 of blows, and the scuffle of feet ; then, at a distance, on 
 the plain, she saw the shadow of a man fleeing toward 
 the woods which surrounded Jemmapes. 
 
 «' He runs the wrong way ; he will fall into the
 
 22o Padamc £m$-(&m. 
 
 Austrian outpost and be taken," she thought, suppos- 
 ing she saw La Violette. 
 
 And she added, with a sigh tinged with regret, " It 
 is a pity ! He's a good lad, though weak. It will be 
 hard to fill his place at the canteen." 
 
 She started once more on her way, turning the field, 
 -so as to gain the chateau whose roofs she espied, when 
 lip from the hops rose, tall and slender as the vines, 
 the figure of La Violette. 
 
 He held a naked sword in his hand, and attempted 
 to wipe the blade on the leaves. 
 
 " You ! " she cried, stunned. " Where do you come 
 from ? What have you done ? n 
 
 " I have kept that ' Kaiserlick ' from re-filling his 
 •gun as he meant to do," said La Violette quietly, slip- 
 ping his sword back into the scabbard. 
 
 " Where is he ? " asked Catharine. 
 
 "There, among the hops." 
 
 " He is dead ! " 
 
 " I think so. As for the other, he has had his chance 
 to have an affair with a coward like myself, otherwise 
 I should have followed him, for I can run fast, Madame 
 Lefebvre. But I had something which kept me back," 
 said the boy, showing the round object which was 
 hung on his back. 
 
 " What have you there ? " 
 
 "The drum, Guillaumet's drum — I took it from him." 
 
 " For what ? " 
 
 " It may be of use to me. Besides, I'd rather have 
 his drum than his gun. I'd like to be a drummer ;
 
 Padame gnn$-(8t\\t. 221 
 
 but I can't now, I'm too tall, Madame Lefebvre. Now 
 suppose we run on ? The Austrian I have disarmed 
 will give the alarm, and I don't care to have those white- 
 coats at my back. I don't speak on my own account." 
 
 " You are not afraid ? " 
 
 " At night, never ! I told you so ! Come, Madame 
 Lefebvre ! " 
 
 «• La Violette, you are brave." 
 
 " Do not mock me, madame ! I know I am but a 
 coward. I know, too, that I love you, well, oh, so 
 well " 
 
 " La Violette, I forbid you to speak thus." 
 
 " Very well — I shall be silent — but come on, on, 
 now while no one is about." 
 
 Catharine regarded her assistant with increased sur- 
 prise. He had shown himself in a new and unex- 
 pected light. La Violette did not flinch under fire ! 
 La Violette had thrown himself, sword in hand, upon 
 two Austrians in ambuscade ! Her assistant must 
 have changed, indeed. 
 
 She thought for a moment of sending him back to 
 the camp ; but seeing him so warlike, so martial, she 
 feared to pain him ; and, besides, two were always 
 safer than one. 
 
 " La Violette," she said, in a sweet and friendly tone, 
 ** I feel I must warn you that I am going to a place 
 where there is danger — great danger. Do you still 
 wish to go with me ? " 
 
 " I shall follow you, though you go through fire, 
 Madame Lefebvre ! "
 
 222 Paitamc g*K$-(&tM. 
 
 « Very well. Then begin by following me through 
 water— for I must cross this stream to get to the chateau, 
 yonder. That is where I am going." 
 
 " Where we are going ! Lead on, madame, I follow." 
 
 "Very well — lips closed and eyes alert." 
 
 The two descended to the bed of the little river of 
 Weme, and crossed the water, coming about to their 
 knees. 
 
 Very soon they came before the door of the chateau 
 stables. 
 
 Carefully Catharine followed the walls, to find a 
 place where it would be easy to get into the garden. 
 
 Finding a place where the stone was crumbling away, 
 she signed to La Violette to help her to climb. 
 
 "Gladly, Madame Lefebvre," said this naive lover, 
 happy to feel, as he bent over, the weight of the robust 
 Catharine, who used his shoulders to climb by. 
 
 In a few moments, both were in the garden, step- 
 ping cautiously, hiding behind trees, and moving toward 
 a room where lights burned brightly. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE NUPTIAL MASS. 
 
 The Baron de Lowendaal and the Marquis de Lave- 
 line had had a final decisive interview. 
 
 The farming noble had imposed his conditions : 
 Blanche was to wed him that very night, or else he
 
 padame £m$-(8tne. 223 
 
 would leave at once for Alsace, and confiscate all De 
 Laveline's property, not to mention other reserve meas- 
 ures. Thus the marquis would lose everything. 
 
 The latter had proved his great desire to have the 
 baron as son-in-law. It was not only the honor of 
 this marriage which attracted M. de Laveline — his per- 
 sonal honor was at stake, and he was most anxious 
 that Blanche should show herself tractable and consent 
 to answer the baron's vows. 
 
 The baron, as he had made Leonard decide to rid 
 him of Beaurepaire, held him by force. 
 
 He had helped to engage the marquis, always short 
 of money, in a scandalous and very dangerous opera- 
 tion. A friend of the Prince de Rohan, Laveline had 
 had a hand in the miserable Necklace affair. 
 
 He had escaped detection, but the baron held proofs 
 of his participation in the fraudulent manoeuvres — of 
 the instigators of that great deceit which placed the 
 Queen, Marie-Antoinette, in a peculiar light. 
 
 Could the marquis escape the baron by fleeing from 
 France ? The Austrian court, whose prisoner he would 
 become, would try him, and avenge the honor of the 
 queen, and arch-duchess of the Empire. 
 
 Would he remain in his own land ? His role in the 
 Necklace business, once exposed to the revolutionary 
 government, would send him to the scaffold. 
 
 So he was at the baron's disposal. 
 
 Like the roof over his head, Blanche's father was 
 between two fires. 
 
 So he resolved to make a last appeal to his daughter.
 
 224 Pattern* gm$-(&mt. 
 
 He found Blanche more resolved than ever upon 
 resisting the wishes of Lowendaal. 
 
 M. de Laveline, when all arguments had failed, ended 
 by confessing his personal danger. The baron was 
 master of his goods, his honor and his life. Blanche 
 must save him, or his death was certain. Would she, 
 driving him to despair, be guilty of parricide ? 
 
 Blanche, moved and trembling, on receiving this con- 
 fidence, could only utter a few incoherent words. 
 
 She was astonished at the baron's strange persist- 
 ence. Had he no pity, no dignity, he who would still 
 marry her, knowing that she hated him, and that she 
 loved another whose child was a witness of that love ? 
 
 Persuaded that the baron had received the letter in- 
 trusted to Leonard, Blanche tried to calm her father's 
 fears. She told herself that, since he had not told M. 
 de Laveline, the baron must have been touched by her 
 confession. He had not revealed her secret, perhaps 
 because he did not want to lessen his influence with M. 
 de Laveline. Deeply in love, perhaps he hoped Blanche 
 would retract her determination. He had pardoned 
 the fault she had confessed. He would forget that 
 another had been loved before him. Perhaps, even, he 
 hoped to be loved in his turn. 
 
 There, then, at the bottom of M. de Lowendaal's 
 heart, lay the hope that she must crush. So she must 
 persist in her refusal, saying nothing to M. de Lave- 
 line of her reasons for so doing. Blanche reiterated 
 that she would never wed the baron. 
 
 " Very well," said M. de Laveline, carried away by
 
 Padam* gm$-(&tnt. 225 
 
 fury, and mad at her resistance, " perverse, and rebel- 
 lious girl, I will make you obey. You shall be married 
 to-night, hark you, to-night, if I have to drag you my- 
 self bound, to the altar ! " 
 
 And he went to the baron and told him to hasten 
 the preparations for the ceremony. 
 
 Blanche, left alone, began to think. Lowendaal's res- 
 olution should not stand against hers. She must resist 
 a union which was so horrible to her. 
 
 But, for that stroke, she lacked her chief ally, her 
 boy. 
 
 Why was he not with her ? 
 
 The presence of that living witness of her love for 
 another, must, she thought, convince the marquis and 
 make Lowendaal give up his wish to possess her. 
 
 She asked herself, with wild anxiety, why Catharine 
 Lefebvre had not kept her promise. 
 
 Darkness had fallen, and she could no longer look 
 across the field. She must give up her hopes of seeing 
 from afar a woman coming to the chateau, with a child 
 in her arms. 
 
 Then she fell into a profound melancholy reverie, 
 dreaming of armies which, like a band, surrounded the 
 chateau in dark masses. She told herself that Catha- 
 rine might have been afraid to start out among these 
 men ; perhaps she had been stopped. 
 
 " She is not coming," she thought, sadly ; " and who 
 knows if I shall ever see my boy again ? " 
 
 Then, frightened at the idea of being forced to that 
 odious marriage, whose preparations were then going
 
 226 padame ^aws-tfkne. 
 
 on, and in despair at causing the ruin and perhaps the 
 death of her father by refusing, the thought of escape 
 struck her. 
 
 She would take the road, by chance, straight before 
 her. 
 
 Night was propitious ; the presence of the two armies 
 favorable. 
 
 Among so many soldiers she could hide ; the roads 
 were full of poor people who fled before the troops. 
 
 A woman like herself would pass unnoticed : at least 
 unsuspected. 
 
 She would get somewhere — to Brussels or Lille ; 
 thence she could go to Paris, to Versailles, and search 
 for Catharine and her little Henriot. 
 
 She had some jewels and a little money ; once far 
 from the detested chateau, she would write to her father, 
 and, his first anger over, the marquis would help her. 
 
 Her project settled, she began to put it into execu- 
 tion. 
 
 She took a little bag and threw into it, pell-mell, all 
 her valuables, then, wrapping herself in a travelling 
 cloak, and, taking another cape, to use as a covering or 
 as a mattress in the uncomfortable places where chance 
 might provide her lodgings, she went forth. 
 
 Being careful to leave her light burning, she opened 
 the door cautiously, descended on her toes, traversed 
 the corridor, listening, holding her breath, stopping 
 now and then to hearken — oppressed, anxious, but de- 
 termined. 
 
 She gained a/loor leading to the vegetable garden.
 
 Padam* ^antf-Ofatw. 227 
 
 Noiselessly, she slipped the bolt, and was in the 
 open air. 
 
 The night was cold and clear, but not dark. She 
 must avoid, in crossing the open places, being seen by 
 the men at the chateau. 
 
 Once in the woods beside the park she would be 
 safe ; should her flight be noticed, she was safe in 
 those shades. 
 
 As she turned, cautiously, the basement of the hall, 
 and passed a lower room where the servants were eat- 
 ing, she seemed to see, beside a tree, two strange forms. 
 
 She shivered — stopped. 
 
 Slowly the two forms moved toward her. 
 
 She was paralyzed with fear. She dared not flee, 
 advance, nor scream. 
 
 She distinguished vaguely the long, slim shadow of a 
 man, then a woman in a short skirt and a little hat 
 with the brim turned up. 
 
 Now they were beside her, and the woman said 
 quickly, " Do not speak ! We are friends ! " 
 
 " That voice ! " murmured Blanche. " Who are 
 you ? I am afraid — I shall call " 
 
 •* Do not call ! Tell us where to find Mademoiselle 
 Blanche de Laveline ! " 
 
 "I am she! My God! Catharine, is it you ? I know 
 your voice," cried Blanche, recognizing her who was to 
 bring her boy to her. 
 
 Catharine, surprised and delighted at the meeting, 
 told Blanche quickly that she had come with La Vio- 
 lette, whom she presented, and who saluted respect-
 
 228 Padame gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 fully, to tell her about her boy, and to bring whom she 
 had promised, though amid the turbulence of war. 
 
 '* Where is my little Henriot ? " Blanche asked anx- 
 iously, afraid lest she should hear some terrible news. 
 
 She was quickly reassured. 
 
 " But this costume," she said, astonished at the can- 
 tiniere's accoutrements. 
 
 Catharine told her of her service in the regiment, 
 and that little Henriot was asleep in camp amid the 
 soldiers of the 13th Light Infantry. 
 
 Blanche wanted to get to the camp. 
 
 Catharine advised her to remain at the chateau. On 
 the morrow, at dawn, the movements of the Austrian 
 army would be begun. Perhaps the French would 
 occupy the chateau. Then nothing would be easier 
 than to bring the child. To attempt to do so, in the 
 dead of night, across that guarded field, were madness I 
 
 " It is fine, for me, a cantiniere, to run thus between 
 the two armies," said Catharine gayly. 
 
 And La Violette added, " You do not know what it 
 is to be afraid ! It is frightful ! I know it ! Stay 
 here ; it is better ! Madame Lefebvre, tell her how it 
 was when we had Austrians in the hop-field." 
 
 Catharine confirmed La Violette's opinion. Blanche 
 had best pass the night in the chateau, and be advised 
 on the morrow how to proceed. 
 
 But Catharine was distinctly told then by Blanche 
 that she must quit the castle, or she would be forced, 
 that very night, to marry Lowendaal. 
 
 " What is to be done ? " questioned Catharine, en>
 
 Padame £m$-(&m. 229 
 
 barrassed, and she added, " What a misfortune that 
 Lefebvre is not with, us ! He could advise us ! If 
 only this imbecile had an idea." This last was con- 
 cerning La Violette. 
 
 " Say, have you any idea ? " she said to her attend- 
 ant, quickly. 
 
 " If you wish, Madame Lefebvre," he said, timidly, 
 " I can return to the camp and bring the child." 
 
 Catharine shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I can't fancy you, La Violette, carrying a child in 
 your arms." 
 
 " Could I go with you ? " said Blanche quickly. " Oh, 
 yes, Catharine, let me go." 
 
 "But the danger — the cannon — the sentinels ?" 
 
 " I fear them not. What does a mother fear who 
 longs to embrace her child ? " 
 
 Catharine was about to answer that she would retreat 
 with her to the French camp, when the sound of a 
 voice made them all hide behind the trees, whose 
 shadow might protect them. 
 
 Surrounded by servants bearing torches, the Baron 
 de Lowendaal said to one of his servants, " Tell Made- 
 moiselle de Laveline that the hour for the ceremony has 
 come, and that I shall await her in the chapel, in com- 
 pany with her father, the marquis." 
 
 The baron crossed the space before the chateau, and 
 entered the chapel, a little edifice toward the right, in 
 the centre of a mossy elevation. 
 
 "O God! I am lost — they will see that I am 
 gone," murmured Blanche.
 
 230 partame £fttt0-<£ent. 
 
 " We must gain time — but how ? There is only one 
 means, and that is risky," said Catharine. 
 
 " What ? Speak, Catharine. I am ready to brave 
 any danger rather than be violently given to that man. 
 I shall never go to that chapel." 
 
 " If some one should stay in your stead 1 That would 
 delay their search a quarter of an hour ! " 
 
 " It would mean safety ! I could get out of the park 
 and hide in the fields. Who knows ? I might even 
 reach the French outposts. Oh, it is an excellent idea ! 
 But who will take my place ? " 
 
 " I," said Catharine. " Come, vou have not a moment 
 to lose. Give me your cloak. Hasten ! Your baron is 
 coming ! " 
 
 Lowendaal, having seen that all was ready in the 
 chapel, returned, satisfied, to look for M. de Laveline, 
 and to give, in passing, some orders to the grooms 
 about the journey. As soon as the marriage was cel- 
 ebrated, he wanted to get away with his young bride 
 toward Brussels. The approach of the Austrian army 
 and the probabilities of battle made him push forward 
 the hour he had set for the ceremony, and for the 
 journey. 
 
 Catharine had wrapped herself quickly in Blanche's 
 cloak. 
 
 The latter, covering herself with the cape she had 
 provided, had silently embraced the energetic can- 
 tiniere, and followed La Violette, who was proud of 
 his new part, as helper to a wandering damsel. 
 
 Catharine followed them anxiously, till they were 
 lost in the gloom.
 
 iftadam* <fan0-<*ktt*. 231 
 
 They were beyond the limits of the park. 
 
 Blanche was beyond the Baron de Lowendaal's vio- 
 lence. She would soon see her boy. 
 
 " Poor little Henriot ! Shall I return to him ! " 
 thought Catharine sadly ; " and Lefebvre, shall I never 
 see him again ? Bah ! I must not think of that ! I 
 must try to play well my new part, as a nance"e," she 
 added, with her habitual good-humor. 
 
 She went bravely toward the lighted hall, where, sup- 
 per over, the servants joked. 
 
 She stood in the doorway, and said, briefly, " Let 
 one of you go and tell monsieur the baron that Mile, de 
 Laveline awaits him in the chapel." 
 
 Then she retired slowly, forcing herself to walk 
 majestically, and taking care not to trip herself with 
 her cloak, which was somewhat too long. 
 
 As she was about to enter the chapel, she heard 
 voices near her. 
 
 " The baron spoke. 
 
 " Then you have the password, Leonard ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I was able to get it. I lured to the kitchen 
 a courier under the pretext of giving him reireshments. 
 I gave him some drink, and he was evidently very 
 thirsty, and sleepy too, for he's asleep now." 
 
 " And his papers," said Lowendaal. 
 
 " I have read them — nothing important — except the 
 orders, and them I have kept." 
 
 "It is well, Leonard — run quickly to the great Aus- 
 trian guards — to warn the commanding officer." 
 
 And the baron ceased speaking and re-entered the 
 chateau.
 
 233 fflatae gm$-(&m. 
 
 •« What does that mean ? " thought Catharine. '* What 
 •rders were they ? Ours, perhaps ? " 
 
 She wondered what she should do. Ought she not 
 flee to the French camp and give an alarm ? 
 
 But she had promised Blanche to stay and deceive 
 her persecutors, by personating her in the chapel. 
 
 First of all, she must keep her promise, after that she 
 might have time to get to the camp and warn Lefebvre 
 of treason. 
 
 She entered the chapel resolutely, waiting impatiently 
 for the baron's entry, that she might escape and give 
 the alarm to her husband's soldiers. 
 
 " If they should be surprised in their sleep," she 
 thought anxiously. 
 
 " No," she assured herself, " the 13th sleeps with one 
 •eye open, and they will let no ' Kaiserlicks,' even with a 
 stolen password, arrive within gunshot without showing 
 them how we are cared for, and how we defy traitors." 
 
 And, somewhat calmed, she sat down in one of the 
 arm-chairs prepared for the couple before the altar. 
 
 The priest knelt, praying devoutly in a corner. 
 
 He paid no heed to her. 
 
 She looked curiously at the altar-pieces, the orna- 
 ments, the little oil-lamp which shed its flickering 
 light about, and the four lighted candles giving out their 
 funereal rays. 
 
 «' B-r-r-r ! this were a better place for masses for the 
 dead, than for a marriage service," murmured Catha- 
 rine impressed by the solemnity of the religious edifice. 
 
 Her waiting was not long.
 
 Suddenly the chapel door opened loudly. A noise 
 of feet and a clink of swords resounded. 
 
 Catharine, to preserve her disguise as long as possible, 
 had wrapped herself completely in Blanche's cloak, and 
 knelt, avoiding turning round. 
 
 The priest had risen slowly, and, after bowing twice, 
 had approached the altar. He had begun rapidly 
 and in a low voice to read the ritual. 
 
 The Baron de Lowendaal meantime, reaching her he 
 thought his fiancee, took his hat in his hand, knelt and 
 said gallantly, smiling the while, " I had hoped, ma- 
 demoiselle, to have the honor and the great pleasure of 
 accompanying you myself to this sacred spot, with 
 your father, who is as happy as I am at your consent. 
 I understand your timidity and pardon it. Now, may 
 I take my place by your side ? " 
 
 Catharine neither spoke nor stirred. 
 
 " I am glad, daughter," said the marquis, who now 
 came to her. " I congratulate you on becoming reason- 
 able at last." Aloud, he added, " But, Blanche, take off 
 that travelling-cloak. It is not well to marry thus — and 
 besides it is necessary to do honor to our guests, your 
 witnesses and those of your husband — General Cler- 
 fayt's officers. Show them, at least your face ! Smile a 
 little : it is meet on such a day ! One should see you 
 smiling." 
 
 Catharine, hearing the Austrian officers named, made 
 a quick movement. 
 
 She threw aside her cloak, and showed her tricolored 
 skirt.
 
 234 Padame jftiM &U, 
 
 The marquis caught the cloak quickly, and drew it 
 away altogether. 
 
 "This is not my daughter," cried the marquis, as- 
 tounded. 
 
 " Who are you ? " said the equally astonished baron. 
 
 The preacher, turning aside toward the cross, held 
 out his arms, saying, 
 
 " Benedicat vos, omnipotens Deus ! Dominus vobis- 
 cum." 
 
 He waited for the answer, 
 
 " Et cum spiritu tuo." 
 
 But the fright was too general for any one to follow 
 the service. 
 
 The Austrian officers had drawn near. 
 
 " A Frenchwoman ! A cantinere," said he who 
 appeared to be the chief, with comical affright. 
 
 " Well ! Yes, a Frenchwoman ! Catharine Le- 
 febvre, cantiniere of the 13th ! Really, that turns your 
 stomachs, my lads," cried Madame Sans-Ggne, freeing 
 herself of her long cloak, and ready to laugh in the 
 face of the discomfited bridegroom, to bandy words 
 with the furious marquis, and to snap her fingers at 
 the uneasy Austrian officers, wondering if the soldiers 
 of the 13th, whose number Catharine had fearlessly 
 hurled at them, like a trumpet-call or a battle-cry, 
 were about to come out of the confessional, and surge 
 from out the church under the protection of the God 
 of armies.
 
 gfladam* jtattf-tftne. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A DEBT OF GRATITUDE. 
 
 The first moment of surprise past, one of the officers 
 laid his hand upon Catharine's shoulder. 
 
 "You are my prisoner, madame," he said, gravely. 
 
 "Why, then," said Catharine, "I am not fighting t 
 I came on a visit, privately " 
 
 "Do not jest! you have introduced yourself into this 
 chateau, of which I have taken possession in the name 
 of the Emperor of Austria. You are French, and in 
 Austrian territory ; I shall guard you " 
 
 " So you're arresting women ? That is not gallant.'* 
 
 " You are a cantiniere." 
 
 "Cantineres are not soldiers." 
 
 " You are not taken as a soldier, but as a spy," 
 said the officer : and making a sign behind him, he 
 ordered, " Let some one get four men to guard this 
 woman until she has been tried and her fate decided. 
 
 The Baron de Lowendaal, who had rushed away to- 
 Blanche's room, now returned. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he in a half-strangled voice, 
 " that woman is the accomplice of a flight ; she has 
 helped my fiancee, Mademoiselle de Laveline, to get 
 away. Where is Mademoiselle de Laveline ? " he asked, 
 turning furiously on Catharine.
 
 236 Padame £nn$-(&ti\t. 
 
 The latter began to laugh. 
 
 " If you want to see Mademoiselle de Laveline again," 
 she said to him, " you must leave these Austrian gentle- 
 men, and get to the French camp. She is waiting there." 
 
 " In the French camp ! What business has she 
 there ? " 
 
 The marquis whispered to the baron, " Let that fact 
 make you easy ! She cannot, among the French, be 
 with that Neipperg of whom you were jealous." 
 
 He tried to calm thus the discomfited fiance". 
 
 " It is possible," said the baron, " but, once more, 
 •what can she be doing in the French camp ? Can she 
 be in love with Dumouriez ? " 
 
 "She went there to get her child," said Catharine 
 quietly. 
 
 " Her child," cried the baron and the marquis, 
 both equally astonished. 
 
 " Why, yes, little Henriot, a lovely little cherub, 
 fairer than any child of yours could ever be, Baron ! " 
 cried Catharine familiarly, to the sorry bridegroom. 
 
 But Lowendaal moved aside, too much mystified, 
 too much stunned, to answer Catharine's mockery. 
 
 Leonard, meantime, who had assisted at this scene, 
 was quite disconcerted and made a sorry face. 
 
 All his projects were gone. Blanche was flown, the 
 child, of whose existence the baron was now aware, 
 was no longer a means of intimidation, a menace, an 
 arm ever raised over her who was to have been, at 
 thM Toment, the Baroness de Lowendaal. He had no 
 -urther hope of realizing any of the schemes he had
 
 padame gm$-<&tut. 237 
 
 concocted since he came into possession of Madem- 
 oiselle de Laveline's secret. 
 
 He thought over quickly the part he should take. 
 
 He was a clever man as well as an unscrupulous 
 one, this Leonard ; and only his fear of the galleys 
 kept him from betraying his patron at this time. 
 
 " I, too, shall go to the French camp," he mur- 
 mured, " I have the password. I can pass — and per- 
 haps I have not lost everything. We shall meet, my 
 baroness ! " 
 
 So, noiselessly, he slipped behind the Austrian 
 soldiers whom one of the officers had brought, gained 
 the chapel door, and shot across the fields. 
 
 The officer who had arrested Catharine said, shortly, 
 *' We must get through. Baron, have you any observa- 
 tions to make ? any question to ask of the prisoner ? " 
 
 " No, no ! Take her away ! Guard her ! Shoot 
 her ! " cried he desperately ; " or, better," he added in 
 comical despair, " question her, find out what she 
 knows as to the whereabouts of Mademoiselle de Lave- 
 line ; maybe she will tell what she knows about the 
 child she spoke of." 
 
 The officer answered quietly, " We are going to im- 
 prison her in one of the rooms of the chateau — to-mor- 
 row she will be called upon to answer." 
 
 " To-morrow the soldiers of the Republic will be 
 here, and we will not speak together, for you will all 
 be dead or captured," cried Catharine proudly. 
 
 " Take her," said the officer, coldly, turning toward 
 his men. And he added,
 
 238 gftadanw £att0-(#m. 
 
 " Put down your guns, and carry that woman, after 
 tying her, if she resists." 
 
 The four men leaned their guns against the rail of 
 the chancel, and advanced, ready to execute the order. 
 
 " Do not dare to come near me," cried Catharine. 
 " The first man who moves is dead ! " And, drawing 
 her two pistols, she presented them at the soldiers who 
 were about to arrest her. 
 
 " Advance ! Advance ! " roared the officer, «« are 
 you afraid of a woman ? " 
 
 The four men were about to attempt to execute the 
 order, when, through the silence of the night, close to 
 the chapel, sounded the roll of the drum. 
 
 It was the onset of battle. " The French ! The 
 French ! " cried the terrified baron. 
 
 And a sudden, irresistible panic ensued. 
 
 The soldiers, forgetting their guns, ran in disorder. 
 On their tracks sprang the officers, seeking to rally 
 them so as to return to their quarters, persuaded that 
 this was an attack by Dumouriez's advance-guard. 
 
 The marquis and the baron fled, to shut themselves 
 up in the chateau. 
 
 The chapel was deserted. The priest, at the altar, 
 indifferent to all that passed, continued to pray. 
 
 The drum continued to sound more loudly. 
 
 On the threshold of the chapel, Catharine, surprised, 
 and happy, saw appearing, still beating his drum, the 
 tall, spare form of La Violette. 
 
 " You here ! " she cried. " What for ? Where is 
 the regiment ? n
 
 Padame gm$-(8ent. 239 
 
 " In the camp. By heaven ! " said La Violette, stop- 
 ping. " I came just in time, Madame Lefebvre. Say, 
 if we close the doors, will we be more alone ? " 
 
 And he closed the doors quickly, and adjusted the 
 bolt. 
 
 Then he explained to Catharine how he had con- 
 ducted Blanche to the camp, but that midway they 
 had met a French patrol, commanded by Lefebvre. 
 
 He had given Mademoiselle de Laveline in charge 
 of two reliable men, and she was now, surely, safe 
 with her little Henriot, in Dumouriez's lines. 
 
 Then, he had hurried back to the chateau, fearing 
 for the safety of the I3th's brave cantiniere. Surprised 
 by the noise in the chapel, he had gone thither, and, 
 raising himself up to a window, had seen the danger o* 
 his captain's wife. 
 
 Suddenly an idea struck him. He would use his 
 drum to frighten off the " Kaiserlicks." 
 
 " And so, Madame Lefebvre, I found a good use for 
 the chappie's drum. Wouldn't I make a fine drum- 
 mer ? But I'm too tall." Thus ended the brave boy's 
 recital. 
 
 " Where did you leave my husband ? " asked Cath- 
 arine, anxiously. 
 
 " Two hundred yards from here ! ready to run with 
 his men, if I give the signal." 
 
 " What signal ? " 
 
 •« A shot." 
 
 •• Listen ! I think some one is coming. Do you not 
 hear it— that noise — like the tramp of horses ? "
 
 240 Paflam* £nm-(&tnc. 
 
 The steps of men and a trampling of horses indicated 
 the arrival of a great troop, with cavalry. 
 
 " Shall I shoot, Madame Lefebvre ? " said La Vio- 
 lette taking hold of his gun. And he added, seeing 
 the forgotten Austrian guns, " We can give, with these, 
 four good signals." 
 
 " Do not shoot," she said quickly. 
 
 " Why ? Do not think I'm afraid of the ' Kaiserlicks,' 
 for it is night, and, as I've told you, now I'm not 
 afraid." 
 
 " Unhappily, the Austrians have re-enforcements. 
 You will throw Lefebvre and our men into an ambus- 
 cade. We, too, must escape otherwise — we must 
 talk " 
 
 •« Command, Madame Lefebvre, I am here to serve 
 you." 
 
 A rude knock came on the door, and a voice cried, 
 "Open ! or we'll force the door." 
 
 Catharine told La Violette to draw the bolt. The 
 door was open, and cavaliers and soldiers entered. 
 Their dark mass was shown by glittering swords, and 
 casques and helmets, in the dark. 
 
 Catharine and La Violette had taken refuge beside 
 the altar. 
 
 They saw there a great, black shadow. 
 
 It was the priest, who, having finished his mass, was 
 muttering prayers — perhaps, for those engaged in war. 
 
 The soldiers had invaded the chapel. Everywhere 
 gleamed swords and guns. 
 
 The officer who had wanted to arrest Catharine, re«
 
 ptadame #att0-<#*tt*. 241 
 
 appeared, humiliated by having run before a woman, 
 and anxious to take his revenge. 
 
 He turned to a personage enveloped in an embroid- 
 ered cloak, who seemed to be a superior officer. 
 
 " Colonel," said he, " we should shoot this soldier 
 and this woman " 
 
 "The woman, too?" asked the man he called 
 colonel, coldly. 
 
 " They are spies — our orders are such " 
 
 " Ask them who they are — their names — what they 
 wanted here — then we will decide," said the colonel. 
 
 Catharine had listened. 
 
 " I demand," she said firmly, " that we be treated as 
 prisoners of war " 
 
 " The battle has not begun," said the officer. 
 
 " Yes — by us ; I was the advance-guard, and here is 
 the first column," said she, pointing to La Violette. 
 " You have no right to shoot us, since we give our- 
 selves up. Take care ! If you permit any wrong, it 
 shall be avenged — expect no mercy from the soldiers of 
 the 1 3th ! They are not far off ! They will not be slow 
 in getting here ! Remember the mill at Valmy ! Your 
 prisoners will pay for us both ! My husband, who is 
 a captain, will avenge us, as surely as my name is 
 Catharine Lefebvre ! " 
 
 The officer in the cloak, who had been called colonel, 
 moved in surprise. 
 
 He came forward a few steps, trying to discern, in. 
 the shadow, her who spoke thus. 
 
 ** Are you, madame," he said politely, " related to a 
 16
 
 242 padame gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 certain Lefebvre, who served in the Guards at Paris, and 
 who married a washer-woman, who was called Sans- 
 Ge"ne ? " 
 
 " That washer-woman, Sans-G6ne, am I ! Lefebvre 
 — Captain Lefebvre, is my husband ! " 
 
 The colonel, greatly moved, made a few steps 
 toward Catharine, then throwing back his cloak, and 
 looking in her face, said, " Do you not recognize me ? " 
 
 Catharine stepped back, saying, 
 
 " Your voice — your features, Colonel, seem to me — 
 oh, it is as if I had seen you dimly ! " 
 
 " That dimness was the smoke of cannon ! Have 
 you forgotten the loth of August ? " 
 
 The ioth of August ? Ah ! are you the wounded 
 man ? The Austrian officer ? " cried Catharine. 
 
 "Yes, I am he, the Count de Neipperg, whom you 
 rescued ; and who has ever been grateful. Ah, let me 
 embrace you, to whom I owe my life." And he advanced 
 with open arms to draw her toward him. 
 
 But Catharine said quickly, " I thank you, Colonel, 
 for having remembered so well. What I did for you 
 that day, was inspired by humanity ; you were pur- 
 sued, unarmed, and wounded ; I protected you, not 
 stopping to ask under what flag you received that 
 wound — why you fled. To-day I find you wearing the 
 uniform of the enemies of the nation, commanding 
 soldiers to invade my native land ; therefore I desire 
 to forget what happened at Paris — my friends, the 
 soldiers of my regiment, my husband — the brave boy 
 who stands, a prisoner, by my side — all these patriots
 
 Padam* gm$-(&tne. 243 
 
 ought to reproach me for saving the life of an aristo- 
 crat, an Austrian, a colonel who would shoot people 
 who give themselves up. Sir Count, speak no more of 
 the 10th of August! Let me forget that I preserved 
 such an enemy ! " 
 
 Neipperg was silent. Catharine's energetic words 
 seemed to produce in him an unusual emotion. Finally 
 he said, in a tone of perfect sincerity 
 
 " Catharine, my preserver, do not reproach me, that 
 I serve my country as you serve yours. As your 
 valiant husband defends his standard, so must I fight for 
 mine. Destiny has made our birthplaces wide apart, 
 under different skies, and seems to bring us together 
 only in moments of imminent peril. Do not hate me. 
 If you will forget the ioth of August, I shall ever re- 
 member it ; and as colonel of the staff of the imperial 
 army, victorious " 
 
 " Not yet victorious," said Catharine dryly. 
 
 "It will be so to-morrow," said Neipperg. And he 
 added, " The colonel of the Empire, who commands 
 here, has not forgotten that he owes a debt contracted 
 by the soldier of the Tuileries, the wounded man of the 
 laundry at Saint-Roch. Catharine Lefebvre, you are 
 free ! " 
 
 "Thanks," said she, simply, "but — and — La Vio- 
 lette ? " she said, pointing to her assistant, who held 
 his tall form proudly erect, desirous of showing to the 
 best advantage before the enemy. 
 
 " That man is a soldier — he came here by a ruse — I 
 cannot keep from him the treatment given to spies."
 
 244 Pate* gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 " Ther. /ou must shoot me with him," said Catharine 
 simply. " It shall not be said at the camp that I, Catha« 
 rine Lefebvre, cantiniere of the 13th, left a brave lad to- 
 die who, but for me, had never been taken by the Aus- 
 trians. So, Colonel, give your orders, and let them be 
 quick, for I don't want to wait. It is not amusing to 
 think of taking a dozen shots into one's body, when one 
 is young, and loves one's husband. Poor Lefebvre, he 
 will miss me. But such is war ! " 
 
 "Pardon me, Colonel," said La Violette in his child- 
 ish voice, " I beg you will shoot only me. I deserve 
 it. I cannot deny it. Each for himself, and woe unto 
 him who is captured ! I have nothing to say to avert 
 my execution. But Madame Lefebvre has done noth- 
 ing. It was I who kept her here." 
 
 " You — for what ? What was she doing here with 
 you ? " 
 
 " I made her come, — to bring a child where one 
 is not expected — and I am, at best, no famous 
 nurse." 
 
 " What child ? My God ! " cried Neipperg, rush- 
 ing upon Catharine, ** you were to bring a child. It 
 was " 
 
 " Yours, Count. I had promised Mademoiselle de 
 Laveline to bring her boy here to Jemmapes." 
 
 " And risked it ? Oh, brave heart ! Where is my 
 child ? " 
 
 " In security in the French camp, with his mother.** 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Laveline no longer here ! What 
 do you tell me ? "
 
 Pattern* gm-(&m. 245 
 
 " She fled at the moment when her father wanted to 
 force her to marry the Baron de Lowendaal." 
 
 " But for you, I should have been too late to save 
 her ? " 
 
 "Without La Violette," said Catharine. *' He did it 
 all." 
 
 " Ah, I see I must set La Violette at liberty, too," 
 said Neipperg, smiling. " Catharine, you are free, I 
 tell you again. Take your comrade with you. I shall 
 send two men to accompany you beyond the outposts." 
 
 Then, having given the necessary orders, Neipperg 
 said to Catharine, "You will see Blanche ; tell her I 
 love her ever, and will wait for her, after the battle, or* 
 the road to Paris " 
 
 " Or on the road to Brussels," said Catharine, saucily. 
 
 Neipperg did not answer this. 
 
 He saluted with his hand raised to his hat, and said 
 to Catharine, " Use the last hours of night to regain 
 your camp. Believe, my dear Madame Lefebvre, that 
 I do not consider my debt paid. I am ever under obli- 
 gations to you. Perhaps the chances of war may give 
 me an opportunity to prove to you that the Count de 
 Neipperg is not ungrateful ! " 
 
 " Pshaw," said Catharine. " We are quits, Count, 
 for that affair of the ioth of August, but I owe you 
 something for this lad," pointing, to La Violette. " As 
 you say, we must all pass, and sooner or later acquit 
 ourselves. Adieu, Colonel. And you, tall fellow, by 
 the right-hand path, and with quick steps, march ! " 
 she added, nudging La Violette jovially.
 
 246 Padam* gnn$-(&m. 
 
 Both passed, proudly, before the Austrian soldiers. 
 La Violette did not seem to lose a jot of his height, and 
 Catharine, her hands upon her hips, her cocked hat 
 with its tricolored cockade on one side, went out with 
 her laugh of defiance on her lips. 
 
 As she crossed the chapel threshold, she turned and 
 said, sarcastically : 
 
 " Adieu, gentlemen ! I shall return with Lefebvre 
 and his sharpshooters before noon ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BEFORE THE ATTACK. 
 
 Neipperg anxiously watched Catharine's departure. 
 
 He wondered if, as the brave cantiniere had said, 
 he should soon find Blanche and see his little son 
 again. 
 
 How should she, a young woman with a child, find 
 a way to escape danger, in the midst of fighting 
 armies ? 
 
 One joy he had — the marriage plotted by Lowendaal 
 and the marquis had not taken place ; Blanche was free, 
 and might still be his. 
 
 He looked about for Lowendaal and M. de Laveline, 
 but they had disappeared. 
 
 An under-officer, whom he questioned, told him that 
 both men had hurriedly entered a carriage that awaited 
 them, and hastily taken the road to Brussels.
 
 Padame £a»0-<8fl«. 247 
 
 Neipperg gave a sigh of content. His rival was no 
 longer there to dispute his possession of her who was 
 his very soul. Hope returned to him. The future was 
 no longer dark. 
 
 Blanche and her child lighted it up. He would find 
 them, and live in bliss. 
 
 But a shadow crossed that radiant vision. How re- 
 join Blanche ? in what way find the child ? 
 
 The battle was about to begin. He could not dream 
 of crossing the lines, nor of going to the French camp, 
 even under a truce, at that hour, when, with the sun's 
 rising over the hills, a lurid light of cannon would 
 illumine all, from Jemmapes to Mons. 
 
 He must wait the result of that day. Doubtless 
 the victory would be theirs, — with the old, disciplined 
 troops of the imperial army. 
 
 Could the shoemakers, tailors, and mercers, who 
 formed the republican army, hope to hold out against 
 the veterans of the Duke of Saxe ? The cannonade 
 of Valmy had been only a surprise. The fortune of 
 war must return at Jemmapes to the side of the greater 
 number, with military skill and tactics ; the Duke of 
 Saxe-Teschen had already despatched a courier to 
 Vienna to announce the defeat of the " sans-culottes." 
 
 But in the inevitable routing of the French, what 
 would become of Blanche and the child ? 
 
 Neipperg 's anguish was very great, thinking of the 
 dangers of that defeat, and the disbanding of that 
 improvised army, incapable of managing an orderly 
 retreat.
 
 248 Pailamc £m$-(&tnc. 
 
 He sought, vainly, a means of saving the two who 
 were so dear to him from the terrible consequences of 
 that disorder which he foresaw, when a sound above 
 made him go immediately from the great room of the 
 chateau (which had been made a centre, and where 
 the officers who accompanied him waited to be given 
 General Clerfayt's orders) to attend to the preparations 
 for the coming engagement. He asked the cause of 
 the tumult. 
 
 He was told that a dishevelled woman, with torn 
 garments and a wild look, was being arrested at the 
 entrance to the Park. She had wanted to pass the 
 sentinels, and enter the chateau. She pretended to be 
 the Marquis de Laveline's daughter, staying, for the 
 time being, with M. de Lowendaal. 
 
 Neipperg gave a cry of surprise and fright 
 
 Blanche at the chateau ! Blanche having crossed 
 the plain, full of troops ! What did this sudden ap- 
 pearance mean, when Catharine had assured him that 
 she was safe in the French camp ? What unexpected 
 misfortune did this sudden return presage ? 
 
 It was really Blanche de Laveline, her garments 
 tattered by the bushes and brambles she had passed 
 through in the fields. 
 
 He rushed to her, and enfolded her in a passionate 
 embrace. 
 
 Amid tears and smiles — for joy crossed her sorrow 
 like a ray of sunshine through rain — Blanche de Lave- 
 line told her lover about her flight, of which he had
 
 pata* $M$-(&m. 249 
 
 already heard, and of her arrival at the French camp, 
 escorted by Lefebvre's soldiers. 
 
 By the instructions given by the good Catharine, she 
 had been able to find hastily the canteen of the 13th 
 Light Infantry. 
 
 There, on a mattress, rolled in a blanket, she had 
 found a sleeping child. Beside it lay'another mattress, 
 whose covers were turned back. 
 
 She had gone to that sleeping babe, kissed it ravish- 
 ingly upon its fair forehead when, by the light of the 
 lantern which one of her soldier-guides carried, she saw 
 the features of the sleeper. 
 
 It was a girl, who awoke, and stared at her with 
 wide eyes. 
 
 She shrieked — " Where is my child ? Where is 
 Henriot ? " Her heart was torn with anguish. 
 
 The little girl looked around her and then said — 
 " Why — Henriot is not here ! He has gone to see them 
 shoot the cannon ! Bad boy, he didn't wake me to go- 
 too ! " 
 
 Later a soldier explained that he thought he had 
 seen a man — a civilian — fleeing with a child in his 
 arms, toward Maubeuge. 
 
 Blanche had fainted upon hearing that dreadful 
 news. 
 
 She had been carried to the medical post and had 
 been cared for. 
 
 When she recovered, she had asked for her child — 
 she remembered now — that man on the Maubeuge 
 road with a child — she wanted to rise and follow him.
 
 25° Iftadame gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 The aide who tended her had pitied her distress. 
 
 •'You could not," he had said, " pass by that road 
 blocked with wagons, troops, guns, and fugitives." 
 
 " I want to find my child," the unhappy mother had 
 persisted, adding, as she prayed him to let her go, — 
 " Why did that man take my boy ? What crime does 
 this point to ? Who paid the villain ? For whom did 
 he come ? " 
 
 No answer could be given to these questions, which 
 were uttered confusedly by the feverish woman. 
 
 A sergeant who had joined the doctor, Marcel, at 
 the ambulance, whispered to him, and much affected 
 by her great suffering, had said, " Madame, I know 
 something which may put you on the track of the 
 wretch who stole into the camp, doubtless to help on 
 some treason." 
 
 " Oh, tell me what you know," Blanche cried, hope- 
 fully. 
 
 "Speak, Renge," the aide had said, " in a case like 
 this, the least indication which can help to find the cul- 
 prit is welcome." 
 
 And the pretty sergeant (for it was Ren6e the young 
 fiancee who spoke) had told how, in his company was a 
 former orderly of the unfortunate General Beaurepaire. 
 
 This orderly had recognized, approaching the wagon 
 of Catharine Lefebvre, a man with whom he had once 
 drunk at Verdun, on the night of the cannonade. He 
 had been sure of him. He was a servant of the Baron 
 de Lowendaal ; his name was Leonard. 
 
 " Leonard ? M. de Lowendaal's confidential serv-
 
 Padamc gM$-(Btm. 251 
 
 ant ? " Blanche had cried. And then, seeing- whence the 
 stroke came, she had accused Lowendaal of having sent 
 Leonard to take the child, to threaten her, and to force 
 her to that marriage she had thought to escape by 
 flight. Little Henriot would become a weapon in the 
 baron's hands. 
 
 Then, despite the counsels of the aide and Rene"e, 
 Blanche suddenly recovered and started out again. 
 
 She had retaken the perilous route already passed 
 over, hiding among reeds and rushes, wading streams, 
 her feet bleeding, her gown in shreds ; she had come 
 again to the chateau, hoping to find there, with Lowen- 
 daal and Leonard, her stolen child. 
 
 She knew not what she would do, what she would 
 say to resist the threats of Lowendaal and her father's 
 commands. But she was strong ; she would manage 
 to tear her child from the hands of the thief. 
 
 Her joy at finding Neipperg in the chateau was min- 
 gled with the pain she felt in hearing that her father 
 and Lowendaal had gone without any one's having 
 seen either Leonard or the child. 
 
 No doubt the villain would join the baron at some 
 place designated in advance and give him the boy. 
 
 Yet how accuse Lowendaal and the Marquis de 
 Laveline ? And why ? For no one was sure whither 
 Leonard had gone with his precious burden. 
 
 Neipperg told Blanche that her father and Lowen- 
 daal had taken the Brussels road. 
 
 "We will catch them to-morrow," he said, reassur- 
 ing Blanche a little by his own calmness
 
 25 2 ptadame £w-(&tnt. 
 
 " Why not go to-night ? " said Blanche impatiently. 
 *« We could be in Brussels by to-morrow." 
 
 "To-morrow, my sweet wife," said Neipperg, smil- 
 ing, " I must go to battle. When we have defeated the 
 French, I may go and follow the wretches who have 
 stolen our child. My duty as a soldier must stand 
 before my sorrow as a father." 
 
 Blanche sighed and said : " I obey ; I shall wait 
 Oh, how long will be this night and to-morrow ! " 
 
 Neipperg was in a brown study. 
 
 " Blanche," he said suddenly and gravely, " what 
 ■will you do here, one woman among so many assembled 
 soldiers ? I cannot be constantly with you — and even 
 then I must be discreet — reserved. I have no right to 
 claim for you respect and help, regard and influence 
 from our generals, princes and soldiers. Blanche, do 
 you understand me ? " 
 
 She blushed, bent her head and was silent. 
 
 Neipperg continued. "If we meet after the battle, 
 your father and M. de Lowendaal, will assert their au- 
 thority." 
 
 " I shall resist — defend myself " 
 
 "They will rule you, through your child, whom they 
 hold — so they will claim my son. What right would I 
 have to claim that child, to insist upon their returning 
 him to you ? Blanche.have you dreamed of the difficulty 
 which naught can surmount — nothing but your will ? " 
 
 «« What am I to do ? " 
 
 " Give me the right to speak firmly and proudly, in 
 your name and mine "
 
 giftadam* £m$-(&tne. 253 
 
 m Do as you will. Do you not know that my way is 
 ever yours ? " 
 
 " Well, then, though parted, the chances of war have 
 brought us together ; and we must be united at once ; 
 you must be my wife. Do you consent ? " 
 
 Mademoiselle de Laveline's only answer was given 
 in the embrace she gave her future lord. 
 
 •« All is ready for a marriage celebration," said Neip- 
 perg. " The priest is at the altar, the notary is asleep 
 in the chateau, and has his certificates ; we must wake 
 him — he can change the names while the priest is 
 pronouncing the benediction. Come, sweet, and make 
 me the happiest of husbands ! " 
 
 An hour later, in the chapel where Catharine Le- 
 febvre had for an instant played the bride, Blanche de 
 Laveline became Countess de Neipperg. 
 
 The last words of the sacrament had scarce been 
 said, which should unite the pair, and while the fright- 
 ened secretary was standing with the contract, duly 
 signed and sealed, a burst of musketry resounded 
 through the valley below the chapel. 
 
 Trumpets and drums gave to the echo the unmistak- 
 able signals of combat. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Neipperg conducting Blanche 
 toward a group of officers, " I wish to present to you 
 the Countess de Neipperg, my wife " 
 
 All bowed, and invoked a thousand blessings and all 
 prosperity upon a union contracted on the morning of 
 battle, the eve of a great victory, in a chapel trans- 
 formed to a fortress, where great volleys of cannon-shot 
 pealed instead of marriage bells.
 
 *54 iftadam* &m$-(&m. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE VICTORY WON IN SINGING. 
 
 Those who were, that memorable morning of Novem- 
 ber 6, 1792, on the crest of Jemmapes — the Belgians 
 oppressed by the Empire, and destined to be freed by 
 the republican victory, — saw a majestic spectacle which 
 they could never forget. 
 
 Dawn rose, pale and gray, over the hills. Light winds 
 rose on the summits, bending the tree-tops, and rus- 
 tling amid the dry leaves. 
 
 Great numbers of Austrians, Hungarians, and Prus- 
 sians, occupied the heights. The furred coats of the 
 hussars, the tall bonnets of the grenadiers, the half- 
 conical caps of the infantry, the lances, the cavalry 
 sabres, glistened, twinkled, shone in the livid light of 
 that autumn morning. 
 
 Below, improvised redoubts and fortifications and 
 palisades hid the Tyrolese sharp-shooters in their 
 pointed felt hats with a pheasant or heron feather stuck 
 in the band. 
 
 The artillery, hid right and left in the embrasures 
 of gabions and breastworks, was ready for delivering 
 shot upon shot. 
 
 The Austrian position was, indeed, formidable ; the
 
 I&adame jf)i*Mlttt£» 255 
 
 right rose to the village of Jemmapes, forming a square 
 with the front and left facing the Valenciennes road. 
 
 On the three wooded hills, as an amphitheatre, were 
 arranged three rows of redoubts, each guarded with 
 twenty pieces of heavy artillery, besides howitzers and 
 three cannon to each battalion, making a total of 
 nearly a hundred pieces ready to belch their deadly 
 fire. 
 
 The advantage of position, the superiority of a trained 
 army, well provided with ammunition, commanded by 
 experienced generals like Clerfayt and Beaulieu, the 
 force of artillery fired from above, upon an enemy 
 advancing on a plain full of bogs, and forced to run the 
 murderous fire from terribly defended declivities — all 
 this gave the Imperial general an almost positive as- 
 surance of victory. 
 
 Moreover, the Austrian army, well rested, installed 
 on dry ground, with plenty to eat, was ready, at the 
 first shot, to start with the dawn and open the battle. 
 
 The French had passed the night on a damp soil : 
 they had no time to cook their soup. They were told 
 that they should have time later in the day to eat at 
 Mons, after the victory. 
 
 And so they started, with empty stomachs, but hearts 
 full of hope, promising themselves a breakfast before 
 noon, after the battle. 
 
 Slowly the mist rose from the plain, disclosing 
 men running, hiding, advancing in a great disorderly 
 torrent. 
 
 At the first cannon-shot, while the army was beginning
 
 256 Padam* $?att0-6ene. 
 
 to move, the bands of all the brigades began in a mag- 
 nificent chorus the " Marseillaise." The sonorous 
 trumpets answered the boom of the guns. 
 
 From fifteen thousand throats rose, simultaneously, 
 to the time of the artillery and the tune of the trum- 
 pets, the martial words of the terrific hymn of the 
 Revolution. And the echoes of Jemmapes, Cuesmes, 
 and Berthaimont carried to the Austrians the superb 
 defiance of the heroic call, "To arms, citizens'; and 
 form your battalions ! " 
 
 It was no longer an army falling into line, but an 
 entire nation, rallying to defend its soil and save its 
 liberty. 
 
 The old tactics were abandoned. As if it were a 
 sea bursting its bonds, France gathered, forced its 
 masses of men onward to the assault of those heights, 
 carrying redoubts, fortresses, palisades, shelters, from 
 below, even to the summit. 
 
 A flood in a hurricane — such was the battle of Jem- 
 mapes. 
 
 Only the cannon and the bayonet were used. 
 
 From a distance, the artillery desolated the Austrian 
 defences, then, with naked arms, the volunteers, guards, 
 peasants, workmen of yesterday, fell upon the defence 
 line, cut down the cannoneers, forced the squares of 
 infantry, surrounded the squadrons of cavalry, con- 
 quering instantly. 
 
 The old imperial forces, veterans of monarchical 
 wars, were cut to pieces, dispersed, annihilated, by 
 these raw young heroes, many of whom still wore their
 
 §Mame Jtaw-tiitate. 257 
 
 farm-clothes, or mechanics' coats, and whose hands 
 grasped guns for the first time. 
 
 General d'Harville commanded the left with old 
 General Ferrand. Charged to free the village of Jem- 
 mapes, the latter met some resistance ; Dumouriezsent 
 Thfivenot with re-enforcements, and they soon entered 
 as victors. It was noon. 
 
 Beurnonville attacked the right. Under his orders, 
 Dampierre commanded the Parisian volunteers. To 
 these children from the suburbs of Paris belonged 
 the honor of carrying three redoubts. These impro- 
 vised warriors hesitated a moment, before the impos- 
 ing array of the Austrians. The Imperial dragoons, 
 charged upon them with a magnificent and terrible 
 force. Intrepid, facing death and catching firm hold 
 of their guns, they drove forward with fixed bay- 
 onets, dispersing that gaudy cavalry in all directions. 
 Dumouriez's hussars finished the rout and drove every- 
 thing before them as far as Mons. 
 
 As the centre two brigades had halted, a soldier, 
 without rank or uniform, Dumouriez's valet, Baptiste 
 Renard, took upon himself to rally them, to lead them, 
 and so assured the victory at that point. There Lieu- 
 tenant-General Egalite\ better known later as Louis- 
 Philippe, was in command. 
 
 It was to the sound of the "Marseillaise" and the 
 Ca-ira that the last Austrian intrenchments were carried 
 by the Parisian brigades, among whom were brave 
 volunteers, and the Lombard contingent. The regular 
 troops, the 13th, with whom Lefebvre fought like a 
 17
 
 258 Padame j&mjei-Gfatt*. 
 
 tiger, the marksmen and hussars of Berchimy and Canv 
 boraud, all these contributed equally to that decided 
 victory which preserved France from invasion, de- 
 livered Belgium, wiped out the old German forces, and 
 gave to the new republic its glorious baptism of fire. 
 ***** 
 
 After the battle the victors wanted something to eat, 
 as they had sore need. 
 
 Breakfast and dinner hours were long past. They 
 decided on an evening meal. 
 
 They drank to victory and to the nation, to Du- 
 mouriez, to Baptiste Renard, a hero-servant, to the 
 National Convention, to the liberated Belgians, and 
 to all humanity. 
 
 This last toast was proposed among the volunteers 
 of Mayenne-et-Loire by a young major, with a blood- 
 stained uniform, for he, too, had fought well among 
 the heroes of that great day. 
 
 As they each related their adventures during the 
 fight, one soldier said, suddenly, «« You don't know 
 what we found in the chateau down there, which was 
 the Austrian headquarters! Major Marcel, it ought 
 to interest you." 
 
 " What was it ? " asked the philosopher, who had, on 
 that day at least, very conclusive arguments, living and 
 dead, to make good his theory of the barbarity of war. 
 
 " Why, Major ! A child " 
 
 " What did you say, a child ? Tell us about it," said 
 Rene" who had drawn near, for one was sure to find the 
 " Handsome Sergeant " near the major, Marcel.
 
 Pa^amc £»tt$-&ftte. 259 
 
 Rene added, "Madame Lefebvre, cantiniere of the 
 13th, has been asking about a child. Tell us what the 
 poor little thing was doing among all the firing ? 
 And how you took him thence " 
 
 "I didn't take him," said the soldier. 
 
 " You hadn't the heart to leave the little innocent ex- 
 posed to danger ? That would be unworthy a French 
 soldier ! " 
 
 " Listen, Sergeant," said the narrator ; " we ad* 
 vanced, some comrades and I, toward the deserted 
 chateau. We went carefully, fearing some ambuscade; 
 for the absolute silence of the place boded ill." 
 
 "That was wise," said the major. " Go on." 
 
 " Suddenly, drawn by a sigh, we saw in a cave what 
 looked like a shadow. I raised — fired — then down we 
 went to the cave. We heard a call — a cry — forced the 
 entrance, and there was a scared little fellow who 
 had been shut up there. He said to us, when he saw 
 us, " It was Leonard ! He ran away there," and he 
 pointed to a second opening, leading to an outer 
 passage " 
 
 " Leonard ! One might be sure to find that traitor 
 wherever there was any villainy to be done, said a 
 voice behind the soldiers. 
 
 It was Catharine Lefebvre, who had come up in time 
 to hear the end of the soldier's story. 
 
 She said quickly, " What did you do ? Shot Leon- 
 ard, I trust, and saved the child. Where is he, dear 
 little Henriot ? For I am sure it is he, whom that 
 wretch stole and wanted to give over to the Baron de
 
 260 gftadamc gm$-(&tm. 
 
 Lowendaal. Speak up, you slow fellow," she said to 
 the soldier. 
 
 He hung his head. " Leonard escaped," he said. 
 «• As for the boy " 
 
 " You left him, wretch ? " 
 
 " I had to. In getting out, that fellow Leonard set 
 fire to a barrel of powder left by the Austrians. We 
 had to make a rush for the barracks — to beat a retreat." 
 
 "Friends," cried Catharine, " kind hearts are not lack- 
 ing among you. Who will go and search among the 
 ruins about the chateau ? Perhaps the poor little one 
 is still living ! Well ! Don't all speak at once," said 
 she, irritated by their silence. 
 
 "One may happen to be wounded," said one man. 
 
 " We haven't finished our soup," said another. 
 
 " To-morrow we must be in condition to enter Mons," 
 said a third. 
 
 And he who had told the adventure, growled : " There 
 may be shots still, and more powder barrels to burst in 
 that wretched place. A child isn't worth risking one's 
 skin for that way " 
 
 "I am going, anyway," said Catharine, "and alone, 
 too ; for Lefebvre is busy at the outpost, and you are 
 too great cowards to go with me, I promised his 
 mother to bring her that child one day, and I shall hold 
 to my promise. Eat, drink and sleep well, children ! 
 Good-night ! • 
 
 " Madame Lefebvre, I will go with you, if you like," 
 said the Handsome Sergeant. «' Two are more cour« 
 ageous than one 1 "
 
 Padawe ^ans-iSae. 261 
 
 «« Say three," said a timid voice, and the tall La 
 Violette appeared. His sword had no longer a scab- 
 bard, his uniform was torn with sabre-cuts. He wore 
 \he cap of a dragoon — captain of the Imperial army. 
 
 " You coming with us, La Violette ? It is good of 
 you, lad. We are going, you know, about our little 
 Henriot, for it is certainly he whom that poltroon 
 Leonard has left in the chateau ! " 
 
 "It is for you, I am going, Madame Lefebvre. I shall 
 not let you go alone, across the battle-field, as you 
 know. Ah ! I was mightily afraid by daylight ! That 
 captain of dragoons should have noticed it, when he 
 made for my head with his sabre — you see I had no 
 cap." 
 
 *• And you killed the captain ? " 
 
 " Yes, to take his casque. I couldn't go about bare- 
 headed. It would look as if I'd slept during the 
 battle ; and that would not have been comfortable, 
 Madame Lefebvre. Then there were five dragoons- 
 with the captain who didn't want to let me take their 
 chiefs cap — it seems they wanted it. So I had to 
 treat them all the same way ; but it was hard, the five 
 held on to the last, and they have hard heads, those 
 Germans.'* 
 
 " Good boy, you did all that ? " 
 
 «' Yes, Madame Lefebvre. But let us get to the 
 chateau. You know, I told you, at night I am no 
 coward." 
 
 As they were about to start, a dark figure stepped 
 across their way.
 
 262 Padame gm$-(&tM. 
 
 Catharine said, in surprise : " What ! you, Major 
 Marcel ? " 
 
 " He'll come too ! " said Rene". 
 
 " Is a doctor of no use ? Suppose the child were 
 hurt," said the major. 
 
 And so these four went out into the night among the 
 slain, and the pile of debris and broken arms, which 
 lay upon the field of Jemmapes. 
 
 Among the ruins of the Chateau de Lowendaal, 
 Catharine found little Henriot, once more ; faint, but 
 with only a few bruises. 
 
 Marcel attended him, and he soon revived. Brought 
 to the camp, the little lad, saved on the battle-field, 
 was adopted by the 13th, and became the child of the 
 regiment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE STAR. 
 
 Toulon, like Lyons, Marseilles, Caen, and Bordeaux, 
 had become a place for treason. 
 
 The Royalists, united with the Girondists, had opened 
 the gates of the town, with the arsenal, to the allied forces. 
 
 All the poetry and the charm which surround the 
 oratorical talent, the virtues and the renown of the 
 Girondist deputies, cannot absolve them from their 
 crime of infidelity to the country. 
 
 At the hour when monarchical Europe hung over
 
 Padame Jf m$-(&tnt. 263 
 
 France, and pretended to dictate laws and impose a 
 dynastic rule upon the free nation, the Girondists, forget- 
 ful of their past, misconstruing their duty, hate against 
 la Montague, and fear as well in an over execrable back- 
 ward movement, went over to the enemy, and called 
 the stranger. 
 
 Happily, Robespierre, Saint-Just, Couthon, and Carnot 
 watched in the Committee of Public Safety ; the volun- 
 teers were in arms ; young generals like Hoche and 
 Marceau replaced in the frontiers men like Dumouriez 
 and Custine, now become royalist conspirators. By 
 good luck, too, the cannons of the Republic, before 
 Toulon and the English fleet, were intrusted to an un 
 known young artillery officer, Napoleon Bonaparte. 
 
 The traitor town was occupied by a miscellaneous 
 force collected from all points on the shore : Spaniards, 
 Neapolitans, Sardinians, Maltese. The Pope had sent 
 monks charged to inflame the people. It was the 
 arsenal of France. Its possession was of the utmost 
 importance, for the rebels holding the sea-roads, could 
 receive re-enforcements, and also English troops. 
 
 The republican army was divided into two parts, 
 separated by Mt. Pharo ; enthusiasm, inexperience, 
 bravery, and lack of discipline were the chief features 
 of this tumultuous gathering of improvised regiments, 
 destined to be the nucleus of the future Italian army. 
 
 The command was given by mere chance. Simple 
 soldiers might become generals in a week. The general 
 in-chief, Carteaux, had been a poor painter, and was a 
 worse soldier. The Surgeon Doppet, and the so-called
 
 264 §ftadame JtaMtat.' 
 
 Marquis Lapoype were his seconds. This mixture was 
 explained by the desertion and emigration of almost 
 all the old officers attached to the nobility. 
 
 The commissioners of the Convention, Salicetti, 
 Fe"rron, Albitte, Barras, and Gasparin, were every- 
 where arousing the zeal of the chiefs, haranguing the 
 soldiers, decrying resistance, and awaiting victory. 
 
 The siege was long. The gorges of Ollioulles, the 
 defiles leading to Toulon, had be« carried, but the 
 place, itself, held out, defended by formidable out- 
 works. Sieges require military experience, science, 
 and coolness which seemed to be wanting in the chiefs 
 as well as in the soldiers of that new army. Carteaux, 
 the chief, knew nothing even about the placing of his 
 pieces of artillery. 
 
 Chance brought them Bonaparte. Going from 
 Avignon to Nice, Bonaparte stopped at Toulon to make 
 a visit to his compatriot, the representative Salicetti. 
 
 The latter introduced him to Carteaux, who, with 
 real satisfaction, and seeking to pay him a compli- 
 ment, requested leave to show the artillery officer his 
 batteries. Bonaparte only shrugged his shoulders ; the 
 bullets destined for the English fleet — so ill were the 
 pieces placed — would not go beyond the shore. 
 
 Carteaux complained of the poor quality of the pow- 
 der ; but Bonaparte quickly showed the stupidity of this 
 explanation. The representatives, struck with his 
 reasoning, gave him command of the operations of the 
 siege. 
 
 In a few days, with prodigious activity, he brought
 
 pmtame ^att£-(i!ktt*. 265 
 
 material, guns, officers, from Lyons, Grenoble, and Mar- 
 seilles. He considered a regular siege useless. If the 
 English ships could be sent off, the besieged town, he 
 thought, would surrender. It was necessary, there- 
 fore, to capture a point whence one could command a 
 double road — and that point was the promontory of 
 Eguillette. 
 
 " That will take Toulon," said Bonaparte, with the 
 eyeof genius. So he made himself master of Eguillette ; 
 the English fleet hoisted sail, and Toulon surrendered. 
 The allies were defeated, and Bonaparte entered into 
 history, victorious ; having manifested the greatness of 
 his genius. He was made general of artillery, and sent 
 to Nice to the headquarters of the Italian army, com- 
 manded by Dumerbion. 
 
 Elated with a commission which could, at twenty- 
 four, satisfy his ambition and push his desires, Bona- 
 parte thought of settling his brothers and sisters, which 
 was ever his fixed idea. 
 
 Joseph's good fortune overjoyed him. He often said : 
 " Ah ! he is happy, that fellow, Joseph." To have 
 wedded the daughter of a soap-merchant seemed to- 
 him then a fine thing. There was mingled with his 
 admiration of the newly-wedded pair a little regret at 
 not having gained D6sire"e, Clary's second daughter. 
 
 But a matrimonial incident he had not foreseen came 
 to trouble and irritate him. 
 
 He learned at Nice that his Brother Lucien was 
 about to marry. And under what conditions ! Bona- 
 parte did not cease to be angry over it for ten years.
 
 266 gttadame gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 Lucien had a modest position in the military admin- 
 istration at Saint-Maximen, in Vaucluse. 
 
 He was young, fiery, a good talker, and was the joy 
 and glory of a chop-house where he took his meals. 
 
 Boyer, the innkeeper, had a charming daughter, 
 Christine. She was not insensible to the charms and 
 compliments of the future president of the Cinq-Cents. 
 She told her father she wanted to marry Lucien. 
 
 The innkeeper, who was about to refuse room and 
 board to his lodger, always in arrears for his bills, 
 shook his head, and ended by consenting. That was 
 one way of securing the account of his debtor. 
 
 When Bonaparte discovered that he was to have as 
 sister-in-law, an innkeeper's daughter, he was furious. 
 Already he foresaw his own greatness, and was angry 
 with anything which, coming from his family, could 
 injure his fortune or lessen his rising and spreading 
 renown. 
 
 He broke with his brother. 
 
 Against the young woman he ever kept his ill-feeling. 
 She was sweet and resigned, and Christine Boyer 
 made several efforts to appease Bonaparte and gain his 
 good-will. 
 
 A touching letter of hers is preserved, written when 
 she was about to become a mother. 
 
 " Permit me to call you brother. Fleeing from 
 France, according to your decree, I have come to Ger- 
 many. Within a month, I hope to present you a 
 nephew, for I feel that it is to be a boy. I promise 
 you, he shall be a soldier ; but I want him to have
 
 Ittadam* £m$-(&tnt. 267 
 
 your name, and be your godson. Do not refuse me. 
 You will not disdain us for our poverty ; for, after all, 
 you are our brother ; my children are your only- 
 nephews, and we love you better than fortune. May 
 I some day be able to prove all my tender affection for 
 you." 
 
 Bonaparte remained deaf to that appeal. The inn- 
 keeper's daughter was kept out of his heart. 
 
 He dreamed of an alliance which should flatter his 
 vanity, and wanted to find a great lady to whom he 
 could not present the ignorant and rustic Christine. 
 
 Bonaparte's affairs came to a crisis. 
 
 He had lost his protectors ; the two Robespierres 
 guillotined, the Thermidoriens pursued their vengeance. 
 For a moment, after the 9th Thermidor, Bonaparte 
 thought of proposing to the representatives a descent 
 upon Paris with his troops ; but he gave the idea up. 
 
 Dubois-Crance, member of the Committee of Public 
 Safety, anxious to disperse the Jacobins, who, despite 
 police vigilance, were numerous in the Italian army, 
 sent Bonaparte as artillery-general to Vendee. 
 
 Struck dumb by this blow, Bonaparte left for Paris, 
 with his two aides, Junot and Marmont. 
 
 An insignificant artillery-captain, Aubry, was then 
 minister of war ; and was jealous of the rapid advance 
 of the officers. Girondist at heart, Aubry revenged 
 himself on the friend of Robespierre, the strategist of 
 Toulon, by sending him to command the infantry of the 
 Army of the West. He was to rise on Dubois-Crance's 
 disgrace.
 
 268 Ittadawe $att$-$ftt*. 
 
 When they tried to soften the minister of war, this 
 sad successor of the great Carnot tried to appear as- a 
 Terrorist. Bonaparte, having sought to plead his own 
 cause, Aubry said, dryly : 
 
 " You are too young to command the artillery of an 
 army." 
 
 " One grows old quickly on the field of battle, and I 
 am already old," said the general cruelly, lashing this 
 arrogant fellow. 
 
 But Aubry was inflexible. Bonaparte, refusing to 
 go whither he was sent, was dismissed from the army. 
 
 So he sought service with the Sultan, and would have 
 fallen back into his former black want, had not Joseph 
 come to his assistance. 
 
 One of the directors of the war-department, Doulcet 
 de Pontdcoulant, came to him and made him enter the 
 surveying service, just as he was about to embark for 
 Constantinople. 
 
 The Orient had always attracted him. He dreamed 
 bright visions of realizing fortune and glory under an 
 alien sky. A seemingly fatal love of the Turk dom- 
 inated his soul. He wrote to his brother Joseph : 
 " Everything makes me try the journey and fate ; and 
 if this continues, my friend, I shall end by returning 
 no more, unless I am brought home." 
 
 With the blue skies of Islam came another attractive 
 and fascinating dream : he would see a woman there, 
 elegant in all the pride of the aristocracy of the old 
 social order ; to her he would give his heart, his name ; 
 in exchange for which she would give him a sensual
 
 Padame g&n$-(&tnt. 269 
 
 satisfaction, domestic felicity, ease, and access to the 
 society which was then being reconstructed. 
 
 A sudden event came to condense these vaporous 
 reveries to reality. 
 
 The long and formidable career of the Convention 
 was over. The Constitution of the year III. was its 
 legacy. The members of the Convention had decided 
 that both sets should keep their places, in that body. 
 These decisions caused an insurrection in Paris. 
 
 On the 11th Vend6miaire (Oct. 3, 1795), the electors 
 of the various sections assembled at the Odeon, and on 
 the iath the electors of the Lepelletier section re- 
 sorted to arms. General Menou, who was ordered 
 out to insist on their laying down their arms, met 
 them at the Convent of the Fille-Saint-Thomas. The 
 insurgents triumphed. It was eight o'clock at night. 
 
 Bonaparte was at the Feydeau theatre. Surprised 
 at the turn of events, he went to the Assembly, where 
 they were discussing what measures to take. A general 
 was needed to supply Menou's place. 
 
 Barras, who was charged to keep order, remembered 
 Bonaparte, whom he had known and appreciated at 
 Toulon. 
 
 Next day, the 13th Vende"miaire, Bonaparte convened 
 the sections in front of the church of Saint-Roch, and 
 found himself elected General of the Interior. 
 
 Now he held power which could not be taken from 
 him. Yesterday, destitute and without resources, he 
 was to-day master of Paris, and indeed almost of the 
 ■entire nation.
 
 270 Padame gzn$-<8tnt. 
 
 His star, by turns radiant and pale, shed at last a 
 clear beam -from above. It was destined to be for 
 twenty years a dazzling beacon-light throughout 
 France. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 YEYETTE. 
 
 Fortune smiled suddenly upon Bonaparte. 
 
 An unexpected and powerful upward sweep landed 
 him on the very pinnacle. 
 
 Despite his military talent, already revealed, and the 
 praise he had received from influential men, his name 
 had been unknown, his situation precarious. 
 
 Cambon, the great financier of the Convention, an 
 honest and high-minded man, Michelet's favorite hero 
 (though he is generally not very tender toward the real 
 chiefs of the Revolution), had given a certificate in his 
 favor on the occasion of the disturbances of Antibes. 
 " We were," he writes, " in imminent danger, when the 
 virtuous and valorous General Bonaparte, at the head 
 of fifty grenadiers, opened a way for us." 
 
 Freron declared that he alone was capable of saving 
 the imperilled armies of the Republic. 
 
 Barras, the corrupt but clever politician, forgot him. 
 
 Mariette, whom he had snatched from death among 
 the traitors of Toulon, and intimidated by the English, 
 gave no signs of life.
 
 Pattern; JfaniJ-iBflw. 271 
 
 Aubry, the obtuse captain who had become minister 
 of war, had dismissed him from the army. 
 
 At last his dream of a wealthy marriage, which he 
 had twice tried to realize, first with the Widow Permon, 
 then with Desiree Clary, had vanished. 
 
 There remained for him only the chances of going to 
 Turkey, and organizing the Sultan's Guard, and to this 
 end he obtained leave of the Committee of Public Safety 
 under date September 15, 1795. 
 
 "General Bonaparte is about to leave for Constanti- 
 nople, with his two aides-de-camp, to take service in the 
 army of the Sultan, and to give his talents and his 
 knowledge to the restoration of the artiller/ of that puis- 
 sant empire, and to the execution of such matters as 
 may be ordered him by the ministers of the Porte. He 
 will serve in the Sultan's Guard, and be treated by him 
 as one of his generals. 
 
 He will be accompanied by Citizens Junot and Henri 
 Livrat, as aides, Captains Serge's and Billaund de Villar- 
 ceau as chiefs of artillery detachments. Blaise de 
 Villeneuve, as captain of constructive corps, Bourgeois 
 and La Chasse, as first lieutenants of artillery, and 
 Maissonet and Schneid, as sergeants." 
 
 But the insurrection of the 13th VendSmiaire had 
 broken out. 
 
 All the world had lost its. head, except he who was 
 destined to save the Convention and re-establish public- 
 order. 
 
 Barras, whom the memory of the 9th Thermidor made 
 careful in his choice of colleagues, was possessed of all
 
 272 Patlnme g>M#-<&tnt. 
 
 powers, and sought about him for a general capable of 
 commanding the troops on.that day, when every man 
 feared for his life. 
 
 He spoke for Bonaparte. 
 
 Carnot had proposed to give the command to Brune. 
 Barras answered that a man was needed who under- 
 stood artillery. Freron, who was in love with Pauline 
 Bonaparte and was about to ask for her hand, favored 
 Bonaparte. 
 
 " I give you three minutes to consider," said Barras. 
 
 During those three minutes Bonaparte's thoughts 
 travelled with the rapidity and clearness of a celestial 
 sphere. 
 
 He feared in accepting to assume the heavy respon- 
 sibility, frequently unjust, always terrible, of those who 
 undertake a necessary repression. To wipe out the 
 sections' representatives might mean to consign his 
 name to the eternal execration of posterity. He had 
 refused to command a regiment against the Vendeans ; 
 should he take upon himself a march against Paris ? 
 He was not made for civil wars. Besides, he was really 
 in sympathy with the sectionists. These insurgents 
 wanted to put out the incapable and powerless, who 
 were anxious to retain the power, and to preserve for 
 the people the two chosen houses of national represen- 
 tation. If he failed, he would be lost, given over to 
 the vengeance of the sectionists of Paris. Victorious, 
 he must needs bathe his sword in French blood, and 
 become, as he told himself, the scapegoat of the crimes 
 of the Revolution, to which he was a stranger.
 
 Pattern* $m$-<&tM. 273 
 
 But his thoughts, revolving with lightning rapidity, 
 showed him the consequences of refusal. If the Con- 
 vention were dispersed by force, what would become 
 of the victories of the Revolution ? The actions of 
 Valmy, of Jemmapes, of Toulon, of Col di Tende, the 
 glorious successes of the armies of Sombre-et-Meuse, 
 of Italy, would be useless ; reaction, treason would ef- 
 face it all. The defeat of the Convention would mean 
 the retreat of the Revolution, the oppression of France. 
 With the Austrians at Strasbourg and the English at 
 Brest, the principles and the liberties of the Republic, 
 as well as its conquests, would be submerged. The 
 duty of a good citizen was to stand by the Convention, 
 despite its faults, and since he could draw and wield 
 a sword he would do well to defend the established 
 government, despite the incapacity of those who ad- 
 ministered it. 
 
 So, lifting his head, he answered Barras. 
 
 " I accept, but I warn you that, my sword once drawn, 
 I shall not return it to its scabbard until order is fully 
 established." 
 
 It was one o'clock in the morning. Next day the 
 victory of the Convention was definitive, and Barras 
 said to the court : 
 
 *• I desire to call the attention of the National Con- 
 vention to General Bonaparte. It is to him and to his 
 wisdom that we owe the defence of this spot, around 
 which he distributed his guards with such unusual 
 ability. I demand that the Convention confirm the 
 
 18
 
 274 Padattw £»tt0-(#m. 
 
 nomination of Bonaparte as General-in-Command of 
 the Army of the Interior," 
 
 Some days later, Barras laid down his commission, 
 and Bonaparte remained alone in command. 
 
 It was high time. He had no longer any shoes on 
 his feet, and his coat only half protected him. 
 
 Some days prior, he had made bold to present him- 
 self to Madame Tallien. 
 
 That seductive and perverse creature, The"r£zea 
 Cabarrus, who had armed the versatile and discreet 
 Tallien even from the prison, on the 9th Thermidor, 
 now governed Barras, a personage of high rank. 
 
 To obtain the favor of Barras, and find some em- 
 ployment, Bonaparte, at the end of his resources, 
 having neither money, nor fine clothes, had gone to a 
 soiree at at the house of the fair courtesan. 
 
 It required not only energy but force of character to 
 dare to present himself in his poor attire, amid elegant 
 ladies, powdered dandies, and decorated generals. 
 Nevertheless, Bonaparte set forth. 
 
 He wore his long hair, parted on both sides of his 
 forehead, unpowdered — for the reason that wig- 
 makers must needs be paid for their services, and he 
 had not the wherewith to pay them. His boots held 
 together only by miraculous effort ; the cracks care- 
 fully inked. The uniform he wore was the same he 
 had worn in the face of the enemy, and though 
 glorious, it was, also, threadbare — with a simple silken 
 braid to substitute, for economy's sake, the embroidery 
 of rank.
 
 Padame JfaajMJe**. 275 
 
 He appeared so shabby to the triumphant lady, that 
 she, gave him, on the spot, a letter to M. Lefeuve, of 
 the 17th Division of Paris, to the effect that he should 
 obtain for him (in conformity with the decree, which 
 gave every officer, in activity, a uniform), enough cloth 
 for a new suit. Bonaparte was not in active service 
 and had really no right to this, but the protection of 
 Madame Tallien overruled any decree ; the poor, un- 
 salaried officer had cloth for his new coat, and could 
 appear on the 13th Vend^miaire, before the Convention — 
 transfixed with fear and then exuberant with joy, as a 
 saviour — at least properly clad. 
 
 Bonaparte's metamorphosis was as sudden as that 
 of the princesses of fairy tales, whose palaces rise from 
 pumpkins, and everything around him changed. 
 
 He took his place at headquarters, in the Rue des 
 Capuchines. Junot and Lemarois were near him. His 
 uncle was called to Paris as his secretary, He used 
 his first money for the relief of his family. He sent 
 fifty thousand francs to his mother, content to buy 
 himself a new pair of boots, and to have gold em- 
 broidery put upon the coat he had received through 
 Madame Tallien's intervention. 
 
 He hastened to use his influence on behalf of his 
 brothers. Louis he took as aide, with a captain's com- 
 mission, and asked a consulship for Joseph. He sent 
 money to the college where Jerome was, to pay the 
 arrears, and ordering that he should receive extra in- 
 struction in drawing and music. 
 
 Assured of the fate of his family, sure of his own
 
 276 padam* ^attf-Gfott*. 
 
 future, now a general, in position to choose an advan- 
 tageous command — for the Convention refused noth- 
 ing to its saviour, and the Directory, which was about 
 to enter on its duties, could not dispense with his sword. 
 At this auspicious moment he returned to his matrimo- 
 nial ideas. 
 
 A rich marriage, with a woman who could give him 
 fortune, influence, social standing, effacing the traces of 
 early straitened circumstances, helping him to uphold 
 his new position ; that was what he desired. 
 
 But Bonaparte, the imperturbable mathematician, the 
 profound and logical thinker, had yet to learn, as a 
 young man, the domination of a turbulent passion which 
 rules the actions of men, often for their own undoing. 
 
 He became a lover. 
 
 It was at Madame Tallien's, where the general went 
 to express his thanks for the help given to the destitute- 
 officer of the previous month, that Bonaparte met the 
 widow Beauharnais. 
 
 She was a Creole from the Antilles ; one of those ad- 
 venturesses who pass in society, protected by their 
 foreign speech and ways, and admitted into society as 
 being strangers. They are seductive, coming from 
 afar. The widow was called Marie-Joseph-Rose 
 Tascher de la Pagerie. She was born June 23, 1763, 
 in the parish of Notre Dame de la Purification, at Mar- 
 tinique. Her father cultivated the plantations left him 
 by his progenitors, who came, in 1726, as colonists. A 
 former captain of dragoons, chevalier of St. Louis and 
 page to the Dauphiness, he had little money and was
 
 Pattame gm$-<5tnt. 277 
 
 anxious to see his eldest daughters well married — for 
 Josephine had two sisters, Catherine-Marie-De'sire'e, and 
 Marie-Francoise. 
 
 A certain Madame Renaudin, aunt to the young girl, 
 found the coveted husband. She had him in her hand ; 
 the younger son of the Marquis de Beauharnais, Gov- 
 ernor of \Vindward Islands. 
 
 The marriage was decided from afar, for young 
 Beauharnais was in France, and his fiance'e set sail in 
 September, 1779. She came to Bordeaux, and, some time 
 after, married the Viscount Alexandre de Beauharnais, 
 who, when he married, was made captain in the La 
 Sarre regiment. He was eighteen years old ; she six- 
 teen. Bonaparte, at the time when the future empress 
 was married, was ten years old, and entering the 
 School of Brienne. 
 
 In the Rue Thevenot, in Paris, the couple lodged. 
 On September 2, 1 780, was born Eugene, the future 
 prince viceroy of Italy. The household did not remain 
 long united. Soon the young count left his wife to 
 serve in America under Bouille's orders. The desire 
 to help on American independence, and to immortalize 
 himself along with Lafayette and Rochambepu act- 
 uated the young husband less than his wish to escape 
 a coquettish wife, frivolous in the extreme, and terribly 
 extravagant. So, during his absence, April 10, 1788, 
 was born the future Queen Hortense, the mother of 
 Napoleon III. 
 
 At that time, Josephine had given her husband no 
 cause for complaint. The latter, married too young.
 
 278 Pattam* $nn0-<#*tt*. 
 
 gave himself up to new loves and passing distractions. 
 His departure did not grieve his wife. It gave her a 
 liberty she was glad to obtain. 
 
 She took up, then, a scarcely regular life, having lovers, 
 debts, heights and depths. She lived on the edge of 
 society. The court was not forbidden her, for the 
 Beauharnais were of the Orleans nobility, but it was 
 difficult for her to enter. She had only her Aunt Re- 
 naudin to present her, and that lady's equivocal position 
 kept her from Versailles. 
 
 M. de Beauharnais, returning to France, desired a 
 separation. The court granted it, but as the wrongs 
 were on both sides, Josephine was allowed ten thousand 
 livres alimony. Now she decided to visit her home. She 
 returned to Martinique, and came back, in 1791, in com- 
 pany with a gallant marine officer, M. Scipio de Roure. 
 
 She found her husband in a high station. The Vis- 
 count de Beauharnais, deputy of the nobility, had be- 
 come an influential member of the Constituency. To him 
 belongs the honor of having proposed, on that famous 
 night of August 4th, the admissibility of all citizens in 
 employments civil, military, and ecclesiastic, and the 
 equality of taxes for all classes of citizens ; the aboli- 
 tion, consequently, of the old order in two ways. He 
 had been elected several times as president of the Na- 
 tional Assembly — and received, in his home on the 
 Rue de la University, a great number of deputies, of 
 whom he was the head. 
 
 Josephine, ambitious and anxious to preside over a 
 political salon, frequented by all those whom the
 
 Padame gm$-$tnt. 279 
 
 Assembly counted as great men, desired to be recon- 
 ciled to her husband. She seemed humble, sweet, 
 repentant, — she succeeded. For some time she reigned 
 as a queen in the house on the Rue de I'Universite". 
 
 But the days grew dark. The Terror had closed the 
 salons. Beauharnais was in the army, and as General- 
 in-chief* of the army oi the Rhine, he conducted the 
 siege of Mayence. He was arrested, in 1794. Though a 
 republican and a patriot, General Beauharnais could 
 not have connived with traitors. Yet, despite his 
 brother's presence and rank as a staff-officer, he was 
 guillotined on the 5th Thermidor. Four days later, 
 the prisons were opened and he would have been 
 saved. 
 
 His death was due to a mistake, and to the haste 
 with which, at that terrible period, they executed sus- 
 pected criminals. 
 
 Beauharnais should stand blameless, though his 
 head rolled among those of traitors, conspirators, and 
 enemies of the nation. He was the victim of unjust 
 denunciations. He himself declared that the Revolu- 
 tion was not responsible for his death. 
 
 Before going to the scaffold, in a letter worthy of an 
 ancient philosopher, Beauharnais expressed his fear 
 that posterity would consider him a "bad citizen," 
 seeing his corpse among those traitors whom the law 
 punished. " Strive to redeem my memory," he wrote 
 to his wife in that supreme hour when he was inter- 
 rupted by the death summons. " Prove that the life I 
 consecrated to the service of my country, to the
 
 280 Padam* %m$-(&tn(. 
 
 triumph of liberty and equality, should, in the eye of 
 the people, be free from the odious calumnies which 
 placed me among the suspected. But this work must 
 be left till later ; for, in revolutionary time, a great 
 people who are in earnest must sometimes be unjust, 
 though they seek later to consign to oblivion the 
 wretches who cause the death of the innocent."' 
 
 The noble citizen concluded by recommending his 
 young wife to. console herself with the education of her 
 children, teaching them that it was by force of civic law 
 that his death was accomplished, and that they must 
 forget it and the injustice." 
 
 How admirable in character was this hero, who, 
 coming from the aristocracy, became a defender of the 
 people, fought feudalism, and proclaimed first — at an 
 epoch when that law of modern society seemed a 
 heresy, an anarchistic Utopianism, equality of taxation, 
 and the admission of nobles, officers of the army, and 
 employees in the magistracy into the State departments ; 
 and who, after presiding over the greatest of French as- 
 semblies, and commanding the army of the Rhine, died 
 on the scaffold, a victim of wild passions, yet submitting 
 to the decree of a cruel and unjust accusation ; who on 
 the threshold of death, had but one fear, that it should 
 be believed that he had merited his ignominy ! Alex- 
 andre de Beauharnais has a right to a place in the 
 Revolutionary Pantheon, among the bloody martyrs of 
 the new evangel — the Pantheon of equality where 
 are found together judges and judged, Danton beside 
 St. Just, and Vergniaud with Couthon and Soubrany.
 
 P^dame gmi$-(&ent. 281 
 
 Josephine was decidedly favored in marriage. Beau- 
 harnais and Bonaparte, what woman would have 
 been other than proud of two such husbands ? Who 
 would not have loved, adored them ? She deceived 
 them, playing with the officers and dandies whom the 
 chances of society presented, and whom she was 
 pleased to see at her feet. 
 
 The Revolution made of Josephine, who had been a 
 social outcast, a great lady. Her husband's name 
 served to place her above the women of the old court 
 who had escaped the Terror. In prison she had 
 learned to know some of the venerable survivors of the 
 old aristocracy ; and she also knew La Cabarrus. 
 
 It was to the latter's house, where she sat enthroned 
 as Tallien's wife and Barras's mistress, that Josephine 
 came, and one day met the slim and silent young con- 
 queror. 
 
 Bonaparte was now become the fashion. Everybody 
 spoke of the young general who would achieve glory at 
 one bound. The salons disputed the privilege of 
 having him. Women smiled upon him. But he 
 passed them, grave, indifferent, sovereign already. 
 
 The widow Beauharnais, with her Creole non- 
 chalance, her grave manner, her charms already on 
 the wane, transfixed this cold young man with her first 
 glance. 
 
 In that first meeting at Madame Tallien's, Bonaparte 
 felt himself attracted, captured. He felt himself dragged 
 into the circle of this dark daughter of the isles, and, 
 charmed, he submitted.
 
 282 gttadam* gm$-(8tnc. 
 
 She was not beautiful. Her future brother-in-law, 
 Lucien Bonaparte, gives 'us his impression of her: 
 
 " She was very languid, and had no feature one could 
 call beautiful, though with the Creole suggestions in the 
 soft curves of her slight, short figure ; a face, it is true, 
 without natural freshness, to which the colors of her 
 toilet lent a lustre and brilliancy ; everything indicated 
 the remains of her early youth, as the painter, Gerard, 
 has faithfully shown in his portraits of the First Con- 
 sul's wife. In the brilliant soirees of the Directory, to 
 which Barras introduced me, she seemed to me no 
 longer young, and inferior to the beauties who generally 
 composed the court of the voluptuous director, and 
 of whom the fair Tallien was the veritable Calypso." 
 
 This unflattering portrait seems in the main to have 
 been correct. 
 
 Josephine was over thirty-two years of age. She was 
 the mother of two children, and her lively existence, 
 her excitements, her travels, the disruption of her family 
 life, her passing loves, had certainly hastened the march 
 of time. 
 
 Nevertheless, she vanquished the victor at their first 
 meeting. Bonaparte left the Talliens his heart throb- 
 bing, his eyes bright, filled with a fervor which for 
 once was not that of glory, tormented by a pang not 
 that of hunger ; forgetting even his family and disdain- 
 ing the conquest of the world, of which he dreamed in 
 the lonely hours of his youth — to think only of Yeyette, 
 as she had told him her friends called her.
 
 gttadame £m$-(&m. 283. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MADAME BONAPARTE. 
 
 Bonaparte — whose whole youth had been chaste, 
 as it had been laborious, who knew no debauches 
 save mental ones, no intoxication save that of intellect 
 — became Yeyette's importunate lover. 
 
 It is certain that Josephine never merited this excess 
 of love. But the young general was in a psychological 
 condition in which his heart first evidenced its contact 
 with a woman corresponding almost exactly with the 
 type, the model, his early dreams and waking thoughts 
 had long invoked. 
 
 Josephine was not one of those clever blue-stockings 
 of whom he had ever had a horror. She never let fly 
 sharp sallies or malicious epigrams. She pleased the 
 general most by seeming enormously interested in his 
 military conquests, and hearing him talk of strategy. 
 
 She had, in his eyes, an incomparable prestige. Did 
 she not belong to the old aristocracy ? For the little 
 Corsican gentleman, brought up on a miserable domain, 
 and who had never seen women elegantly dressed, 
 breathing the perfume of the ancient court, this- 
 viscountess seemed the personification of feminine 
 beauty allied to grandeur. The prestige of nobility, 
 now that the Terror was passed, revived in all its
 
 284 ptadanw gM$-(&tnt, 
 
 lustre. The guillotine had put out of the way all the 
 frayed glitter of the old school ; and from the new wave 
 of blood the nobility took fresh color and new vigor. 
 The hour and the scene recalled forcibly the words of 
 the old dowager ; a " plebeian, a marquise, is never over 
 thirty." The attraction of nobility, the prestige of 
 title, name, and rank, despite our new social order, 
 seemed to be perpetual. Does not the merchant feel 
 proud of his titled clientele ? Do not hotel-keepers 
 open wide the doors of their rooms, even of their strong- 
 boxes, to the gallant man with a title who may prove 
 but a common thief? And in the lightness of their 
 love-vows, do not the Don Juans iorm their admira- 
 tions and desires at sight of a pretty girl, by that once 
 respectful exclamation, " I should kiss her as if she 
 were a queen ! " 
 
 Bonaparte, whose military genius was joined to ab- 
 solute ignorance of the world's ways, could not dis- 
 tinguish between a really great lady, such as he had 
 never seen, and that careless widow, with her soft 
 glances and languorous eyes, who spoke to him in sim- 
 ple and sincere praise of his military skill. 
 
 There is no doubt that awakening passion, however 
 reasonable or unreasonable it be, starts always with a 
 germ, a motor-unit, a molecule — so the embryologists 
 would claim. With one it is the need to love, the sex 
 which attracts ; another succumbs to the law of attrac- 
 tion and sociability, fleeing from isolation, and ennui 
 which holds him in its tentacles. For such a man 
 love is as a flower which springs in a ready soil ;
 
 ittadam* gm$-(&tnt. 285 
 
 then, for certain men, whose thought is objective, for 
 imaginative creatures, such as construct castles in 
 Spain, the lovers of fanciful forms appearing on 
 dream-shores, for these, love is a realized concept, an 
 idea incarnate, a thought condensed to matter — for 
 such, and Napoleon was one of them, poets who never 
 wrote a line, woman is invoked as a spirit, — she comes 
 out of the unknown as a statue in the sculptor's hand 
 from the shapeless block ; almost as the fair Eve ap- 
 peared beside the first lover. 
 
 Napoleor loved, in Josephine, an ideal woman. 
 
 He did not find in her the features, the eyes, nose, 
 and mouth of his ideal. With her dusky complexion, 
 with its tropical richness, suggesting out-door life, 
 and ease, wherein negresses watched her soft slumbers, 
 fanning her with great ostrich plumes, with her deep 
 blue eyes, and her chestnut hair, confined with bands 
 of gold, Yeyette no doubt was not exactly the type of 
 his imagination. 
 
 But she personified admirably the ideal woman, for 
 whom he had waited and hoped, and whom he now 
 wished to possess. 
 
 His desire for the widow Permon, who was old 
 enough to be his mother, proved that age was to him 
 only a secondary consideration. Josephine's maturity 
 was, doubtless, an extra attraction to the rude soldier, 
 the cold and pitiless politician. With women, Bona- 
 parte always was short and stormy. 
 
 His useless descent upon the soap-merchant of Mar- 
 seilles, for the hand of Desire"e, Madame Joseph Bona-
 
 286 Padame JtaoMlttt. 
 
 parte's sister, proved that he was not quite indifferent 
 to the question of the dowry. 
 
 He wanted a wife who could rule a salon, who would 
 bring him, with ease, a home, friends, and established 
 social rank. Josephine, for him, represented all these 
 things. Like the widow Permon, she was of the aris- 
 tocracy, and, moreover, she was, like Desiree Clary, 
 rich. At least Bonaparte thought so. 
 
 After the meeting at Tallien's, he was invited to the 
 little house at No. 6, Rue de Chantereine, and was 
 dazzled by what he took for the luxury of a real vis- 
 countess. 
 
 The lodgings in the Rue Chantereine were modest, 
 and furnished with little expense. Lack of money was 
 everywhere evident. With Gauthier, her gardener, 
 coachman, and footman, and Mademoiselle Compoint, 
 her maid, a person very intimate with Josephine, 
 dressed almost as well as her mistress, and treated as 
 a friend, a sister — with these Josephine succeeded in 
 dazzling Bonaparte, who knew nothing of luxury, and 
 was, as a young officer, invited by a colonel's lady. 
 
 The H6tel de Chantereine, let to the Citizeness Talma, 
 for four thousand livres, was the lodging-place of the 
 tinseled Bohemian. There was no wine in its cellars, no 
 wood in its shed, but a coach with two lean horses 
 stood, in full view, at the entrance. Josephine, a prac- 
 tised coquette, kept up an apparent luxury. Her 
 dresses were many, her undergarments few. Her light,, 
 airy, muslin-gowns, produced a charming effect and 
 cost very little.
 
 pata* jSw-Cfotw. 287 
 
 Bonaparte was captivated at once. He left the bat- 
 tered little house, his head turned, his senses numbed. 
 He now wanted Josephine, as wife. 
 
 He judged her exterior only, — her position in the 
 world, her origin, her affinities, her circle, he did not 
 consider, — as wife, she would satisfy him wholly. Noth- 
 ing could ever stand between him and his will, shot like 
 a shell from a cannon. 
 
 But Josephine hesitated. Though her own position 
 was precarious, she questioned if Bonaparte's good for- 
 tune, would last. After all, for her, he was but a new 
 man, thanks to Barras's friendship. Without Barras's 
 voice, Carnot's men, Brune or Verdieres, would have 
 had charge of defending the Convention on the 13th 
 Vende"miaire. Would Barras continue to interest him- 
 self in the young adventurer ? Would not the all-pow- 
 erful Directory look askance on this marriage ? 
 
 Josephine resolved to go and consult the sensual and 
 cynical potentate. 
 
 So, one night, she had her horses brought, and went 
 to the Luxembourg, to the Citizen Barras, member of 
 the Directory. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AT BARRAS'S. 
 
 There was a fete at the Luxembourg when Josephine 
 was announced. 
 
 She was carefully dressed in the new style, in a dress
 
 288 §Radam* gm\$-(8tnt. 
 
 like Flora's, floating, vaporous, light, almost transpar- 
 ent, which let the dusky ivory of her flesh shimmer 
 through its soft tissue. 
 
 It was necessary, not only to please Barras, but to 
 eclipse all the beauties who bloomed in rose, white and 
 blue, as Greeks or Romans, as Dianas or Terpsichores,. 
 as any of the Olympics, there in the salons of Barras, 
 
 Whether she refused or accepted General Bonaparte, 
 Josephine proposed to maintain her reputation as a 
 fashionable, popular lady of the court, and to prove 
 that she had not renounced her sovereignty of graces. 
 At bottom, this trip which she made, this counsel 
 and sanction she sought of the brilliant director, was 
 only a pretext to show she was asked, desired, loved, by 
 a man, doubtless somewhat new, but of whom the 
 world seemed to foresee arise, and even to predict, a 
 great future. 
 
 She wanted to show her rivals her lover Bonaparte, 
 as a new ornament, a jewel still in the rough, but 
 very precious ; and she was not sorry to tell Barras, 
 while pretending to consult him, that his colleague, 
 his second in command on the great day of the 13th 
 Vende'miaire, the man whose victorious sword would 
 weigh heavier than his parade-sabre in the balance of 
 the future, found her adorable, and did not prefer to 
 her to some wicked woman with low charms. 
 
 Was it coquetry, regret, or irony ? Josephine does 
 not figure in history as a mistress of Barras. She was, 
 in reality, in the quiet rooms, decorated with Pru- 
 d'hon's sylphs and diaphanous nymphs, an hour's queen
 
 Padam* gm$-(&tnt, 289 
 
 to Barras, the democratic pasha, with his brutal and 
 weatherbeaten face, and his elegant pretensions as a 
 member of the Regency. 
 
 No woman ever resisted this man, who broke heads 
 as well as hearts. His life held the record of many 
 loves. This revolutionist was a born aristocrat, the 
 Count Paul de Barras, if you please. Southern, of 
 course, being borri at Fox-Emphoux, captain in the 
 royal army, member of the convention, regicide, presi- 
 dent of the redoubtable Assembly, invested with su- 
 preme command on the 9th Thermidorand on the 13th 
 Vend^miaire, he had been elected member of the 
 Directory. His colleagues were Largvelliere-Lepeaux, 
 Reubell, Letournier, and Carnot. The last of them all, 
 Barras imposed on or really governed the Directory. 
 He was tall and strong, and kept under his solemn 
 director's cloak the manners and looks of a gay Don 
 Juan of the barracks. His hard-working colleague, 
 Letournier, the austere Carnot and Reubell, the en- 
 thusiastic, honest, but unornamental and deformed 
 Larevelltere-Lepeaux, — these did not represent the brill- 
 iant theatrical power which the French of the year III. 
 wanted ; they were tired of liberty ; regretted their 
 pleasures, the carelessness, the easy manners, and 
 pompous ways of the old school. 
 
 Barras, by his bearing, by the way he carried his 
 head among petitioners of all ranks and extractions, by 
 the way he lifted his hat, with its three white feathers, 
 by the soldierly carelessness with which he wore his 
 curved sword in its silver scabbard, personified admi-
 
 290 ptadanw #atti8i-<#etw. 
 
 rably — for the mob, become servile once more, re- 
 established majesty without monarchy. This Louis 
 XIV. of the army was a king in the Republic. Every 
 one served him ; every thing, too ; even his vices. His 
 mistresses formed the guard of his jovial power. He 
 gave great fetes. The people did not dream of re- 
 proaching this entertainer nor his entertainments. 
 War and restraint were over ; in all classes of society 
 one rule seemed to hold, that which permitted people to 
 live in peace and hold a continual carnival. 
 
 The guillotine, the frightful street-fights, the men in 
 their red caps, the furies of the guillotine, the pro- 
 scribed luxury, the love suspected, the art fled to the 
 stranger, — all this was now but a hideous nightmare. 
 Men revelled in joy, in intoxication ; took up their 
 pleasures so suddenly dropped, even sat at table beside 
 those who had escaped the fatal car. Dinners, lawn- 
 parties, wines drunk with gay companions and pretty 
 girls in low-cut gowns, roses strewed on tables and 
 everywhere, equipages which rivalled the horses of 
 Pluto, men who, like Lazarus, had actually risen from 
 the tomb, — all these gave to that strange period so 
 eventful a color and a scope which ages of time will 
 never reproduce. 
 
 He was the personification in his follies, his passions, 
 and his force, of this short period of the Directory, — 
 the voluptuous but clever Barras. 
 
 He had re-established order in the streets, and 
 pleasure in society. Was it astonishing that women 
 raved about him ? With all, he spent much : he threw
 
 gold on the card-table of the Palais-Royal, and 
 scattered it by handfuls among the young beauties, 
 attracted, like mercenary butterflies, to that new star's 
 light. La Cabarrus was the prime favorite. This in- 
 triguing courtesan, who not needing him any longer, 
 repulsed the odious Tallien, was not only mistress in 
 name, but she really ruled Barras. She was the great 
 agent of social corruption. Her r6le was that of a 
 magnificent broker. She aided the Sybarite director 
 to bury the" Revolution in flowers, and to make a 
 drunken orgy succeed to the intoxication of war. The 
 Revolution, where brothers had devoured each other, 
 was a feast of Atrides. La Cabarrus and Barras made 
 a feast of Trimalcion. 
 
 A soiree at Barras's had all the elegance, the dis- 
 tinction, the vice, the virtue and the glory of the 
 society of the times. Young generals, old legislators, 
 women who wore locks of hair of their betrothed hus- 
 bands, brothers, or first loves, cut from the dear heads 
 of their Samsons, rich contractors, landed proprietors 
 of yore, dandies with ample frills, ladies laden with 
 jewels, wise men, writers, Monge, Laplace, Volney, 
 were all found in the halls of the Luxembourg, glad to 
 be alive, anxious to retrieve lost hours, careless of the 
 future, all saying with a sceptical smile, " If this could 
 but last ! " In the shadow, Talleyrand, returned from 
 America, sneered at that decomposed and decompos- 
 ing society, yet hovered over it, like a vulture over a 
 corpse. 
 
 When Josephine sent word to Barras that she de-
 
 292 §ftadame gm$-(&tnt, 
 
 sired to see him particularly, she was led to a small 
 room beside the director's study. 
 
 She waited some moments. The partition was thin : 
 a sound of voices came from the neighboring room ; 
 she heard the end of a discussion. 
 
 " Why do you suspect Bonaparte ? " said Barras, 
 whose sonorous voice Josephine recognized ; " he is a 
 man pure as gold, such as we need." 
 
 " I fear he is ambitious," said the person who was 
 talking with Barras. 
 
 " Are not you so, too, Carnot ? " answered the 
 director. " Do be frank ; you are jealous of Bonaparte ; 
 the plans he made for the army of Italy, you destroyed 
 them without submitting them to the Directory, fearing 
 the glory would leave you in the triumph of arms ! " 
 
 " I did not know his plans," said Carnot. " I never 
 knew them. I swear that is not true." 
 
 " Do not raise that Rand ! " cried Barras brutally. 
 *« It is red with blood ! " 
 
 " You reproach me, you, too," said Carnot harshly, 
 " for having signed the death-roils ? " 
 
 «' All the death-rolls — yes, you signed them all with 
 Robespierre " 
 
 " I signed without reading them, as Robespierre 
 signed my plans of attack without casting his eyes upon 
 them — we served the Republic, each in his own way. 
 May posterity judge us ! " 
 
 " Go to, you drinker of blood ! " cried Barras. 
 
 " Adieu, you who grow weak with gold, and volupt- 
 uousness," said Carnot. " I tell you, yet again — I
 
 fear the ambition of Bonaparte ; but I will not oppose 
 him as general in Italy ! After all, he too was a Ter- 
 rorist, a protege" of the Jacobins, a regicide like you 
 and myself ; reward him as you will — but I fear his 
 intentions are not as virtuous as you suppose. He did 
 not save Rome that day, the 13th Vendemiaire." 
 
 And the old member of the Committee of Public 
 Safety left the room, slamming the door behind 
 him. 
 
 Barras, lifting a portiere, came to Josephine smiling, 
 and said, "What happy chance, fair viscountess, draws 
 you aside from pleasure to surprise me so agreeably 
 with a private interview ? " 
 
 Barras was really uneasy. He had not disdained 
 to show passing favors to the seductive creole, but he 
 never meant to make lasting those relations which, on, 
 both sides, were only occasional and capricious. Jose- 
 phine, poor, uninfluential, alone, was happy to have 
 held for a moment this victor, this so-called noble, gen- 
 erous, amiable, able to be of service to her — though 
 not known as her protector — at least if she were care- 
 ful. He, on his part, impatient to renew the old-style 
 ways, was flattered by this conquest of a member of 
 the aristocracy, this widow of a president of the Con- 
 stituency, general-in-chief of the glorious army of the 
 Rhine. But there now remained between them only 
 the memory of a pleasant intimacy, the savor of pas- 
 sions l»ng since grown cold. 
 
 Josephine, a little troubled, confessed the object of 
 her visit.
 
 294 Padame ^aug-to*. 
 
 " Somebody wants me to marry, my dear Director ; 
 what do you think of it ? " 
 
 " I think you would make a man very happy. May 
 I know who the man is, whom you have transfixed 
 with those eyes ? " 
 
 " You know him, Barras ! It is the General Ven- 
 dgmiaire ! " said Josephine, smiling. 
 
 " Bonaparte ? A man of promise — an artilleryman 
 of eminent ability. If you had seen him, as I did, on 
 horseback, in the alley Dauphin, turning his cannon 
 against the sectionists on the roads of Saint-Roch, you 
 would know that so brave a man cannot be other than 
 an excellent husband ! Oh, he is intrepid ! I was by 
 his side, and those sectionists kept up a devilish fire," 
 said Barras, in a low, even tone. 
 
 " He is good," said Josephine. " He will be a father 
 to Alexandre de Beauharnais's children, and a husband 
 to his widow." 
 
 " That is laudable ; but do you love him ? " 
 
 " I will be open with you, Barras ; no, I do not love 
 him — love " 
 
 " Do you dislike him ? Lady, it would not pay to 
 pretend." 
 
 " I neither love nor hate him — I am in a state of inde- 
 cision which I do not like. Such a state as the pious — 
 you know, in Martinque, my home, they are very relig- 
 ious — find very bad for the soul." 
 
 " One must consider one's body, too, when it comes 
 to marriage." 
 
 " Love is a cult, too, Barras. It excites faith ; one
 
 Padam* &m$r($tnt. 295 
 
 must have counsels, and exhortations to believe, to be 
 fervent — that is why I ask yours. To make up my 
 mind has ever been a hard task for my careless nature 
 — I have all my life found it easier to follow the bidding 
 of others." 
 
 " Then, I must tell you, marry the general ? " 
 
 " Only advise me. I admire his courage. He saved 
 society that 13th Vendemiaire." 
 
 " He protected the Convention, put down the insur- 
 gents who wanted to overthrow the Republic, and 
 gained, alone, in Paris, a battle in the streets worth all 
 the regular battles." 
 
 " He is a superior man. I appreciate the extent of 
 his knowledge in all things of which he speaks — and 
 speaks well ; the quickness of his mind makes him 
 understand another's thought, almost before it is 
 spoken ; but, I confess to you, I am a little frightened 
 at the empire he seems to want to exercise over all 
 who come within his reach." 
 
 " He has a compelling eye. The first time I saw 
 him," said Barras, gravely, " I was strangely struck 
 with his appearance. I saw a man, below medium 
 height and very thin. He looked like an ascetic 
 escaped from his solitudes ; his hair, cut very strangely, 
 hung round his ears, and down to his shoulders. Oh, 
 he is not one of those fops of the "jeunesse dore"e," he 
 wore a long, straight coat, buttoned to the top, orna- 
 mented with a meagre embroidery of gold ; in his hat 
 was a tricolored feather. At first, his face did not 
 seem a fine one to me ; but his pronounced features,
 
 296 padam* g&n$-(&tnt. 
 
 his quick and fiery eye, his alert and animated move- 
 ments, evidenced an ardent spirit ; his large forehead 
 showed him a deep thinker. He spoke little. He is a 
 man, Josephine ; a man of honesty and valor who may 
 to-morrow be a hero. Since he wants you, take him. 
 It is a friend's advice I give you — believe me." 
 " Then you advise me to marry him ? " 
 " Yes — and in time, you will love him." 
 "You think so ? I am a little afraid of him." 
 " You are not the only one. All my colleagues are, 
 too. Carnot, a Terrorist, a man who drinks blood, a 
 companion of Robespierre, even he detests him, because 
 he is jealous of him and fears him." 
 
 " If he intimidates the directors, think what an im- 
 pression he makes on a woman." 
 
 "You will grow used to it ; besides, he loves you — > 
 you said so ? " 
 
 " I believe he is very much in love with me ; but, 
 Barras — between friends, there can exist such confi- 
 dences as this — having passed my first youth, can I hope 
 to keep for a long time the general's impulsive tender- 
 ness, which is like an access of delirium ? " 
 " Do not fret about the future." 
 
 "But if, when we are married, he should cease to 
 love me, would not his faithlessness be a reproach to 
 me ? He might repent of his infatuation. He might 
 awake from his intoxication. Would he not regret 
 a more brilliant marriage with a younger woman ? 
 What should I do then ? What should I say ? Tears ? 
 Heaven help me from tears ! "
 
 ptadame gm$-(&tnt. 297 
 
 " Do not foresee misfortune. Why suffer in anti- 
 cipation ? Bonaparte is devoted to high honor. 
 Are you superstitious ? "He has confided to me that 
 he has a star, and that he believes " 
 
 «' At Martinique, a negro enchantress, whose local 
 prophecies were all realized, told me I should become 
 a queen. I can't imagine Bonaparte a king, and my- 
 self sharing his throne " 
 
 " You may share with him the glory which crowns- 
 the commander-in-chief of the fairest army of the 
 Republic ! " 
 
 " What do you mean, my dear Barras ? " said 
 Josephine, surprised, and remembering the argument 
 with Carnot, which she had overheard, and of which 
 Bonaparte was the object. 
 
 ■* I mean that you will be one of the happiest of wo- 
 men, as you are one of the fairest queens of beauty in 
 c»ur Republic, if you marry Bonaparte ; and as a wed- 
 ding gift, I, your old friend, knowing the general who- 
 put down the insurgents so promptly, will give you a 
 fair jewel." 
 
 "Really? What? An agraffe of gold and dia- 
 monds, like Madame Tallien's ? " 
 
 " More than that — the command of the army of 
 Italy. But I shall be missed from the fete," said 
 Barras, enjoying her astonishment. " Take my arm, and 
 let us return to the salon. I want to be the first to con- 
 gratulate Bonaparte on his marriage and his new com- 
 mand." 
 
 And, with the widow Beauharnais, speechless at the
 
 298 Padame gm$-(&tne. 
 
 decision which had been made for her, and the favor 
 the all-powerful director meant to show her future lord, 
 Barras re-entered majestically into the halls, ablaze 
 with light, flowers and women ; on his arm was she 
 who was soon to become Madame Bonaparte. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE SWORD FROM THE PYRAMIDS. 
 
 Bonaparte was named, February 23, 1796, General 
 of the Army of Italy. Carnot had given in to Barras. 
 Reubell's was the only opposing voice, and his col- 
 leagues overruled him. 
 
 March 9th, a few days after this, the marriage of the 
 general and the widow Beauharnais was celebrated. 
 
 All this portion of Bonaparte's life was one fever of 
 love. 
 
 He literally adored Josephine. Prostrate, ecstatic, 
 absorbed, like a Carmelite before a divine revelation, 
 he smothered her with caresses, embraced her wildly, 
 flung himself upon her and took her in his arms. Like 
 a barbarian, pillaging a palace, he cast himself upon 
 those gauzy draperies, in which, in memory of tropical 
 nights, Josephine loved to array her charms. He 
 caught, tore even to shreds, all which made an obstacle 
 to the impetuosity of his trembling hands and his eager 
 lips. All the exuberance of his exceptional nature 
 flamed at the animal possession of her, like a charge of
 
 Padam* £att0-<8ntf. 299 
 
 cavalry. He loved — he knew a woman on terms of 
 intimacy for the first time, or almost the first, and 
 the reserve of accumulated passion burst with the vio- 
 lence of a river, long repressed when its bounds are 
 broken. In that vigorous expansion, that satisfying of 
 youthful desire, in that double joy of satisfied self-love, 
 and flattered vanity, mingled the joy of an end at- 
 tained, of a dream accomplished, and amid these in- 
 toxications Bonaparte seemed to forget the way of war, 
 of glory, of the power which had hitherto governed his 
 heart. He seemed a changed man. He trembled, he 
 talked, he laughed, he wept. He fell, in that possession 
 of Josephine, into madness and intoxication. 
 
 The celebration of the marriage qame — and soon an 
 end of his honeymoon, all too short. 
 
 Two days after the official ceremony was over, he 
 started for Italy. He was off on the road to glory, and 
 could stop at the inns of love only in passing between 
 victories, until that day when fate made him stumble 
 against the dazzling couch of the Arch-duchess Marie- 
 Louise of Austria. 
 
 In the marriage certificate, Bonaparte gallantly, to 
 lessen the discrepancy of age, made himself two years 
 older ; and Josephine, through coquetry, produced a 
 certificate of birth, in which she made herself four years 
 younger. That foible of a pretty woman, desirous to- 
 appear as young as her young husband, was destined 
 to have some terrible consequences for Josephine, at 
 the time of divorce, when the legality of the procedure 
 was questioned.
 
 300 §ftaunm* gm$-<&tnt. 
 
 Bonaparte was burning with the fever of passion, as 
 he passed through Italy, where prodigious triumphs 
 awaited him. 
 
 He never let a day pass without addressing to his 
 Josephine amorous epistles, a little emphatic in tone, 
 which suggest the pomp of Saint-Preux writing to Julie. 
 Weary with travel, lacking sleep, scarcely descending 
 from his horse after giving consideration to the position 
 of to-morrow's battle, the young general, amid ever- 
 increasing preoccupation and danger, never failed to 
 fill a sheet with loving words, witnessing the intensity 
 of his affection, which a courier, galloping night and day, 
 carried to Paris, along with the account of battles won, 
 and captured standards, which were laid upon the 
 altar of the country, in a magnificent ceremony pre- 
 sided over by the directors. 
 
 And that feast of Victory which he organized from 
 his tent pitched upon the plateau of Rivoli, that day of 
 patriotic joy which he gave to Paris, when his friend 
 Junot presented himself before the Convention with the 
 captured Austrian standards, the idea came to him to 
 start that theatrical scene in honor of his Josephine. 
 
 She was the queen of France, that day, the insignif- 
 icant and sensual Creole. Before the troops, in face 
 of all the assembled people, amid the sound of cannon 
 and bells, proclaiming to the city the Halleluia of 
 victory, she paraded on the arm of Junot, in whom the 
 people hailed the representative, friend, and companion 
 of that hero whose name soared to the sky, shouted by 
 a hundred thousand voices.
 
 pad»mc gnn$-(&ent. 301 
 
 Carnot, at the centre of the altar in the Champ de 
 Mars, pronounced a harangue in which he compared 
 the young victor to Epaminondas, and to Miltiades ; 
 Lebrun, the poet, led a chorus who sang — 
 
 Intoxication comes from glory, as from wine. 
 
 Our laurels won, great Bacchus stands above. 
 So drink to Victory divine, 
 
 The Frenchman's faithful love. 
 
 Thus did all Paris do honor to the Citizeness Bona- 
 parte and her absent husband, who, giving the order to 
 march upon Mantua and take it, was about to achieve 
 another triumph. 
 
 Josephine, the very evening of that apotheosis where 
 she had figured as goddess, having dismissed a young 
 actor who had attended her for some hours, spent her 
 time with a handsome second-lieutenant of hussars, a 
 M. Charles, to whom she gave that which money- 
 lenders and merchants had left her of the money Bona- 
 parte had sent her. That was her sort of gratitude to 
 the army. 
 
 Josephine not only deceived her young husband, who 
 was so ardent, so glorious, so much coveted by all 
 women, and whom she did not even love, but she did 
 not even pretend to have for him that regard which 
 conventionality demands. She had long refused to join 
 Bonaparte in Italy, where he ardently desired her 
 presence. Bonaparte, his brain excited by privation, at 
 last became almost foolish ; he talked of giving up his 
 command, of laying down his commission, so as to
 
 302 Padatne gm$-<3tnt. 
 
 return to Paris, to be near his Josephine, if she did not 
 come to him. 
 
 At length she consented to leave Paris, which she 
 loved, and to rejoin him. Later, in the course of 
 this tale, we will recount Napoleon's divorce, we 
 will return to his queen, of whom poets, dramatists, 
 novelists, have written so pityingly as to deceive pos- 
 terity. 
 
 Napoleon was not betrayed by the marshals whom 
 he had loaded with honors and wealth. The two 
 women whom he called to share the glory of his name 
 were two infamous wretches ; yes, even that bestial 
 daughter of emperors, that Marie-Louise, was she not 
 more excusable ? She was not one of the members of 
 the degenerate period of the Directory, and one can- 
 not expect that she should have so fully understood 
 the crowned soldier, who conquered her, sword in 
 hand, and entered her chamber as a vanquished capital. 
 
 After the Italian campaign and the treaty of Campo- 
 Formio, Bonaparte, victor and peacemaker, began ta 
 dream again of the East. 
 
 It was not now the prick of poverty, or of ambition, 
 that spurred him, nor yet the desire of an ardent wife 
 eager for his advancement, who would bring him his 
 desires. The East was not only a field for conquest 
 and glory, in this reawakened dream. It was also a 
 haven — a resting-place. 
 
 Returning to Paris December 5, 1797, after the 
 ratification of the treaty of Campo Formio, and the 
 signing of the return of Mayence and Manheim ta
 
 Padam* J>att$-($etw. 303 
 
 France (that is, the Rhineland), he soon learned, in 
 his little abode in the Rue Chantereine, flatteringly re- 
 named Rue de la Victoire, the dangers of popularity 
 and the perils of his exceptional position in the Re- 
 public. 
 
 He had to be present at all fetes in honor of the 
 victorious army. He found himself a hero. Every- 
 where he was hailed with a flutter of flags : Barras, 
 and even Talleyrand, praised him soberly, Bonaparte 
 answered vaguely. In his reply, only one sentence 
 was clear ; and that almost threatening. ♦* When the 
 welfare ot the French people is established upon the 
 best organized laws, then all Europe will become free," 
 said he energetically. Thus was the storm prophesied. 
 The thunder-clap of the 18th Brumaire Was quietly 
 announced in those words big with fate. 
 
 Bonaparte tried to free himself from the ovations 
 which pursued him. Carnot's place was vacant at the 
 Institute. It was offered to him, and, when seen at the 
 public ceremonies, he appeared to be overwhelmed by 
 his honors. He seemed, thus, less a victorious soldier 
 than a deep student. 
 
 It was proposed to present him with the Chateau de 
 Chambord, that marvel of Renaissance art, as a national 
 gift. He refused it. He declined all distinctions. He 
 would only accept the title of Commander-in-chief of 
 the army for the conquest of England. 
 
 He started a project of descent upon Great Britain. 
 In reality he sought a means of striking the great enemy 
 of France and the Revolution where she was most vul-
 
 304 ptadame JFatt0-<$*tt*. 
 
 nerable — in her colonies. So he developed, in his burn- 
 ing brain, a gigantic and chimerical plan for conquering 
 not only Egypt, but Syria, Palestine, and Turkey, and 
 of entering as a conqueror into Constantinople, and 
 thence to overrun Europe, adding to his army Fellahs, 
 Bedouins, Turks, and people from Asia Minor ; he 
 would fight all armies, change the face of things, and, 
 before his conquering sword, all sovereigns and all 
 nations should bow. 
 
 Thus, among his charts and maps of Egypt, did 
 Bonaparte weave a fantastic dream of a vast western 
 ■empire. At the same time his cool reason counselled 
 departure. He knew well that, when he was gone, the 
 Directory could not but make mistakes, the generals 
 ■could know but defeats. His need of activity stim- 
 ulated him to seek new fields of glory. He reminded 
 himself that the mob is fickle, and soon tires of hero- 
 worship. " When they have seen me three times," he 
 said, " they won't look at me any more." 
 
 A conspiracy hastened his departure. The jealousy 
 of the directors was revealed. Reubell, an honest man, 
 but an imbecile, had, one day, when he spoke of re- 
 signing, handed him a pen at once to sign the same. 
 They sought for opportunities to accuse him of mis- 
 using moneys in Italy. The directors seemed to forget 
 that they had urged the general to draw from Italy 
 money, pictures, statuary, and that every month, the 
 victorious Bonaparte had sent to Moreau and his less 
 fortunate colleagues in the army of the Rhine, sub- 
 sidies to pay their soldiers.
 
 Padame gm$-(&tnt, 305 
 
 On May 19, 1798, he left Toulon. Before setting 
 out he addressed to his troops a proclamation full of 
 hope, in which he pictured to them the splendor of 
 the promised land. 
 
 "Soldiers," he said, "you know you have not yet 
 <lone enough for your country, nor has the country 
 done enough for you. I am about to take you to a land 
 where, by your future exploits, you shall surpass those 
 -which to-day astonish your admirers ; and when you 
 shall render to your country such service as she has a 
 right to expect from an invincible army, I promise to 
 each soldier, on his return from this expedition, he shall 
 have the wherewithal to purchase six acres of land ! " 
 
 The campaign in Egypt began with its fabled 
 marches — the soldiers lightly asked, when they struck 
 the desert of Gizeh, if it was there that the general 
 -wanted to allot the promised acres — the seeming vic- 
 tories, the maritime disasters, the great revenge of 
 Aboukir, it was like a tale of the Arabian Nights, 
 holding the public charmed, waiting for the end. 
 
 But on October 15, 1799, there came great news : 
 Bonaparte had embarked at Fre"jus. He was coming 
 to Paris amid universal acclamations. He was the 
 hero, the saviour, the god ! France gave herself to 
 him, in one mighty rush, like an actress swooning in 
 the arms of a man in a play. 
 
 Had he, in returning so suddenly, foreseen his re- 
 versal of the government, his ability to substitute his 
 will for the existing Constitution ? Never ! He was a 
 great dreamer. He had dreamed of the possibility of 
 20
 
 306 Pactum* £m$-&tnt» 
 
 a change as in the reconstruction of a Carlovingian 
 empire. But he held these Utopian schemes subordi- 
 nate to actualities. 
 
 The 18th Brumaire was commanded by public opinion 
 and executed by Bonaparte. The Directory had now 
 fallen ; France was tired of that dictatorship of inca- 
 pacity. She did not know what she wanted, but she 
 wanted something. Had Bonaparte not attempted the 
 coup, Augereau, Bernadotte, or Moreau would have 
 done it. 
 
 Bonaparte had surrounded himself with a brilliant 
 and valorous staff; Lannes, Murat, Berthier, Marmont ; 
 legislators, with a knowledge of jurisprudence, like 
 Cambace"res ; and fishers in troubled waters like Fouche 
 and Talleyrand. His two brothers, Lucien and Joseph, 
 worked actively for him, especially Lucien, who was a 
 member of the Cinq-Cents. The result was achieved, 
 though without great precaution. 
 
 The 1 8th Brumaire, November 9, 1799, at six in the 
 morning, all the generals and superior officers, con- 
 vened by Bonaparte, were assembled in his house in 
 the Rue de la Victoire, under pretext of a review. 
 There were the six adjutants of the National Guard, 
 and at their head, Moreau, Macdonald, Serrurier, An- 
 drdassy, Berthier, and the prudent Bernadotte, in 
 civilian costumes. 
 
 A single important general was absent. Bonaparte 
 asked for him uneasily. 
 
 "Where is Lefebvre ?" he asked of Marmont. 
 " Why is he not here with us ? "
 
 $tata* Jto-dfone. 307 
 
 Just then, General Lefebvre was announced. 
 
 He had made great strides, this husband of Sans- 
 Ggne. 
 
 The French guardsman, the lieutenant in the militia, 
 the captain at Verdun and in the Army of the North, 
 had become a general in charge of the 17th military 
 division ; in other words, the governor of Paris. 
 
 From being captain in the 13th Light Infantry at 
 Jemmapes, he had become chief of a battalion, then 
 brigadier-general in the army of the Mozelle, under 
 his friend Hoche, on January 10, 1794, he had been 
 made a general, and commanded the immortal army 
 of Sambre-et-Meuse, at the death of his friend Hoche. 
 At Fleurus, and at Alten Kirchen, he had behaved like 
 a hero. 
 
 After commanding the Army of the Danube he had 
 been a candidate for the Directory, but had been put 
 aside on account of his pronounced republican opinions, 
 and his military occupation. 
 
 As Commander-in-chief of the Army of Paris, he was 
 perhaps the most indispensable man to the fulfilment of 
 Bonaparte's plans. 
 
 He had not been warned of the projects of the future 
 master of France. 
 
 At midnight, learning that movements of troops were 
 afoot, he had mounted and ridden through the city. 
 
 Surprised to see, without his orders, the cavalry ready 
 to depart for an unknown destination, he had questioned 
 the commander, Sebastian, sharply. The latter sent 
 faim to Bonaparte.
 
 308 Padam* gM$-(&tnt. 
 
 So Lefebvre arrived at Bonaparte's in a bad humor. 
 
 Bonaparte, seeing him, ran to him with outstretched 
 arms. 
 
 '* Ah, dear old Lefebvre," he cried, familiarly, " how 
 are you ? And how is your wife, the good Catharine ? 
 Ever with heart in her hand and her answer ready ? 
 Madame Bonaparte complains that she sees too little 
 of her." 
 
 " My wife is well, I thank you, General," said Le- 
 febvre coldly, " but that is not the question " 
 
 Bonaparte interrupted him. 
 
 " Look, Lefebvre, dear old comrade," said he, with 
 the affectionate tone of good-fellowship he could as- 
 sume on occasion — "you are one of the props of the 
 Republic ; would you let it fall from its station through 
 the hands of lawyers ? Look, here is the sword I 
 carried from the Pyramids, accept it as a token of my 
 esteem and confidence." 
 
 And he handed to Lefebvre, hesitating, yet flattered, 
 a magnificent sabre, with a jewelled hilt, the cimeter 
 of Mourad Bey. 
 
 " You are right," said Lefebvre, suddenly calmed, 
 " let us throw the lawyers into the river 1 " 
 
 He took the Sword of the Pyramids. 
 
 The 1 8th Brumaire was over. 
 
 The evening of that decisive day, which changed 
 once more the destiny of France, Lefebvre, embrac- 
 ing Catharine, half drew from its scabbard Bonaparte's 
 gift, and said, " Look, wife, it is a Turkish sabre, 
 good only on parade or to rap over the backs of advo-
 
 cates. We will leave it in its scabbard. It will simply 
 serve to remind us of the friendship of General Bona- 
 parte who started from as lowly a place as we, sweet 
 Catharine " 
 
 " Will you not use this fine sword ? " Sans-Ggne 
 asked. 
 
 " No 1 To defend my country, to strike Austrians, 
 Prussians, English, or any one else, to use wherever 
 Bonaparte may choose to lead us ; ay, were it to God's 
 very thunder, I have mine, sweet, my sword of Sambre- 
 et-Meuse ; and it is good enough ! " 
 
 And General Lefebvre, drawing to him the wife he 
 loved as well as on the loth of August, kissed her fer- 
 vently ; and his kiss was as honest and as pure as his 
 dear old sword.
 
 3io padam* gm$-<Bm. 
 
 BOOK THIRD, 
 
 LA MARECHALE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MADAME LA MARECHALE TAKES A DANCING LESSON. 
 
 Softly, gently, the door of a sleeping apartment at 
 Saint-Cloud was opened. A maid peeped into the 
 room, and finally entered, going up to a magnificent 
 mahogany bed, crowned with a coronet, whence fell 
 two great flowered curtains. In soft tones she called : 
 Madame la Mare"chale ! Madame la Mare"chale ! It 
 is ten o'clock." 
 
 A strong, rather hoarse voice came from underneath 
 the bedclothes. 
 
 " Heavens ! One can't even sleep soundly in this 
 pasteboard palace." 
 
 '* Pardon, Madame la Mare"chale ; but Madame la 
 Margchale asked to be wakened at ten o'clock." 
 
 •* Ten o'clock already ! What a lazy wretch I am ! 
 I had different habits in the days gone by, when I was 
 a washeawoman. I rose early — later, too, in the regi-
 
 Padame ^attf-to*. 31 x 
 
 ment, beside the canteen, I did not wait for the morn- 
 ing drum-call to sound twice before I bestirred myself. 
 But now I am Madame la Mare"chale, I can't stir be- 
 times. Come, quick, Lise, my dressing-gown." 
 
 And she whom the maid had called Madame la 
 Mare"chale jumped out of bed, swearing like a trooper 
 because she failed to find the hose she had thrown 
 down the night before. 
 
 She was not an easy mistress to dress, being very 
 impatient. She who was now la Marechale Lefebvre 
 still kept the looks, the familiarities, the gestures, and 
 the general good-fellowship, which she had shown in 
 the Saint-Roch quarter as laundress, in the great days 
 of the Revolution, and in the armies of the North, of 
 Sambre-et-Meuse, and of the Moselle, where she had 
 served as cantiniere and had gained the title of Madame 
 Sans-Ge'ne. 
 
 The course of events had meanwhile changed not 
 only the face of the earth but human destinies as well. 
 
 The little artillery-officer of Toulon, the needy client 
 of the laundress of the Rue des Orties-Saint-Honore", 
 had become General-in-chief, First Consul, and, later, 
 Emperor. 
 
 His throne was ablaze with glory, and at its foot 
 humbled kings fell prostrate. 
 
 France, amid the sound of bugles and the flutter of 
 banners, showed herself among the nations of Europe, 
 as a vast camp, whence radiated the superb light of 
 the sun of Austerlitz. 
 
 Like the lean and care-worn officer, who had pawned
 
 312 Padamr gm&-(8tnt. 
 
 his watch the morning of August ioth, those who had 
 figured with him in the prologue of that gigantic 
 drama had risen until they were scarce recognizable. 
 
 The prediction of the magician Fortunatus was almost 
 realized for Lefebvre and his wife. 
 
 Rising rapidly, the former sergeant of the French 
 Guard, more fortunate than his companion Hoche, had 
 been spared by war. On the 18th Brumaire he was. 
 general of a division, in command of Paris, consecrated 
 to the fortunes of Bonaparte. 
 
 Nor did he ever lose for a moment the favor of the 
 First Consul, or the Emperor. 
 
 In 1804, Napoleon had restored the old but abolished 
 dignity of the Marshals of France. 
 
 Lefebvre was one of the first to be invested with the 
 decorative title. At the same time he occupied a 
 senator's chair. 
 
 Lefebvre, if he was the least able of the senators, 
 had, nevertheless, Napoleon's esteem. The latter con- 
 sidered him the bravest of all men, sword in hand ; 
 but also the most ignorant in the use of the pen of all 
 his generals. 
 
 When plans were under discussion, the impatient 
 Lefebvre was wont to throw aside papers, plans, maps, 
 of which he knew nothing, and to cry, " Let me do 
 something ! Let me go, with my grenadiers, to meet 
 the enemy, and I'll give you my decision." 
 
 And he always made his way. 
 
 It is true, however, that he was ever docile and re- 
 spectful toward his emperor, his god, and that he
 
 gftadam* gm$-(&tm. 315 
 
 executed to the letter the orders of the master of 
 war. 
 
 Napoleon schemed and Lefebvre executed. He was- 
 as a ball in a cannon. Where the Emperor threw him 
 he went straight ahead with irresistible force, under a 
 powerful impulse, and nothing withstood him. 
 
 It was he who commanded the Imperial Foot- 
 Guards, tall as a legion of giants. 
 
 But Lefebvre was not only a great warrior ; he was- 
 also an exceptional husband. 
 
 Toward Catharine he was ever the same, despite the 
 change of uniform ; and the great medal of the Legion 
 of Honor which hung on his breast had nowise altered 
 the true pulses of his heart. 
 
 They laughed a little in the Imperial Court, at the 
 conjugal fidelity of these two good people, but Napo- 
 leon, who upheld an apparent severity of manners, 
 congratulated Lefebvre and his wife on the excellent 
 example they set to the households of the officers, aa 
 example, later, little followed, chiefly in his own 
 family. 
 
 The Emperor meantime had not failed to make some 
 remarks to Lefebvre on the manners and ways of his 
 lady. 
 
 " Listen to me," he said ; «« try to make your wife un- 
 derstand that she must not lift her skirts when she 
 enters the Empress's apartments, as if she were pre- 
 paring to jump a ditch ; tell her, also, to use no oaths,, 
 and to pronounce her f's and her p's on all occasions. 
 Ours are no longer the times of Hubert, and my court
 
 314 Hftadam* j$a»;s-<*ktt*. 
 
 is not that of Pere Duchesne. Ah, one more sugges. 
 tion. Are you listening, Lefebvre ? " 
 
 " Yes, sire," said the marshal ; for though he recog- 
 nized the truth of the Emperor's words it pained him to 
 hear them. 
 
 " Well, your wife is ever disposed to bandy words 
 with my sisters — especially with Elisa. This must 
 not be — one doesn't like constant bickerings among 
 women " 
 
 " Sire, Madame Bacciochi reproaches my wife with 
 her humble birth — with her republican and patriotic 
 opinions — nevertheless, sire, we are republicans, you 
 and I." 
 
 " Surely," said Napoleon, smiling at the nalfve confi- 
 dence of Lefebvre, who, like most of the old soldiers 
 of '92, still fancied he served the Republic in bowing 
 to the Emperor. 
 
 "Lefebvre, old friend," said Napoleon, "tell the 
 margchale that I trust she will not in future quarrel 
 with my sisters." 
 
 " Sire, I shall report your Majesty's remarks to 
 the mare"chale. She will remember them, I promise 
 you." 
 
 " If she can," murmured the Emperor. " I do not 
 demand the impossible. Early habits will cling." 
 
 He stopped in his rapid march up and down his 
 room, and muttered : 
 
 " What folly, to marry when one is a sergeant." 
 
 Then, anxiously, he added: " Ah, I made almost 
 the same mistake as Lefebvre. He wedded a laun«
 
 Padam* gm$-(&tnt. 315 
 
 dress, and I — hem — there is one remedy — divorce — 
 but " 
 
 As if to change the current of his thought he sud- 
 denly drew from the pocket of his white waistcoat an 
 oval snuff-box, and inhaled the odor of its contents. 
 That was his way of taking snuff. He never smoked. 
 
 Having smelled his tobacco, Napoleon, as if he had 
 made a serious resolution, said to Lefebvre : " Your 
 wife must take lessons of Despre"aux, the famous danc- 
 ing-master. He, only, has conserved the beautiful tra- 
 ditions of true elegance and the etiquette of the old 
 court." 
 
 Lefebvre bowed, and, having left the Emperor, has- 
 tened to summon Master Despr£aux. 
 
 Such a personage as he was, this master of dancing 
 and etiquette ! 
 
 Small, slight, agile, graceful, light, powdered and 
 perfumed, he had pirouetted through the Terror with- 
 out being stained with gore. 
 
 And when the tumult was over, and pleasure opened 
 once more the doors of salons still cooled by sighs and 
 saddened by missing faces, then Despr^aux became a 
 person of importance. 
 
 It was the coming of Despre"aux to the palace 
 which made la Mare"chale Lefebvre order her maid 
 to wake and dress her at ten o'clock, though she had 
 returned late from a soiree given by Josephine. 
 
 She found the professor of graces in the salon, limber- 
 ing up his joints, and bowing before a glass. 
 
 "Ah, there your are, Monsieur Desprdaux, and how is
 
 316 Padame gm$-(&c\\t. 
 
 your good health ? " said Catharine brusquely, taking 
 the hand he never dreamed of extending, and shaking 
 it vigorously. 
 
 Despre"aux blushed, stammered, and looked down, 
 for the mare"chale had interrupted him in the second 
 movement of his best bow ; he drew back his hand 
 from the grasp of Sans G6ne, and, readjusting the frills 
 of his cuffs, said dryly: 
 
 " I have the honor to await Madame la Mare"chale's 
 orders." 
 
 "Well, little one," said Catharine, leaning on the 
 •edge of the table, " this is the case. The Emperor 
 thinks that we have not at his court sufficiently fine 
 manners ; he wants us to acquire them — you know 
 what he wants, my boy ? " 
 
 Despre"aux, shocked to the heart by the tone of fa- 
 miliarity, replied, in his weak voice, choked with emo- 
 tion, «' His Majesty is right to desire in his empire 
 the flower and charm of distinction, and the elegance 
 of a polished court. I am, Madame la Mare"chale, the 
 respectful interpreter of his wishes. May I ask what 
 you desire specially to learn in the great art to give 
 pleasure to his Majesty ? " 
 
 " That's just the point, lad. There is to be a great 
 ball at the court on Tuesday. They are to dance the 
 gavotte. It seems it was danced the days of the tyrants. 
 The Emperor wants us to know the gavotte. You have 
 the article, it seems; hand it over ! " 
 
 " Madame la Marechale, the gavotte is a difficult 
 thing — it needs inclination. Perhaps I shall not be
 
 Padame gm$-(&tnt. 317 
 
 able to teach you that dance which was a special 
 favorite with Madame the Dauphiness, to whom I had 
 the honor to be dancing-master," said Despre"aux with 
 assumed modesty. 
 
 *• We can try, anyway. Oh, if it were only the 
 Emperor, I wouldn't bother much. He did not care 
 whether or not I could dance a gavotte when I washed 
 his clothes. But it is Lefebvre who asks it — and you 
 see, boy, what my husband wishes, that I wish also. 
 Ah, that is it, Lefebvre and I are like two fingers on 
 the same hand, and we let the young sprigs who wait 
 upon the princesses laugh at us because we are true to 
 our marriage vows. Come, my man, ready for the 
 gavotte. Tell me where I must put my feet ! " 
 
 And Sans-Ggne tapped the floor twice with her foot, 
 in military fashion, as a call. 
 
 Despre"aux shrugged his shoulders slightly, and 
 sighed. 
 
 In his heart the aristocratic dancer deplored the vul- 
 garity of the times, and his necessity to teach good 
 manners and dances like the gavotte to retired laun- 
 dresses, become, by the grace of victory, great ladies in 
 the land. 
 
 He approached Catharine impatiently and said : 
 *' Madame, did you ever dance ? " 
 
 " Yes — long ago — at Vaux Hall ! " 
 
 " I do not know the place," said Despre"aux, pursing 
 up his lips. " What did you dance ? The parang, the 
 tr6nitz, the minuet, the monaco ? " 
 
 " No. La fricassee."
 
 3 i8 P*ta* gnn»-<&m. 
 
 Despre*aux shuddered. 
 
 «« A dance of porters and laundresses," he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " I danced it first with Lefebvre. That was how we 
 became acquainted." 
 
 The professor of elegance shook his head mourn- 
 fully, as if to say, " Upon what evil days I am fallen, 
 I the dancing-master of Madame the Dauphiness ! " 
 
 And, with an air of concentrated sadness, he began 
 to teach Catharine Sans-Ggne the elements of the great 
 dance which Napoleon wanted to replace in the festivities 
 of his court 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE THUNDER-BOLT. 
 
 Catharine tried to extend her arms, to turn and 
 bend, to draw her foot back, in time to the music 
 drawn from the little violin in Despre"aux's hands as he 
 played an arietta from Paesiello. At this precise 
 moment the door was pushed open rudely and Lefebvre 
 entered. 
 
 He was in full uniform, with all his insignia. His 
 great plumed hat was in his hand. The badge of the 
 Legion of Honor sparkled on his breast, and across his 
 gold-embroidered uniform he wore the red sash of his 
 rank. 
 
 He seemed violently excited.
 
 Padame gm$-(&tne. 319 
 
 «« Aha ! " he said, as he strode into the room, and 
 like a drunken man, haggard and convulsed, he threw 
 his hat on the floor, and shouted aloud, " Vive VEm- 
 pereur ! " 
 
 Then he rushed to his wife, kissed her, and held her 
 close to him. 
 
 "What, in Heaven's name, has happened ?" inquired 
 Catharine. 
 
 Despre"aux, interrupting the easy bow he was trying 
 to show to his refractory pupil, advanced and said : 
 " Monsieur le Mare"chal, is the Emperor dead ? " 
 
 Lefebvre's only reply was a vigorous kick which 
 struck the dancing-master in the back and made him 
 pirouette in a fashion not recognized by the rules of his 
 art." 
 
 Despre"aux stood the shock, and saluting with his 
 best grace, asked : " Did Monsieur le Mar^chal speak ?" 
 
 " Come, Lefebvre, be calm. Tell us what has hap- 
 pened. DesprCaux asks if the Emperor is dead. 
 That is impossible." 
 
 " No — it is not that — the Emperor is not dead ; he 
 cannot die ; he will never die, our Emperor. It is 
 something else, Catharine — we are to go." 
 
 " Where, my husband ? — I should say Monsieur le 
 Marshal," said Catharine, looking ironically at Des- 
 pre"aux. 
 
 "I know not where — but it is necessary for us to go 
 — and that quickly — I believe to Berlin." 
 
 " Is Berlin far off? " asked Catharine naively, for she 
 was not well versed in geography.
 
 j2o padame £ m$-(&m. 
 
 " I don't know," said Lefebvre ; «« but nothing is far 
 for the Emperor." 
 
 " And how soon do we start ? ** 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 " So soon ? " 
 
 '« The Emperor is in a hurry. The Prussians are in 
 arms against us. The Emperor has never yet injured 
 them. They came with the Austrians, the English, the 
 Russians, the Spaniards, with everybody, and invaded 
 France. They were pardoned. It was believed the Em- 
 peror loved them — he has always spoken feelingly of one 
 called Goethe, a lad who wrote for the papers. He says 
 if he had been a Frenchman he would have been made a 
 tount, as one called Corneille, from Rouen, should have 
 been a prince — but I believe he's dead." 
 
 " So the Emperor wants to fight the Prussians ! " 
 
 " Yes ; he has astonished us all by telling us it is a 
 hard job. For us, Prussians are naught. The Em- 
 peror pretends that this war will be one of glory • he 
 Anows best. However, I dislike to have to use my 
 steel upon an insiguificant people like the Prussians. 
 There is no glory to be gained by routing such ignoble 
 enemies." 
 
 * Your pardon, Monsieur le Mare"chal, Frederick the 
 Great was a Prussian, and his nation celebrates annually 
 the fete of Rosbach," Despre"aux ventured to remark, 
 as he widened the distance between him and Lefebvre 
 for fear of a second encounter with the marshal's 
 boot. 
 
 " Rosbach ? Don't know it ! That must be ancient
 
 Padame jSattf-Gtott. 321 
 
 history — before the Emperor's day. Where he is, the 
 victory always is his also." 
 
 "That is true," said Catharine, "what a man ! But, 
 Lefebvre, may not I go with you ? " 
 
 " If you like — as far as the frontier. The Emperor is 
 going to take the Empress. It is simply a walk over 
 in uniform — a little walk. Ah, Catharine, my sweet, 
 how like a thunder-clap in a summer's day is this sud- 
 den decision of war. But let us see to means for our 
 departure. Have you seen Henriot ? " 
 
 " Henriot is waiting for you — as you ordered." 
 
 " That is right. I shall present him to the Emperor ; 
 perhaps this war, so suddenly declared, will serve to 
 advance him. Go and find our dear Henriot." 
 
 Catharine rose to comply. Despre"aux started to 
 offer his services. 
 
 He rushed to the door in advance of Catharine. 
 
 "Pardon, fair lady," said he. 
 
 He had no time to finish. 
 
 A violent kick interrupted him, and Lefebvre growled, 
 *' You idiot ! We are among military folk here, you little 
 acrobat." 
 
 DesprSaux left, rubbing his posterior parts, cursing 
 in his heart such military customs, and sighing for the 
 happy era when he taught the principles of stately 
 courtesies to Madame the Dauphiness. 
 
 Catharine ushered in a young under-lieutenant. 
 
 Lefebvre took his hand quickly, saying, " Henriot, 
 1 have news ! " 
 
 " News of what kind, godfather ? * 
 21
 
 322 padame gMt-<3tnt. 
 
 "War." 
 
 «' But where are we to fight ? " 
 
 •' Presumptuous youth ! Why, lad, you're not sure 
 of being there. I must see the Emperor. Do you 
 think it's such an easy thing to be allowed to die for 
 the Emperor ? I trust, however, you will attain to that 
 honor." 
 
 Henriot, overjoyed, cried, "/Thanks, dear godfather. 
 When will you present me to the Emperor ? " 
 
 " At once. There is to be a review of the Imperial 
 Guard, and you can come with me. Madame la Mare - - 
 chale will go and talk with the Empress." 
 
 u Yes, I shall go at once to Josephine. Ah, my little 
 Henriot, I promise you you shall go." 
 
 A drum-call sounded under the windows. 
 
 "Let us hurry," said Lefebvre, "the Emperor is 
 mounting his horse ; the review will begin at once." 
 
 And he hurried Henriot away, while Catharine called 
 loudly for Lise and two other waiting-women, who 
 came running at her call, and succeeded in arraying 
 their mistress to meet the Empress. 
 
 It was the close of September, 1806. 
 
 The French empire then comprised two-thirds of 
 Europe. Napoleon, on a throne built of trophies and 
 standards, ruled people and kings. The members of 
 his family were also now in exalted positions. Joseph 
 Bonaparte was King of Naples and Sicily ; Louis was 
 King of Holland ; Elisa, whom we met first as the 
 girl from Saint-Cyr, received the principalities of Lugues 
 and Piombino ; Caroline, Madame Murat, had become
 
 ptadam* gm$-(Stnt. 323 
 
 Grand-Duchess of Berg. Pauline, the widow of General 
 Leclerc, had married Prince Borghese, and was Duchess 
 of Guastalla. Yet there was little family concord. 
 All the Emperor's sisters were jealous of one another, 
 and complained constantly. Not one was satisfied 
 with the place given her by their all-powerful brother. 
 
 " It would seem," Napoleon once said, half-smiling, 
 half-displeased, "to listen to their plaints, as though I 
 had defrauded them of part of their inheritance from 
 the late king, our father." 
 
 When the Mare"chale Lefebvre entered the Empress's 
 salon, she found the entire court in high excitement. 
 
 The news of the declaration of war was already 
 known. Every one questioned anxiously when the 
 Emperor would decide to start. 
 
 They all turned to the Empress, to learn from her 
 Napoleon's intentions. 
 
 " But, I tell you, I don't know," she said, forcing her- 
 self to hide beneath a smile her great anxiety. "His 
 Majesty has simply told me to be ready — I am to go 
 with him as far as Mayence." 
 
 «• Lefebvre told me," said Catharine, " that I, too, was 
 to go. It gives me pleasure to be again among soldiers. 
 Ah, your Majesty, one grows stiff and rusty in a palace. 
 You will sleep well on a soldier's cot. And to-morrow, 
 — or is it to-night ? " 
 
 "Who can say?" said the Empress, shaking her 
 head. " You know the Emperor's ways. He settles 
 things quickly, quietly, and as though he were going 
 at once. No one may tarry. Every one is at his post.
 
 324 Padame £att0-<5ettt. 
 
 Then he can, if he likes, declare war, and start at 
 once. He told me to be ready. I am ready. When 
 his Majesty gives the signal I shall go down, and enter 
 the coach with him — that's all I know ! " 
 
 " Oh, we are used to drum-calls," said the mare"chale ; 
 ♦« such trifles do not worry us. But I should like to 
 know if your Majesty has seen the Emperor this morn- 
 ning, and if he is in a good humor ? " 
 
 " You have a favor to ask of him ? " 
 
 "Yes, madame, I have a godson, young Henriot, a 
 gentle youth, who, having attained his majority, and 
 under-lieutenancy, wants permission to go with 
 Lefebvre." • 
 
 " If it would give you pleasure, my dear lady, tell 
 your godson I will take him into my escort." 
 
 "Thanks, madame ; but it is on the field and not in 
 the hall that Henriot wants to gain advancement. It 
 is not in vain that he is Lefebvre's godson ! " 
 
 «' Well, he shall go ! He shall have an opportunity 
 to die, if he's so anxious for it." 
 
 ** Your Majesty is too good," said Catharine, enrapt- 
 ured at the promise. At last her adopted child, the 
 son of Neipperg and Blanche de Laveline, was going to 
 gain glory and fight for the Emperor. 
 
 In the court below the Emperor was receiving the 
 grenadiers of the Guard. 
 
 Beside him stood the generals destined to command 
 his great army : Lefebvre, Bernadotte, Ney, Lannes, 
 Davoust, Augereau, and Soult. Mortier, who com- 
 manded the Westphalian reserve, and Murat, the
 
 Pattern* ^aws-ta*. 325 
 
 cavalry chief, were the only ones absent in that line 
 of heroes. 
 
 After having inspected the soldiers with his usual 
 care, the Emperor approached the drum-major of the 
 grenadiers, who, tall and straight, stood waiting tQ 
 give the signal. 
 
 "What is your name ?"he asked. 
 
 " La Violette, sire," answered the giant in a soft voice. 
 
 - Where have you served ? " 
 
 " Everywhere, sire." 
 
 "Good," said the Emperor, who loved short answers, 
 " Do you know Berlin ? " 
 
 " No, sire." 
 
 " Would you like to go there ? " 
 
 " I shall go wherever my Emperor wishes." 
 
 «* Well, La Violette, get ready your drum and drum- 
 sticks ; in a month from now you shall be first to enter, 
 with head erect, the Prussian capital." 
 
 "We shall enter, sire." 
 
 " La Violette, how tall are you ? " asked the Em- 
 peror, regarding, with some astonishment, the former 
 aide-cantinier who seemed to have grown taller since 
 he had become drum-major of the Grenadiers. 
 
 " Five feet eleven inches, sire." 
 
 '« You are tall as a poplar." 
 
 " And you, Emperor, are great as the whole world," 
 said La Violette, beside himself with joy at thus con- 
 versing with the Emperor, and unable to forego the 
 expression of his enthusiasm. 
 
 Napoleon smiled at the compliment, and turning to
 
 326 padam* %nn$-(&m. 
 
 Lefebvre said, "You must remind -me, Marshal, in 
 proper time, of this drum-major." 
 
 Lefebvre bowed. The Emperor continued his in- 
 spection ; then, at a signal from the marshal, the 
 drums beat, the trumpets sounded, and the grenadiers 
 of the Guard passed, superb and warlike before their 
 god, who stood with his hands clasped behind him. 
 
 And when the drums ceased, a great shout arose 
 from that forest of men, great and strong as oak trees, 
 many of whom were destined never to return from 
 Prussia, whither they were about to be led by their 
 master, the terrible butcher. 
 
 " Vive I ' Emfiereur ! " 
 
 " I believe my cousin, the King of Prussia, will soon 
 be sorry he provoked my wrath. With such men I 
 might war against the Almighty and his legions of 
 archangels, commanded by St. Michael and St. George. 
 Marshal, go, embrace your wife ; we leave here to- 
 night." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LEFEBVRE TRIES TO UNDERSTAND. 
 
 On the 8th of October a French army, under Murat, 
 opened fire upon Schleitz. 
 
 On the loth was the engagement at Saalfeld, where 
 Prince Louis of Prussia was killed, and whence Marshal 
 Lannes marched to Jena. 
 
 On October 13th, Napoleon arrived at Jena, and the
 
 gjttadam* gim$-(8m. 327 
 
 spot where his tent was pitched was called Napoleons- 
 berg. 
 
 From his headquarters he sent Rapp, his aide-de- 
 camp, to find Marshal Lefebvre. 
 
 The latter arrived and entered quietly, his uniform 
 torn and the gilt on his cloak blackened with powder. 
 
 Napoleon went directly to him, and shook his hand 
 heartily. " Well, dear old Lefebvre ! We have made 
 a good thing of this. Do you not think so ? " 
 
 " Sire, with you and my grenadiers, we could always 
 do well ! " 
 
 " Yes, your Imperial Foot-Guards are admirable." 
 
 "The Imperial Cavalry Guard, which Bessieres com- 
 manded, did well, too," said Lefebvre, who was excep- 
 tionally free from jealousy of other marshals. He loved 
 them all except Bernadotte, in whom his honest nature 
 suspected treason. 
 
 " You are all admirable ! " said Napoleon, " and you 
 may say to your grenadiers to-night, ' Soldiers, the Em- 
 peror is pleased with you.' " 
 
 " Thanks, thanks, sire ! That will be all-sufficient 
 for them. Do you know that the Guard covered forty 
 leagues at a single march, speeding all the way ? Oh, 
 sire, you gave me, long ago, your sabre from the Pyra- 
 mids. You would not do ill to give me another," said 
 Lefebvre familiarly, " for mine is used up. See, it is 
 like a cork-screw ! " 
 
 " Well, well ! In place of your sabre you shall have 
 a broadsword. Now you have a baton — you shall 
 •stride on again ! "
 
 328 §Radam* #att0-<#m. 
 
 '* I do not understand," said Lefebvre, whose powers; 
 of induction were not well developed. *' Sire, explain- 
 to me." 
 
 "See, you have a marshal's baton." 
 
 •* Yes — but the sword ? " 
 
 "You will know by and by. See, here is a fine 
 piece of work, done by a man of great merit, General. 
 Chasseloup." 
 
 " Ah, yes," said Lefebvre, indifferently regarding the 
 plan before him ; he was as little interested in geograph- 
 ical charts as in Hebrew. 
 
 Napoleon continued, "It is the plan of the town of 
 Dantzig, with a study of distances, heights and depres- 
 sions of the entire place." 
 
 "So that is Dantzig ? Really ! I don't know any- 
 thing about Dantzig," said Lefebvre, coolly, for he 
 placed little faith in these charts furnished to the 
 Emperor. 
 
 " You shall know Dantzig well, my dear Lefebvre. 
 It is a port of prime importance on the Vistula. There 
 all the commerce of the north centres. It has tre- 
 mendous resources and unequalled facilities for the 
 campaign I propose in the plains of Poland — for we 
 are going to meet the Russians." 
 
 "So much the better," interrupted Lefebvre. "I 
 shall enjoy cutting down more formidable antagonists 
 than these Prussians. When do we meet the Russian 
 troops ? " 
 
 " Patience, patience, Lefebvre ! Russia is a vast 
 empire and a difficult one to handle. She can defend
 
 herself by her size, her intense cold, her lack of com- 
 munications, and even by famine. My soldiers would 
 die of hunger and lack everything in those Polish 
 snows ; they could never reach the heart of Moscow if 
 I did not assure myself of sufficient supplies at my rear. 
 That is why I need Dantzig ! " 
 
 " If you need it you will have it." 
 
 " I trust so ; but Dantzig is a place of strategic im- 
 portance. The King of Prussia has made it the citadel 
 of his kingdom. A garrison of forty thousand Prus- 
 sians, with re-enforcements of four thousand Russians, 
 are its defenders. Brave Marshal Kalkreuth is its 
 governor. I tell you he is a brave soldier. He would 
 set fire to the place sooner than admit a besieger. But, 
 that is not all. Come, let us go over the plan." 
 
 And Napoleon pointed out the situations to Lefebvre, 
 who tried to understand General Chasseloup's work,, 
 but failed. 
 
 "You see," said Napoleon at length, "as I said 
 before, Dantzig is impregnable." 
 
 Lefebvre shook his head and answered calmly, " Yes,, 
 quite so, sire." 
 
 To himself he thought, "Why on earth does the Em- 
 peror tell all this to me ? What would he have me 
 make of these papers ? " 
 
 Napoleon continued, tapping the marshal's arm, 
 "Yes, Dantzig is impregnable. That is why I give 
 to you the task of taking it." 
 
 "To me ! It is I who Oh, I see, sire, I shall 
 
 take it I With my grenadiers."
 
 33° Padame £an$-(&tnt. 
 
 "With this, stupid," said Napoleon, pointing to Gen- 
 eral Chasseloup's plan. 
 
 Lefebvre was mystified. He looked first at the Em- 
 peror and then at the plan, from one to the other, 
 trying to find some connection between the two. What 
 could Napoleon mean ? How could one take a city 
 with a scrap of paper ? He was ordered to take Dant- 
 zig — he would do it. But with his soldiery. They 
 should see. 
 
 " Old horse," said Napoleon, " you shall take Dant- 
 zig, as I want you to, and then, when we return to 
 France, you will have a tale to tell in the Senate 
 Chamber ! " 
 
 Lefebvre bowed, pleased with his Emperor's confi- 
 dence. The latter had promised him minute instruc- 
 tions and the able assistance of Chasseloup, and the 
 artillery general, Lareboisiere. 
 
 " I shall write this good news to my wife," said Le- 
 febvre, taking leave of the Emperor. " She will be so 
 glad, and bless your Majesty again for your kindness ! " 
 
 " Your wife ? La Sans-Ggne ? " said Napokon in a 
 disdainful voice. " Ah, you think a great deal of your 
 wife, eh, Lefebvre ? " he asked carelessly. 
 
 The marshal raised his head in surprise. 
 
 " Do I ? Why do you ask that, sire ? Ah, Catha- 
 rine and I love like a pair of children. We are the 
 same lovers to-day as when she was a laundress and I 
 a sergeant, never dreaming that we should one day 
 appear at your court, she as Madame la Mare"chale 
 and I as Commander of the Imperial Guard. Do I love
 
 Catharine ? Oh, sire — my emperor, my wife, and my 
 flag. I know only these ani the law of arms ! I am. 
 untutored — scarce ever went to school. I am capable 
 of but three things. To serve my emperor, to love my 
 wife, and to defend the eagle you have confided to my 
 care. I know these three, and but these three ; but I 
 defy any in the Empire to avow himself better than I on 
 these points." 
 
 "Very well; be calm, Lefebvre," said Napoleon, 
 hiding, with a smile, a thought he judged it best not to 
 speak at the moment. " I would not keep you from 
 ioving your wife. When you have taken Dantzig, and 
 we have conquered the whole line — see, old friend, I 
 know the Mare'chale Lefebvre, despite her occasional 
 oaths, and her aspect of a misplaced soldier, at my 
 court, is at bottom a good, true wife — it might make 
 me smile in fancy ; but all the world will bow to her, 
 when I place on the head of the former laundress a 
 trophy they shall envy." 
 
 " Ah, I will try to understand," murmured Lefebvre, 
 rubbing his forehead to facilitate the entrance of the 
 idea. '* Yes, I have a marshal's baton, you would add 
 other honors to it. Oh, sire, how *can I ever repay 
 you ? For you I should attempt the impossible ! " 
 
 " Do so — take Dantzig." 
 
 " I will," answered Lefebvre ; and bowing he left the 
 Emperor, his eyes bright, his cheeks flushed, his step 
 buoyant and his spirit joyous. 
 
 ** Brave heart," murmured Napoleon, looking after 
 him, " those soldiers of the old order were wondrous
 
 33 2 Padame gm$-(&tnt. 
 
 men." And with a sigh he added, " That such heroes 
 should become useless — war changes — I have altered 
 it — and such men as Lefebvre cannot be found again — 
 not such men as he — nor as myself, perhaps. Ah, he 
 who lives will see. Now for Berlin ! " 
 
 And, on the 27th of October, 1806, Berlin was the 
 scene of a mighty spectacle. Like the legions of Rome 
 the victorious army made its entry into the capital of 
 the vanquished state, and La Violette was at its head. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 MONSIEUR LE DUC. 
 
 We must now carry the reader to the 26th of May 
 following the events of our last chapter. 
 
 On that day, Marshal Lefebvre made his official entry 
 into Dantzig. 
 
 He had invited his two colleagues, Marshal Lannes, 
 and Marshal Mortier, to ride beside him, between 
 double files of soldiers, to receive the surrendered 
 sword of Marshal Kalkreuth, who was to evacuate 
 the place with his vanquished garrison. 
 
 Lannes and.Mortier refused on the ground that Le- 
 febvre had the sole right to the honors, as he alone had 
 sustained the labprs and dangers of that memorable 
 siege. 
 
 All the troops who had taken part in the capture of 
 Dantzig formed the detachment of honor, and with
 
 Padamc £att0-$*tt*. 333 
 
 drums beating, and colors flying, marched behind their 
 ■victorious chief. 
 
 The siege had lasted fifty-one days. The formidable 
 position of the place, the equal number of assailants 
 .and besieged, the lack of artillery in the besieging 
 camp, the cold, the snow, the rain, had all helped to 
 prolong resistance. 
 
 The moral effect of the surrender of Dantzig was im- 
 mense. The material result was equally important, 
 for Napoleon found quantities of provisions, grain, and 
 wine, which had been stored away. The wine es- 
 pecially was, in that cold climate, a cordial for the 
 soldiers, an elixir of life and good spirits. 
 
 Two days after Lefebvre's entry into Dantzig, Na- 
 poleon came to visit the place. He assigned two 
 regiments as town garrison, and gave a great dinner 
 to all the generals, at which feast Lefebvre sat at his 
 right hand. 
 
 Before the dinner, while all the generals and mar- 
 shals — Lefebvre, Lannes, and Mortier — awaited the ar- 
 rival of the Emperor, Duroc, the grand-marshal en- 
 tered, bearing a sword whose hilt was encrusted with 
 diamonds. 
 
 An officer accompanied him, bearing a red velvet 
 cushion, on which lay a coronet of gold. 
 
 Duroc, holding the sword and the officer the cushion, 
 took their places on either side of the chair reserved 
 for Napoleon. 
 
 He entered presently, wearing his ordinary costume, 
 and seated himself, smiling amusedly as his eyes caught 
 sight of sword and crown.
 
 334 padame gm\$-(&tnt. 
 
 The Emperor now rose and said solemnly to Duroc, 
 " Pray ask our dear old friend, Marshal Lefebvre, to 
 come hither." 
 
 Duroc bowed and addressed himself to Lefebvre, 
 who had turned toward Napoleon. 
 
 He put out his hand mechanically, thinking the Em- 
 peror intended to greet him fraternally, before them all, 
 in token of his victory. 
 
 But Napoleon said: "Grand-Marshal, pray ask 
 Monsieur le Due de Dantzig to kneel and receive the 
 investiture." 
 
 Hearing that unaccustomed title, Lefebvre turned to 
 see if the Emperor was addressing some one behind 
 him — a Prussion functionary, or a Russian, for at that 
 time there were in France neither dukes nor duchies. 
 
 Duroc whispered to him : «« Kneel." 
 
 And he saw Duroc's assistant place a cushion for 
 his knee, while Napoleon, taking the coronet, placed it 
 on his head. 
 
 Entirely stupefied, Lefebvre remained on his knees, 
 scarce understanding the great fortune which had come 
 to him, while Napoleon, taking the sword, struck his 
 shoulder thrice, saying, with the gravity of an officiating 
 pontiff, " In the name of the Empire, by the Grace of 
 God, and the desire of the nation, Lefebvre, I this day 
 create thee Duke of Dantzig, to enjoy and profit by such 
 advantages and privileges as shall be added to that 
 dignity." 
 
 Then, in a softer voice, " Rise, Monsieur le Due de 
 Dantzig, and embrace your Emperor."
 
 Padmttt £att0-<Sm. 335 
 
 Immediately the drummers placed under the win- 
 dows beat a march, and all the generals and marshals 
 •crowded round to congratulate Lefebvre. 
 
 Moved by the Emperor's embrace, and a little awk- 
 ward about his coronet, which did not seem firm on his 
 head, and seeking for a place to lay the ducal sword, 
 which was to replace the sabre from the Pyramids, the 
 Due de Dantzig said to Duroc, who congratulated him : 
 "How glad my good wife will be — Catharine a 
 duchess ! how strange, Duroc ! " 
 
 And, as he laughed heartily, he turned again to 
 Duroc. 
 
 " Dear Marshal, how soon will the Emperor give the 
 signal for us to be seated ? " 
 
 " Are you hungry, Lefebvre ? " 
 
 " No ! But the sooner the Emperor lets us dine, the 
 sooner we'll have finished ; and I own to a wild desire 
 to be the first who embraces and congratulates Madame, 
 the Duchess of Dantzig." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AT THE EMPRESS'S SALON. 
 
 The Emperor was expected. 
 
 Victorious, master of Europe, having forced his friend- 
 ship upon Russia, and his will upon Prussia, Napoleon 
 returned once more as victor into Paris. 
 
 A state function had been arranged in honor of the
 
 336 Padanw gm$-(&tM. 
 
 » 
 
 new Duchess of Dantzig. All the little world of great 
 folk was busy with it. 
 
 People questioned, ironically, how the new duchess 
 would take her rank. 
 
 Evil tongues were many ; and people spoke with ill- 
 concealed sneers of the fact that the lady in question 
 had been a laundress. 
 
 Many of the women who spoke thus of her were of 
 equally humble extraction, and many of them were the 
 subjects of scandalous tales. 
 
 The good Catharine, on the contrary, had a stainless 
 reputation. 
 
 She was laughed at for her devotion to her husband. 
 
 As laundress, as cantintere, as general's wife, as lady 
 of one of the first officers of the Empire, as Madame la 
 Mar6chale, even, she had had, this daughter of the 
 people, but one love in her whole pure life ; that love 
 was her husband, her Lefebvre. 
 
 He, too, had been faithful ; a virtue rare among the 
 soldiers' of the Empire. 
 
 He had never indulged in the accidental and allowed 
 weaknesses of his master, his friend, his idol. Napoleon 
 might deceive the Empress ; Lefebvre shook his head 
 and murmured, " That is the only ground on which I 
 do not follow the Emperor." 
 
 Once, laughing heartily, he said to his less scrupu- 
 lous aides, " Look you, if I were to deceive Catharine, 
 I could not conquer Prussians. I should be thinking 
 constantly of her ; I should be a prey to remorse ; and 
 one must have a whole heart and a clear conscience to
 
 Pato* #attg-$m. 337 
 
 fight, as we do, one to twenty. And brave Lefebvre 
 never blushed for his conjugal fidelity. 
 
 The Empress's reception was well under way when 
 Catharine appeared. 
 
 Caroline and Elisa, Napoleon's two sisters, were 
 quarrelling. Caroline was queen of Naples, and Elisa, 
 the young lady from Saint-Cyr, was only a princess. 
 From this low source sprung their war of words. 
 
 While his wife was going to Josephine's salon the 
 brave marshal sat at breakfast with the Emperor. 
 
 The latter loved Lefebvre. He knew him to be hon- 
 est and poor. He had made him a duke ; he decided 
 also to make him rich. 
 
 At table he asked, suddenly, " Do you like chocolate, 
 Monsieur le Due ? " 
 
 " Why yes, sir ! I like chocolate, if you would have 
 me do so. I like anything you like." 
 
 " Well, I will give you some — it is Dantzig chocolate. 
 It is right you should taste the product of the town you 
 have conquered." 
 
 Napoleon rose. He went to a little table, from which 
 he took a long narrow package nearly the shape of a 
 block of chocolate in a wrapper. 
 
 He handed it to the marshal, saying, " Due de Dant- 
 zig, accept this chocolate. Such little gifts prove friend- 
 ship." 
 
 Lefebvre took the package unceremoniously, put it 
 into his pocket, and, taking his seat at table again, said, 
 ■** Thank you, sire. I shall send the chocolate to a hos- 
 pital. They say it is good for the patients." 
 22
 
 33 8 Padam* jftnu-tftnt. 
 
 •• No," said the Emperor smiling, " I pray you keep 
 it yourself, I pray you do so." 
 
 Lefebvre bowed, and thought. " What a strange 
 idea, to give me chocolate, like a little girl." 
 
 The meal proceeded. 
 
 A pasty representing the city of Dantzig — the chef- 
 d'oeuvre of the imperial cook — was served. 
 
 The Emperor, before cutting it, said, •* They could 
 not have put that pasty into a shape to please 
 me better. Yours be the signal of attack, Monsieur 
 le Due, there is your conquest. You must do the 
 honors." 
 
 And he handed the knife to Lefebvre, who charged 
 upon the mimic city. 
 
 The marshal returned home, enchanted with the 
 kindness of his sovereign. 
 
 " What a pity Catharine was not there ! " he thought, 
 smiling. " His majesty was never in better humor ; 
 but that singular gift of Dantzig chocolate ! " 
 
 Mechanically he opened the packet. 
 
 Under the satin paper were bank-notes for three 
 hundred thousand francs 1 
 
 It was the Emperor's gift to the new duke to sustain 
 his rank. 
 
 The favor in which the marshal stood with the Em- 
 peror served, no doubt, to protect his wife somewhat 
 from unkindness. 
 
 But Napoleon's sisters and the ladies who curried 
 favor with them, lost no opportunity to remind her of 
 her humble birth.
 
 Pafatttt £att0-<5rt«. 339 
 
 Circumstances frequently favored them, as in the case 
 of the Empress's receptions. 
 
 Catharine Lefebvre, in grand costume, her head-dress 
 surmounted by white ostrich plumes, trailing her court- 
 gown, and somewhat embarrassed by her long cloak 
 of sky-blue velvet, embroidered with the ducal coronet, 
 — advanced, blushing, and almost timid, across the 
 threshold. 
 
 For once, La Sans-G6ne was abashed. 
 
 She had repeated with Despr6aux, in the morning, 
 *he ceremonial of her presentation in the character of a 
 ■duchess, taking rank beside the queens around the 
 Empress. 
 
 The pompous little usher, who had often introduced 
 her at the Tuileries, saw her coming, and spoke in his 
 sweetest tones, as he announced, " Madame La Mar€- 
 chale Lefebvre." 
 
 Catharine murmured, " The stupid ! He doesn't 
 know his part." 
 
 The Empress, meantime, descending from her throne, 
 •went to meet her. 
 
 Josephine was ever gracious, and she spoke thus to 
 the wife of the great conqueror : 
 
 " How is Madame the Duchess of Dantzig ? " 
 
 " As strong as the Pont-neuf," answered Catharine 
 unceremoniously. " And your Majesty ? " 
 
 And turning to the usher she said imperturbably, 
 with an air of satisfaction, «« Learn your part, lad." 
 
 She took her place in the circle of ladies amid sup- 
 pressed giggles and laughing eyes.
 
 340 Padam* £mt-(Sm. 
 
 Even when the Empress tried to put her at ease by- 
 addressing her graciously, Catharine thought she was. 
 being laughed at. 
 
 She bit her lips, to keep from saying her mind to the 
 women around her. 
 
 " What are they better than I, those creatures," she 
 thought. " Ah, if the Emperor were only here, he 
 would let me tell them what I think." 
 
 A man approached her. 
 
 " Madame la Duchesse does not recognize me," he 
 said, bowing very low. 
 
 " Not exactly — I seem to have seen you somewhere." 
 
 '* Exactly — I knew you ere you had attained the high 
 rank in which I have the honor to salute you." 
 
 " You mean when I was a laundress ? Oh, do not 
 hesitate to say that ; I never blush for my former rank ;. 
 nor does Lefebvre. I have kept in a chest my old cos- 
 tume, and he also his uniform as Sergeant of the 
 Guards." 
 
 " Ah, well, lady," said he in a soft voice (his aspect 
 was half that of a priest, half of a bandit), " at that 
 far-off period, I had the pleasure of being in your com- 
 pany at a public ball. I was a client of yours — almost 
 a friend. A magician predicted that you should one day 
 be a duchess." 
 
 "Ah, I remember him well. Lefebvre and I often 
 speak of those times. What did the sorcerer tell you ? 
 Anything ? " 
 
 •' I also had a horoscope cast for me ; and, like yours,, 
 't is realized."
 
 Pattern* £ m$-(5tnt. 341 
 
 «« Really ! What did it foretell ? " 
 
 " That I should be minister of police, and I am ! " 
 This was said with a slow smile. 
 
 " Ah, you are M. Fouche" ! " said Catharine with a 
 shudder ; she was a little uneasy at the presence of this 
 man, in whom, with a woman's intuition she divined a 
 traitor. 
 
 " At your service, Madame la Duchesse ! " said the 
 cat-like courtier with a bow ; and he added, " You 
 seem to have rivals, nay, actual enemies here, Madame 
 la Duchesse ; let me guard you from certain dangers. 
 Do not give these women the pleasure of profiting by 
 your ignorance, by certain freedoms of speech, whose 
 danger you do not understand." 
 
 " You are very kind, M. Fouche* ; I accept your 
 offer," said Catharine. " You knew me long ago, and 
 know that I have no fine manners. But I know there 
 are things one should not say in society. Only I do not 
 heed my tongue, or watch myself carefully enough. 
 You understand ? " 
 
 « * Yes. Will Madame la Duchesse permit me to warn 
 her at the dangerous places ? " 
 
 " Gladly, M. Fouche - . I am infinitely obliged to you. 
 I am ignorant of the ways of palaces, I, who left my 
 flat-iron for canteen service in the army ! " 
 
 "Will Madame la Duchesse watch me, and when I 
 tap, thus, with my two fingers, on my snuff-box, stop- 
 that is the danger-signal." 
 
 " I shall not lose sight of you or your snuff-box," 
 was the rejoinder.
 
 542 Pattern* £aniff-6«tt«. 
 
 " My snuff-box principally." 
 
 And this arrangement completed, the two followed 
 the Empress into the next room, where a collation had 
 been prepared. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Catharine's revenge. 
 
 The unkind remarks and caustic criticisms followed 
 Catharine to the supper-room, 
 
 The Queen of Naples and her sister Elisa were 
 grouped with several friends, who turned a cold shoul- 
 der on the new duchess. 
 
 Caroline showed, behind her fan, a note written to 
 Leroy, the court-costumer, by the Mare"chale Lefebvre ; 
 she had paid well to get it ; and it read : " Will M. 
 Leroy not forget to bring me to-morrow my gown of 
 catin " (sic.) 
 
 She told another story of how Catharine had one day 
 missed a large diamond. She had suspected a work- 
 man who had b*en alone in the room where the jewel 
 was kept. The servants, fearing to be suspected, had 
 summoned an agent of the police. 
 
 The man was regularly questioned. He was searched, 
 and nothing was found on him. 
 
 «« My children, you don't know anything," said the 
 mare"chale, who had been present. "If you had seen.
 
 UKadame £att0-$*«e. 343 
 
 as I have, soldiers searched, you would know that there 
 are other places to hide things than in one's pockets 
 and one's shoes. Let me try it." And with a noncha- 
 lance which would have been funny save for the gravity 
 of the offence, she explored the clothing of the man, and 
 discovered the jewel. 
 
 The affair made quite a stir, and Elisa asked Catha- 
 rine to tell the Empress the story of the search ; and 
 Catharine would have fallen into her trap, had not 
 Fouche*, just behind her, tapped nervously on his snuff- 
 box. 
 
 " Aha ! " she thought, " his danger-signal — I should 
 fiave said something out of place, and Fouche' has saved 
 me. I think him a queer specimen, but he may be able 
 to advise me." 
 
 Accordingly, she resolved it in her quick brain ; and 
 the idea struck her to give a lesson to these false ladies, 
 "who were rich, elegant, be-gemmed only by the grace of 
 fortune and the bounty of Napoleon. 
 
 She advanced to the centre of the mocking circle, 
 and, looking at Caroline and Elisa, said with stinging 
 sarcasm : " Your Majesty, and you, Madame la Prin- 
 ■cesse, you make much of the fact that a poor woman 
 like myself should be able to discover a thief — a poor 
 thief — one who steals a trifle — a servant — a hireling, 
 who was neither marshal, nor king, and did not belong 
 to the Emperor's family ; they who take trifles are ar- 
 rested, ladies, the others are respected, honored ! For- 
 sooth, I was wrong and I should have left the diamond 
 with the poor unfortunate thief, so long as crowned
 
 344 Padame 5a»iJ-<5«te. 
 
 thieves may pillage the Empire, and divide the spoils 
 of our poor country, our France." 
 
 Catharine's words produced a startling effect on the 
 brilliant train of the Queen of Naples. 
 
 Fouche" had come near and tapped frequently — but 
 Catharine paid no heed. 
 
 She would not hear him, and looking straight at these 
 women, she continued : 
 
 •' Yes, the Emperor is too good — too weak. He, who 
 does not know the use of money ; who, sober, economi- 
 cal, could live on a captain's pay — he lets all whom his 
 favor has raised from the most lowly position, pillage, 
 ravage, openly steal and consume the people's sub- 
 stance. 
 
 " They are not servants who steal jewels left lying in 
 rooms, they are marshals, they are sovereigns whom, 
 the Emperor has created, and who should be exposed 
 and searched through. " 
 
 Her voice shook with anger. Strong in the knowl- 
 edge of Lefebvre's incontestable probity, Catharine 
 Sans-G6ne searched the faces of these insolent women, 
 whose husbands stole from the Empire and were 
 traitors to the Emperor. 
 
 Caroline of Naples was always audacious ; and the 
 pride of being a queen gave her added audacity. 
 
 " Madame la Duchesse would perhaps remind us of 
 the epoch of republican virtue," she said with a sneer. 
 •' Oh, the fair times when all were equal, and when 
 one was suspected if one happened to wash one's 
 hands ! "
 
 Pattern* £atwi-<Sttte. 345 
 
 " Do not dare to insult the soldiers of the Republic," 
 cried Catharine, in a trembling voice. "They were all 
 heroes ! Lefebvre was one of them. They did not 
 fight, like your husbands, and your lovers, ladies, to 
 gain promotion, privileges, rewards, to despoil the 
 provinces, and pillage the public treasury. 
 
 " The soldiers of the Republic fought to free a down- 
 trodden people, to deliver men from servitude, to 
 glorify France, and defend her liberty. Their success- 
 ors have fought bravely ; but the emoluments of 
 glory, rather than glory herself, entreated them. 
 What they seek, above all else, is the booty which fol- 
 lows a cavalry charge, which is ever heroically con- 
 ducted by your King Mufat. The Emperor does not 
 see that the day when fortune ceases to serve him, the 
 day when there is no more booty, but when he needs 
 defenders, with his wounded eagle, for the sod of my 
 crushed Alsace, or the fair land of Champagne, that 
 then these fair victors will ask to rest ! Not one would 
 fight for honor and country ! They will demand peace, 
 they will say France is weary of war, and wants to 
 rest. Ah ! Our Emperor, God bless him, will miss 
 those soldiers of the Republic ! When he seeks for 
 men who are friends to danger, soldiers who fear 
 not, he will find, alas ! only the husbands of queens, 
 whose desire will be to conserve their newly-acquired 
 thrones ! " 
 
 Every word of Catharine's struck home to the 
 princesses. 
 
 Elisa rose hastily, saying to Caroline : ** Let us go.
 
 346 fjttatam* £m$-(&txa, 
 
 sister, we cannot answer fitly a laundress, whom our 
 brother's weakness has made a duchess ! " 
 
 Both left the room with an offended air, after a curt 
 salutation to the Empress, who understood nothing of 
 the reasons for anger of her haughty sisters-in-law. 
 
 Fouche" approached Catharine. 
 
 " You spoke rather strongly, Madame la Duchesse," 
 said he, with his slow smile. '* I warned you, on my 
 snuff-box — but you could not be stopped " 
 
 " Rest easy, M. FoucheY' said Catharine, calmly, " I 
 shall tell it all to the Emperor, and when he sees how 
 matters stand, he will not blame me." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE DIVORCE. 
 
 Josephine had long feared the blow which was 
 destined to strike her so heavily. 
 
 She held a certificate of her religious marriage, 
 given her by Cardinal Fesch ; and she counted on the 
 true and steadfast affection of Napoleon to maintain 
 her place at his side. 
 
 Summoned by the arch-chancellor, Cambaceres, she 
 presented herself trembling, her tears ready to fall 
 from those lovely soft eyes. 
 
 The interview was short and stormy. 
 
 It was after dinner, on November 30, 1809. Napo-
 
 Padam* £m$-(&m. 34? 
 
 leon, when the coffee was served, took his cup from, 
 the page, and signed him to leave the room. 
 
 For the last time, he and his wife were alone. 
 
 Napoleon told his resolution in few words. He tried! 
 not to seem moved. He explained briefly that the 
 interests of the state required that he should have an 
 heir, and therefore he proposed to have his first mar- 
 riage annulled, and to contract a second. 
 
 Josephine stammered out a few words,— how she had 
 loved her Bonaparte, and how he had returned her 
 love ; and when she tried to re-awaken his tender feel- 
 ings, by recalling their hours of happiness, Napoleon, 
 interrupted her quickly, desirous of resisting just that 
 soft emotion which would unman him. He entrenched 
 himself behind a cold exterior. 
 
 " Do not try to soften me — do not think to change 
 my resolution. I shall always love you, Josephine ; 
 but policy demands that I part from you. Policy has. 
 no heart ; only a head." 
 
 Josephine gave a cry, and fell senseless to the floor. 
 
 The usher of the chamber, standing outside the door, 
 thinking she was ill, wanted to enter ; but he did not 
 wish to interfere between the two, nor be a witness of 
 the cruel scene. 
 
 The Emperor himself opened the door, and calling 
 to his chamberlain, M. de Bausset, said, " Come in, 
 and shut the door." 
 
 M. de Bausset followed his sovereign. He saw 
 Josephine lying on the floor, uttering heart-rending 
 cries.
 
 348 gjBadame £nn$-(8tnt. 
 
 " Oh, how shall I survive this ? If I could only die ! " 
 she moaned between her tears. 
 
 "Are you strong enough to lift the Empress, and 
 carry her, by the inside stairway, to her own room ? " 
 asked Napoleon. " Wait, I will help you " 
 
 And between them, they lifted Josephine, who had 
 fainted again. 
 
 M. de Bausset took the Empress in his arms, her 
 head against his shoulder, and started slowly. 
 
 The Emperor, torch in his hand, lighted the half- 
 funeral way. 
 
 He opened the door, and said to Bausset, "Now, 
 down the stairs " 
 
 «' Sire, the stairway is too steep — I shall fall." 
 
 So Napoleon decided to ask the aid of the usher, too. 
 
 He gave the latter the light, and taking Josephine's 
 feet, he told the chamberlain to take her by the arms ; 
 and thus they descended — slowly — painfully. 
 
 Lifeless, and without giving even a sigh, Josephine 
 seemed like a corpse being carried to a tomb. 
 
 Suddenly the chamberlain heard her soft voice say- 
 ing, *' Why do you hurry thus ? " 
 
 So, assured that his wife was recovering, Napoleon 
 left her. He was even more troubled than she. 
 
 He sacrificed love and happiness to policy. He was 
 cruelly punished for all later. 
 
 It seemed, people said, afterward, like a terrible and 
 prophetic vision of his destiny, that sinister descent of 
 the woman who had been the companion of his glory- 
 his good "MiKel.
 
 Padatue ^attf-te*. 349 
 
 The divorce papers were signed on the evening of 
 December 1 5th, at the Tuileries, where a solemn assem- 
 bly was seated. 
 
 Napoleon, taking Josephine's hand, read, while real 
 tears stood in his eyes, a discourse prepared by Cam- 
 bace"res, in which he announced the resolution taken 
 by himself and his dear wife. He gave, as sole reason 
 for the divorce, the hope of an heir by a second marriage. 
 
 *• I am but forty years old," he said ; " and may still 
 hope to rear children with my spirit and thought, if it 
 please Providence to give them to me. God knows 
 what this resolution has cost me, how it has rent my 
 heart ; but there is no sacrifice for which I should not 
 have courage, if I saw it to be for the good of France. 
 
 " I must add that, far from having any cause of com- 
 plaint, I have ever had only sincere love and tender- 
 ness from my sweet wife. She has adored fifteen 
 years of my life ; and the memory of these is in- 
 delibly engraven on my heart. She was crowned 
 by my hand, and I desire that she should conserve 
 the rank and title of Empress ; and that, above all, she 
 should never doubt that in me she will ever find her 
 best and most devoted friend." 
 
 Josephine was to read a reply to this declaration, but 
 she could not. Tears choked her utterance. She 
 passed the paper to Regnauld de Saint-Jean-d'Anggly, 
 who read it for her. 
 
 She said she accepted with resignation the decree 
 of divorce, since she could not give the Emperor an heir. 
 
 " But," said the text, " the dissolution of my mar-
 
 35 © Padame gm$-(&m, 
 
 riage can, in no wise, change the emotions of my heart ; 
 in me will the Emperor ever find his most devoted friend. 
 I know how much this act, commended by policy 
 and great issues, has bruised his heart ; but both of 
 us glory in the sacrifice we make for the good of our 
 country." 
 
 To these words, Josephine added but one sentence,, 
 touching in its very simplicity. 
 
 •« I am glad to give to the Emperor this, the greatest 
 proof of attachment and devotion which the world has 
 ever seen." 
 
 This attitude of Josephine's in the dark days of her 
 divorce excused her for many shortcomings ; and 
 posterity will ever be lenient with her, the victim of 
 Napoleon's policy and his dynastic ambitions. 
 
 On December 16th the Consular-Senate declared the 
 union dissolved. It was a Saturday. 
 
 At eight o'clock in the evening, a coach came to the 
 Tuileries, to take Josephine to Malmaison. 
 
 It was a dreadful night. The sky seemed covered 
 with a pall for the occasion, like a funeral. 
 
 The Rueil road, leafless, dark and sombre, added to 
 the ex-Empress's sadness. 
 
 How often she had gone over it with joy, in the flush 
 of power, amid the glitter of sovereignty ! 
 
 Her son, Prince Eugene, accompanied her. 
 
 The Emperor had left the Tuileries, and gone for 
 the night to Trianon. 
 
 Two days later the Emperor paid a visit to Mal- 
 maison.
 
 Padame £m#-(&tnt. 351 
 
 " I find you weaker than you ought to be," said Na- 
 poleon gently. '* You have shown high courage ; you 
 must go on being courageous. You must not suc- 
 cumb to sorrow. Give heed to your health, which is 
 very precious to me. Sleep well, and remember that 
 I want to think of you as being calm and peaceful." 
 
 He kissed her tenderly, and went to Trianon. 
 
 Josephine buried at Malmaison, the preparations for 
 the Emperor's second marriage were pushed on vigor- 
 ously. 
 
 Talleyrand and Fouche", the two inseparable traitors, 
 were joined by M. de Metternich, of whom Cambacgres 
 said, " He is quite ready to be a statesman, he is such 
 a good liar." These three hurried' to give to the sad 
 and lonely Tuileries a young Empress. 
 
 M. de Metternich made known to the Emperor, 
 through the Due de Bassano, that he had addressed 
 the Austrian court and anticipated no refusal. 
 
 In reality the Austrian Emperor feared the dismem- 
 bering of his empire. In giving his daughter to Na- 
 poleon, he would keep war from his land, at least for 
 a time, and in that respite lay safety. 
 
 In February, 1810, Napoleon broke with the Czar, 
 and sent an autograph letter to Francis II. of Austria. 
 
 It was an official request. Berthier, Prince ot Neuf- 
 chatel, was charged to solicit the hand of the Princess 
 Marie-Louise from the court of Vienna. 
 
 Napoleon was in the prime of life and at the pin- 
 nacle of his glory when, the divorce accomplished, he 
 dreamed of wedding Marie-Louise.
 
 352 Padame gm$-<&tnt. 
 
 The idea of- this marriage, the thought of the young 
 girl who was to become his wife occupied him much ; 
 hence his frequent glances into mirrors, and his change 
 of manners. 
 
 The first change wrought by the near approach of 
 his marriage, was the new care given to his toilet. 
 With a view to pleasing Marie-Louise, he sent for the 
 tailor who made Murat's clothes, and ordered a foppish 
 costume, like that worn by the king of Naples. But it 
 did not suit him, and he would not wear it. 
 
 In vain did Le'ger, the tailor, offer to change it, to 
 touch it up — he could not wear this too magnificent 
 costume, and sent it as a gift to his brother-in-law, who 
 was delighted with its splendor. 
 
 But he laid aside his spurred boots, and ordered a 
 pair of dainty shoes from a ladies' shoemaker ; and he 
 sent for Despre"aux and ordered him to teach him to 
 waltz. 
 
 He wanted to open the ball with Marie-Louise, at 
 the marriage feast, and, with a German princess, a 
 waltz was necessary. 
 
 He tramped round the Tuileries with as feverish an 
 anxiety as he had ever shown on the eve of battle. 
 
 On one such occasion he met Lefebvre. 
 
 «' Come, Monsieur le Due de Dantzig," he said gayly, 
 •• I want to talk to you." 
 
 Lefebvre growled between his teeth, " Hum ! he 
 wants to pour into my ears once more the praises of 
 his Austrian. She is perfect — an eighth wonder — there 
 never was so fair a princess. Why doesn't he take
 
 padam* £att0-$m. 353 
 
 Murat or Savary aside for such confidences ? They 
 are of no interest to me." 
 
 Marshal Lefebvre missed Josephine. He hated to 
 see the Emperor placing on the throne of France a 
 Princess of Austria whose alliances had always boded 
 ill to the land which received them. 
 
 Besides, the idea of divorce did not suit him. It 
 seemed like desertion. Having begun life's battle to- 
 gether, two people should not part in the midst of the 
 fray. 
 
 Meantime, the Emperor had taken him into the 
 great salon of the Tuileries where workmen were busy 
 covering the walls with cloth of gold and arranging 
 rich hangings. 
 
 «' Ha ! Marshal, is not this beautiful ? " asked Na- 
 poleon, delightedly. 
 
 • '* Yes, it is magnificent," said Lefebvre. " It must 
 be very expensive." 
 
 " There is nothing too fine nor too costly," said the 
 Emperor, ** for her who is to be Empress." 
 
 In a corner stood a beautiful harp of gilded wood, 
 with a chain of dancing cupids painted on it. 
 
 " The Arch-duchess is a fine musician," said the 
 Emperor, touching the strings of the instrument 
 lightly with his fingers, and producing a plaintive 
 sound. 
 
 He showed Lefebvre the jewels he had secured — ■ 
 jewels such as no queen had ever worn. His own por- 
 trait was set for her in a circle of diamonds. There 
 were necklaces of emeralds, of turquoises, and dia- 
 23
 
 354 Patam* JFatM-titatt. 
 
 monds. Such were the wedding gifts prepared by the 
 Emperor, to which must be added a necklace of dia- 
 monds, the gift of the Royal Treasury, valued at three 
 million three hundred thousand francs. 
 
 The Empress was to have thirty thousand francs a 
 month for personal expenses — a thousand francs a day ! 
 
 " Ah, the Empress should be happy," said he to Le- 
 febvre at parting. 
 
 " Yes, sire ; the more as the Arch-duchess is said to 
 live very plainly at her father's court. She has but a 
 few simple jewels. Why, your victories have reduced 
 Emperor Francis very seriously. But, in her place, 
 all these diamonds, laces, and jewels of great value 
 would seem a trifle beside the glory of being the spouse 
 of the Emperor Napoleon." 
 
 " Flatterer," said the Emperor gayly. 
 
 » I speak just as I think, sire. You know I am like 
 my wife, a little * sans-ggne. 
 
 " As to your wife — I want to talk with you. Dine 
 with me. We can talk at table." 
 
 And he took Lefebvre to the dining-room, a little 
 surprised, and asking himself somewhat uneasily : 
 ♦« What can he want to say about my wife ? Has she 
 fallen out with the Emperor's sisters again ? "
 
 gSttadam* £m$-(&m. 355 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 XOTEBVRE WITHSTANDS NAPOLEON. 
 
 The Emperor's dinner was prepared, and the table 
 rset in a little dining-room which the great man pre- 
 ferred to the large halls. 
 
 The dinner at which Lefebvre found himself so un- 
 expectedly was served simply, but rather more elabo- 
 rately than usual. 
 
 Napoleon was trying to accustom himself to remain- 
 ing long at table. 
 
 It was another sacrifice for the sake of his future 
 bride. 
 
 " The Germans have great appetites and are used to 
 ■sitting long at meals, so I must get used to it, too," he 
 said. 
 
 Lefebvre was a hearty eater, and was glad of this 
 new departure of the Emperor's. 
 
 But his uneasiness marred his appetite. "Why," he 
 thought, " has the Emperor asked me here to talk about 
 my wife ? " 
 
 When the dinner was over and coffee served, Napo- 
 leon asked him, " What, Marshal, do you say, among 
 yourselves, as to my rupture with Josephine ? You 
 surely speak of it ; and I want to know what is thought 
 •of the divorce, and of my new marriage."
 
 356 Padame gmti-i&tnt. 
 
 " Sire, we know naught but what you have told us ; 
 we bow before your will ; we are not in the habit of 
 discussing your orders. Both the divorce and the mar- 
 riage mean to us a new move which you have found it 
 necessary to make. We have no right to object." 
 
 " Ah ! but how do you feel about it ? That is what 
 I want to know ! " 
 
 •' Hum ! It is not interesting nor important," said 
 Lefebvre, hesitating. " Sire, to tell you the truth, we 
 miss the Empress. She was good and amiable, with a 
 gracious word for any who approached her ; besides, 
 we were used to her and she to us. She rose as'we 
 did. We had risen together with you, sire, to our 
 high stations. She never dreamed of reproaching us 
 with our humble birth or our ignorance of polite ways. 
 Oh, I know how we are talked about, especially my 
 dear, good wife and I, in the circle of the Queen of 
 Naples and the Grand Duchess Elisa." 
 
 *' Do not exaggerate the raillery of my sisters. I 
 have already told them that they must not turn to de- 
 rision the brave men who helped me to gain my vic- 
 tories and to establish the throne they consider too 
 much like a family inheritance." 
 
 " The Empress Josephine, sire, never tolerated those 
 unkind jokes and looks which hurt. She always treated 
 us well. We fear that a new sovereign, a princess, 
 brought up at the Austrian court, among proud nobles, 
 having all the prejudices of her caste, will treat us 
 differently. We fear we will be of too humble extrac- 
 tion for so aristocratic a lady. Sire, we are somewhat
 
 gjftadam* £im;9i-<tae. 357 
 
 afraid of your Emperor's daughter. This, sire, is what 
 we say — your marshals, your generals, your compan- 
 ions-in-arms who, as you know, fear not even Jove's 
 thunder." 
 
 " Be at ease, my brave friend. Marie-Louise is 
 very good. Your new Empress cannot but honor 
 heroes like you, Lefebvre, like Ney, Oudinot, Soult, 
 Mortier, Bessieres and Suchet. 
 
 " Your scars are fair blazonries, and your nobility has 
 for its crest, not fantastic griffins, but captured cities, 
 vanquished citadels, standards, and even thrones, 
 which you have won. That modern heraldry Marie- 
 Louise will learn and respect." 
 
 "It is not only we," murmured Lefebvre, "but our 
 wives." 
 
 " Eh ! yes," said Napoleon impatiently, " your sacred 
 wives have not won battles ; they " 
 
 " Sire, they are part of our life — they spurred our 
 courage, inflamed our energies ; they love and admire 
 us, and they are true wives who merit the reward your 
 Majesty and victory bring them," said Lefebvre warmly. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know; but some of these very excellent 
 wives, to whose virtues I pay homage, make neverthe- 
 less peculiar court ladies, strange duchesses. Why, in 
 heaven's name did you so foolishly marry when you 
 were sergeant ? " 
 
 " Sire, if it was a mistake, I, for one, have never 
 regretted it." 
 
 " You are a true and loyal heart, Lefebvre ; I believe 
 your words as I do your deeds ; but you must own that
 
 358 ittadame jfcuuMfcw. 
 
 now, when you are a marshal of the Empire, a great 
 officer of my court, the Duke of Dantzig, your wife, 
 your dear, good wife, is a little out of place. She creates 
 laughter by her provincialisms — her speech is still that 
 of a washer-woman." 
 
 " The Duchess of Dantzig, or rather Madame Le- 
 febvre, sire, loves me ; I love her, and nothing in her 
 manners can make me forget the many happy years 
 we have spent, when, between battles, we could be to- 
 gether." 
 
 " It is too bad that you married in the days of the 
 Revolution, Lefebvre." 
 
 " Sire, it is a fact, nevertheless, and unalterable." 
 
 " You think so ? " said Napoleon, looking fixedly at 
 him. 
 
 The marshal shuddered, frightened all at once, and 
 fearing to read the Emperor's thought. He stam- 
 mered : 
 
 "Catharine and I are united for life." 
 
 "But," said the Emperor quickly, " I, too, was mar- 
 ried to Josephine, and yet " 
 
 "Sire, you were different." 
 
 " Possibly. Really, my dear Lefebvre, have you 
 never considered divorce ? " 
 
 " Never, sire ! " cried the marshal. " I consider a 
 •divorce as a " 
 
 He stopped, lest his words should be construed as a 
 criticism of the Emperor's conduct. 
 
 " Listen," said Napoleon, noticing his embarrass- 
 ment. " Suppose you and your wife separate by com-
 
 Padame £atijS-#etw. 359 
 
 mon consent. Your wife shall have a considerable 
 dowry ; she shall be treated with all regard ; all honor 
 shall be given her in her retreat ; she shall still be 
 called duchess — she will be duchess-dowager — you un- 
 derstand ? " 
 
 Lefebvre had risen, and stood, pale as death, leaning 
 against the chimney. Biting his lips, he continued to 
 listen to the Emperor's proposition. 
 
 The latter went on talking, and walked up and down, 
 his hands crossed behind him, as if dictating orders for 
 a battle. 
 
 " Once the divorce is pronounced, I will find you a 
 ■wife, a woman of the old court, with a title, a name, 
 a lineage. She need not be rich. I will supply you 
 wealth for both. You new nobility must mingle with 
 the old. You who are modern paladins must ally your- 
 selves with the daughters of the heroes of the Crusades. 
 
 " Thus shall we establish, by the fusion of the past and 
 present of France, the society of the future, the new 
 order of a regenerated world. 
 
 " Then there will be no more antagonism between the 
 two aristocracies. Your children will take rank with 
 those of the oldest families of Europe, and within two 
 generations there will exist no traces, no memories, 
 perhaps, of this division between hostile parties. There 
 will be but one France, but one nobility, but one peo- 
 ple ! Oh, divorce is imperative, Lefebvre ! I will try 
 to find you a fitting wife ! " 
 
 " Sire, you may send me to the ends of the earth, to 
 the burning deserts of Africa, to the heart of the frozen
 
 360 Padam* j&attf-flktt*. 
 
 steppes of Siberia; you may dispose of me as you 
 will — say, should you order me to be shot, I would 
 obey. You may also take my rank, which I hold by 
 virtue of my sword, and your kindness ; but you can- 
 not change my love for Catharine, you cannot part me 
 from her, who was my devoted companion in dark days 
 and who, until death part us, is my wife ! No, sire, 
 your power does not go that far, and, though I incur 
 your displeasure, I shall not divorce my wife; and 
 Madame Lefebvre, who is mare'chale and duchess 
 by your desire, shall remain Madame Lefebvre, through 
 mine ! " 
 
 Thus, for the first time, did the Duke of Dantzig 
 brave his Emperor, and resist his will. 
 
 Napoleon watched him narrowly. 
 
 " You are a brave man, a model husband, Monsieur 
 le Due de Dantzig," he said, coldly ; " I do not share 
 your ideas, but I respect your scruples. Why, man, I 
 am no tyrant. We will not speak again of a divorce. 
 Cleave to your wife — only warn her to guard her 
 tongue, and not to introduce into my court, before the 
 Empress, brought up at the imperial palace in Vienna, 
 the language of her class. Go ! Monsieur le Due, I 
 must see the Minister of Police. You may return to 
 your housekeeper ! " 
 
 Lefebvre bowed and withdrew, quite stunned by the 
 audacious proposition of the Emperor. 
 
 As he passed out Napoleon looked after him, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and summed up his opinion of 
 Lefebvre *s resistance to his matrimonial projects, la 
 one word : " Imbecile 1 "
 
 Padam* £nn&-(&ttu. 361 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE FLAMING HEART. 
 
 Lefebvre was very uneasy as to the result of his re- 
 sistance. He did not know how the Emperor would 
 take it. 
 
 He returned home to find Catharine trying on a 
 court-robe, in view of the ceremonies of the approach- 
 ing imperial marriage. 
 
 She dropped everything on seeing her husband, and 
 ran to greet him joyously ; but noticing his disturbed 
 expression she asked, anxiously : " What is it ? Has 
 anything happened to the Emperor ? " 
 
 " No, his Majesty is well — very well." 
 
 " Ah, you lift a weight from my heart ! " 
 
 The possibility of Napoleon's assassination haunted 
 people, and they could imagine no greater catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 "What is it?" Catharine repeated. "You are 
 restless, you are unable to remain quiet. Is it a grave 
 matter ? " 
 
 " Very grave." 
 
 " Have you had a dispute with his Majesty ? " 
 
 " Yes, we had it out. The Emperor wanted me to do 
 something — I refused. I took the offensive — and ** 
 
 " And what ? "
 
 36* Pafame Jtetw-^en*. 
 
 " I fought him. It is dangerous to defy the Emperor, 
 he can revenge himself." 
 
 " True ; but about whom, about what, did you 
 quarrel." 
 
 " About you." 
 
 " About me ! Impossible ! " 
 
 '• It is true. Guess what he wanted me to do with 
 you ? " 
 
 " I do not know ; perhaps to send me to the castle 
 he told us to buy — for which he sent the money — at 
 Dantzig ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is it — in the country — far away. He 
 wants you to live there." 
 
 " Why did you not accept ? I should like to live a 
 little in the country. We can have horses and dogs and 
 a cow. Ah, it would be pleasant ; and besides, dear, I 
 am growing tired of these jays at court who laugh at 
 *is. I do not enjoy the imperial receptions. So, if 
 the Emperor wants us to go out of town, to the 
 country he has given us, let us go at once — there may 
 be peace for a long while — for always, perhaps. Why, 
 my husband, did you not respond to his Majesty's wish? 
 Why did you not say, • Sire, we will go ' ? " 
 
 " Because, my sweet Catharine, when the Emperor 
 spoke of your leaving court and going to the distant 
 castle, he spoke only of you ! " 
 
 "And you ? " 
 
 " I should have to remain with the Emperor." 
 
 " That is another question. Separate us in time of 
 peace ! For what ? It is enough that, when you are
 
 ittadam* £att£-<5*tt*. 363 
 
 at war, I cannot be near you as an aide. But now, 
 when all Europe is at peace. What ails the Emperor ? '* 
 
 " The Emperor wishes, not only to part us, my 
 sweet wife, but can you fancy what he wants me to 
 do?" 
 
 " No ! To take charge of an army ? or perhaps to- 
 act as governor of a great state, — Naples ? Holland ? '" 
 
 " Not that ! He wants me to marry ! " 
 
 Catharine gave a cry. 
 
 " Marry ! You ! Ah ! And I " 
 
 " Divorce." 
 
 " Divorce ! Has he dared to propose that ? Has he 
 dared to speak of such a thing ? How abominable in 
 the Emperor ! What did you say, Lefebvre ? " 
 
 The marshal's answer was to open wide his arms, 
 into which Catharine threw herself. They embraced 
 each other passionately. 
 
 Nothing should part them. In that silent and loving 
 embrace they vowed that so traitorous a thought should 
 never come to them. Each sustained the other be- 
 neath the vague fear of danger from the Emperor. 
 
 At length Catharine disengaged herself and asked t 
 "What did you say to the Emperor ? " 
 
 Lefebvre led his wife to a couch and, seated beside 
 her, looked tenderly into her eyes, took her hand in his, 
 and answered : 
 
 " I told the Emperor that I loved thee, Catharine, 
 and loved but thee. I told him, dear, that we had been 
 happy together ; that we had spent our youth together ; 
 and that we had but one dream, to lead our exist-
 
 364 Padawe £att$-<#m. 
 
 ence to its end, side by side, until such time as a Rus- 
 sian bullet or a Spanish round-shot should send me to 
 join Hoche, Lannes, and the rest of my companions 
 in the wars gone by." 
 
 " You spoke well. Does the Emperor think, because 
 he is divorced, all the world should follow his example ? 
 He had an object — a design. Why did he want your 
 divorce ? " 
 
 " I tell you he wanted me to marry ! " 
 
 "Whom? I want to know. Oh, I am jealous. Tell 
 me whom he proposed." 
 
 " He named no one." 
 
 " Fine ! " 
 
 " He spoke generally. He wants us to imitate him — 
 to use him as a model. He is going to marry an arch- 
 duchess. He wants each of us to marry a noble- 
 woman." 
 
 «« Such an idea ! See, Lefebvre, I do not speak for 
 you, I know your sentiments ; but the other marshals — 
 what will they do with these fine ladies, proud of their 
 ancestors ? Is not Augereau the son of a merchant ? " 
 
 " Ney and Massena are both children of the people 
 like ourselves. It is folly to try to mate them with 
 women who would blush for them, who would laugh 
 at them, and deceive them with men of the old nobility. 
 Lefebvre, I begin to fear our Emperor is mad. Mad 
 on the subject of marriage with an emperor's daughter, 
 a haughty Austrian, to whom he can never be more 
 than a fortunate soldier, such as thou art ! " 
 
 " The Emperor has his reasons."
 
 Patae £m#-(&m. 3 6 S 
 
 •'So have we. You refused definitely ? " 
 
 " Can you doubt it ? " said Lefebvre tenderly, taking 
 her in his arms again. 
 
 Blushing with pleasure, Catharine nestled there. 
 
 " So you are not afraid ? Art sure I will never con- 
 sent to a divorce — to wed another ? " Lefebvre asked, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Are you not mine ? Did you not swear to be mine 
 always ? " 
 
 " Yes, I swore it before a magistrate. It is long 
 since ; but I have not forgotten, my sweet, the oath I 
 took when you became my wife." 
 
 '* Nor I ; and, had you forgotten, you have some- 
 thing to remind you of your promise ! " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " This," said Catharine, taking her husband's wrist ; 
 and, turning back the cuff of his uniform, she pushed 
 back his shirt-sleeve, and displayed, on his bare arm, a 
 heart aflame with this legend, " To Catharine, for 
 life," tattooed in blue marks on the marshal's skin. 
 
 It was the mark he had had placed there when he 
 was married. " His wedding-gift," he had called it. 
 
 " There it is still, the oath," said Catharine, tri- 
 umphantly. "Could you wed an arch-duchess with 
 such an arm ? What would she say, if she saw it ? 
 She would ask who that Catharine was to whom you 
 had sworn fidelity — she would create a scene. Ah, no, 
 my dear old Francois, you could not take back your 
 promise ! " • 
 
 "True — and the other arm would please her no
 
 366 Padame £an$-(&tut. 
 
 better," said Lefebvre, laughing. And he turned back 
 the other cuff, and displayed the tattooing of the loth 
 of August, with the inscription, " Death to the tyrant." 
 
 "See, we belong to each other for life," said Catha- 
 rine, laying her head on Lefebvre 's breast, and resting 
 there happily. 
 
 «• Yes, for life," whispered the marshal. 
 
 "I would the Emperor could surprise us now," said 
 Catharine, softly. 
 
 And husband and wife, more than ever united in 
 mutual caresses, celebrated the victory Lefebvre had 
 gained over Napoleon. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DUCHESS'S NEW HAT. 
 
 " Here is Madame la Duchesse's new hat," said Lise, 
 the maid, opening the door of the room where Catha- 
 rine Lefebvre was moving about before a mirror, trying 
 on a new hunting costume which the tailor had just 
 brought. 
 
 A hunting-party at Compiegne ahd been arranged 
 by the Emperor, for the morrow, and the Duchess of 
 Dantzig had ordered for that occasion a long skirt, a 
 coat with metal buttons, and a cocked hat. 
 
 She had been dissatisfied with the suit, which she 
 found too tight.
 
 gttadam* ^m^(5tm, 367 
 
 " I can't get into it. It will surely burst — and then 
 I shall surely be laughed at," she sighed. " What do 
 I care, anyway," she continued, gayly. " I know them 
 all, those court-moths. If I could only get hold of 
 Queen Caroline, for instance ! I should remind her of 
 her early days. We have sworn respect and obedience 
 to his Majesty — but not to her. Madame Murat did 
 not gain the battle of Austerlitz ! Lise, let me see 
 the hat ! " 
 
 She took it from the maid, and set it on her head, 
 rather far back, and looked at herself. 
 
 " It seems to me pretty bad." 
 
 " I do not find it so, Madame la Duchesse," ventured 
 the maid. 
 
 " You don't know anything, Lise, nor I, for thai 
 matter." 
 
 " Does Madame la Duchesse think it too big ? " 
 
 " No, too small. That man knows but the measure 
 of our head evidently." 
 
 " Does Madame la Duchesse wish me to bring him 
 here ? He is in the ante-chamber." 
 
 " The hatter himself? " 
 
 "No, his clerk." 
 
 " Let him come in." 
 
 And Catharine turned again to the mirror. 
 
 The door opened. Catharine did not leave the glass. 
 She continued to push the hat about on her head 
 impatiently. 
 
 She did not stop to receive the hatter's clerk. 
 
 Suddenly she shrieked.
 
 368 padam* gnn$-(&tM. 
 
 She saw in her glass the face of the clerk Lise had 
 brought in. 
 
 She turned, and, pointing to the door, said to the 
 astonished maid, 
 
 "Go, and quickly." 
 
 "What ails madame to-day," thought Lise, "that 
 the coming of that boy should bother her ? " 
 
 And, closing the door behind her, Lise laughed. 
 
 " Ah, she probably knew him when she was a laun- 
 dress — an old acquaintance of that fair time. Ah, ah, 
 it were droll, indeed, if this clerk who comes to bring 
 madame's hat from Paris, should be more than an ac- 
 quaintance ! " 
 
 While Lise was conjecturing outside, her mistress had 
 gone to the clerk, and, taking his hands in hers, said 
 anxiously, " How do you happen to be atCompiegne ? " 
 
 "I happened to be at your hatter's in Paris. I heard 
 you were to get a hat ! I followed the boy who was 
 sent with it. With the aid of a bribe, I succeeded in 
 getting him to wait, while I delivered it. I came in 
 his place ; and I have carried out my part. Your men 
 ■were well deceived. Your steward overtook me, and 
 offered to pay your bill ; and the valet, and chamber- 
 lain both spoke to me. Oh, I am quite safe." 
 
 " You are not wise. Do you not know you have 
 enemies at court ? " 
 
 " Only one — the Emperor ! ' 
 
 " That is enough. Ah, if they could know that the 
 Count de Neipperg is here ! " 
 
 "They shall not know it," said Neipperg, decidedly.
 
 Padame ^w-tfte. 369 
 
 for it was he, who had braved Napoleon's jealous 
 hatred, and come to see his queen. 
 
 " But there are spies," said Catharine ; " remember 
 that you are watched. The Emperor will surely know. 
 Even the Empress's ladies are questioned. He is 
 jealous, and, if you are found, you will be lost." 
 
 " I shall not stay long. In two days I shall be again 
 on the road to Vienna." 
 
 " Why did you come ? " 
 
 " I had to see the Empress." 
 
 "You cannot. You have no right to trouble her 
 peace, nor to arouse suspicion." 
 
 " But I must see Marie-Louise. I must give her 
 something she once gave me." 
 
 '* A love-token ? " 
 
 " Yes — this ring. She gave it me with a rose when 
 I was ordered back to Austria, whence I had escorted 
 her as Napoleon's bride." 
 
 He kissed the ring. 
 
 "I must return this jewel," he murmured, "though 
 it is more precious to me than all the treasures of 
 earth; more precious than life. But I must." 
 
 "Is it to return that that you have come from Aus- 
 tria, that you would brave the Emperor's anger, and 
 justify his jealousy ? " 
 
 " How could I do otherwise ? Napoleon has found 
 out, probably by some slip of one of her ladies, that the 
 Empress has not the ring. Marie-Louise pretended 
 to have lost it. 
 
 44 Napoleon insisted that she look for, and find it, 
 24
 
 37° Padamc gm$-(&m. 
 
 An entreaty came to me at Vienna. I started. To- 
 night Marie-Louise shall have her ring, and her hus- 
 band's suspicions will vanish." 
 
 " But if you should be seen, what explanation will 
 you give ? " 
 
 «' None. I trust to escape.' 
 
 «« Who will help you to enter the palace ?" 
 
 Neipperg hesitated and looked at Catharine. 
 
 ««I have but one friend ; one true and faithful friend, 
 in France ; you, my dear Duchess. I had hoped you 
 would help me — save me once more, perhaps ! " 
 
 Catharine said, quickly : "No, do not count on me." 
 
 «« Catharine Lefebvre, do you remember the loth of 
 August ? Why did you rescue me, protect me, save me 
 from the guards who were ready to shoot me ? Why, 
 since you will let me perish now ? " 
 
 " This is not the ioth of August, my dear Count," said 
 Catharine, with dignity. " I am la Mare"chale Lefebvre, 
 Duchess of Dantzig, and I owe all to the Emperor. 
 My husband is his faithful subject, his companion in 
 fields of glory, a marshal of his armies, a duke of his 
 empire ; with him he has covered the battle-fields of 
 Europe ; we dare not, the marshal and I, succor an 
 enemy of the Emperor's, though he be a friend of ours, 
 though we owe him an old debt. Remember the ioth 
 of August, but do not forget Jemmapes. Reflect, 
 Monsieur de Neipperg, that which you ask is impos- 
 sible. La Marechale Lefebvre dare not know your 
 errand in France." 
 
 " So you desert me ? "
 
 §tt»ta* £att0-<!!fott*. 371 
 
 •• I advise you to go back to Vienna without seeing 
 the Empress." 
 
 " And this ring ? " 
 
 " I will return it myself, discreetly. Trust it to me — • 
 I promise you." 
 
 And Catharine extended her hand to Neipperg, who 
 imprinted on it a fervent kiss. 
 
 "Thank you," he murmured, " and tell the Empress, 
 too, that though I go away, I shall be ready at the first 
 call, at the first sign. To-day, she is at the summit of 
 power — to-morrow — who knows ? " 
 
 " I shall attend to your commission, Count, but I hope 
 and believe that the Empress will never need to call 
 upon you thus." 
 
 " Who knows ? Madame, your Emperor stands upon 
 quicksand " 
 
 «« Which will not hurt him. The Goddess of Victory 
 watches over him. His throne is surrounded by pros- 
 trate kings " 
 
 " Prostrate kings may rise again, and then revenge 
 themselves for their long servitude ; I know whereof I 
 speak. Let your Emperor beware. A storm is gather- 
 ing whose thunders will soon resound " 
 
 " If the storm threatens, it cannot come from Vienna. 
 Your Emperor is father-in-law to ours." 
 
 " My sovereign has never held as serious his alliance 
 with Napoleon. He sacrificed his daughter to save 
 some of his provinces. While Napoleon is victorious 
 he will be treated as a son by Francis II.; when he 
 rolls in the dust his father-in-law will not hold out to
 
 372 Pata* £ftttjf-<$ent. 
 
 him a helping hand, but a sword, — by the point, too. 
 Francis II. will follow the lead of Russia, Prussia, and 
 England. They are the real allies, the real union. 
 He will never desert them, but will help them to crush 
 Napoleon. So, I pray you, tell the Empress that in the 
 dark days which I foresee, I shall come, ready to give 
 for her my blood, my life ! " 
 
 " You have strange fears, Neipperg. Now go, and 
 do not try to see the Empress." 
 
 " But I promised her father to see her and find out 
 from her if she were happy, if Napoleon were kind to 
 her. He loves his daughter, and sometimes reproaches 
 himself for sacrificing her to his interests." 
 
 " Does Francis II. need so mysterious an ambassa- 
 dor to find out the sentiments of his daughter ? Is not 
 the Empress at liberty to write to her father ? " 
 
 " You forget Savary." 
 
 "Savary ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he has organized a private bureau ; no letter 
 goes to Vienna unopened. The Duke of Rovigo is a 
 past master in the art of fumigating letters, of unsealing 
 them, and re-sealing them. The Emperor of Austria 
 knows it, and has authorized me to ask a private inter- 
 view of her majesty. That is why I shall go, undis- 
 guised, to the palace." 
 
 " Neipperg, be reasonable ; do not be reckless ; do 
 not compromise the Empress." 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " Promise me to go away at once without seeing hel 
 Majesty."
 
 Padam* gm$-(Btut. 373 
 
 He hesitated, and Catharine insisted. 
 
 - Who would help you to see her Majesty ? " 
 
 " Madame de Montebello." 
 
 " The lady of honor ! Ah, my dear Count, do you- 
 know since General Ordener became ill, Lefebvre has 
 been given orders to act as grand marshal of the palace. 
 He is responsible for the entry there of any outsider.. 
 Oh, Neipperg, do not place Lefebvre between his 
 friendship for you and his duty to his Emperor." 
 
 " Would Lefebvre let them shoot me ? " 
 
 " If the Emperor commanded it — if you were found 
 here, yes ! Go, then, I implore you, in the name of our 
 old friendship, in the name of Henriot, your son, to> 
 whom the Emperor has been kind, and whose career 
 you may ruin, for whom you may spoil all the future 
 by a hopeless, mad interview of a moment. Go ! " 
 
 '« I have heard you. And as for Lefebvre, and I will 
 not tax him so far. I have decided — I will go." 
 
 " At once ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Neipperg, slowly and hesitatingly, like a 
 man who seeks to deceive ; " a coach waits for me on 
 the Soissons road ; I will go and find the clerk whose 
 place I took and send him back to Paris, and I will 
 take the road toward Germany. Farewell — you wilt 
 give the ring back to her Majesty, and tell her " 
 
 Some one knocked, and Lise entered. 
 
 " What is it ? Why do you disturb me ? " Cath- 
 arine asked quickly. 
 
 '* It is M. de Remusat, his Majesty's chamber.'^in, wha 
 wants to see Madame la Duchesse."
 
 374 £tt»&im* jfeitf-tiitatt. 
 
 '* A chamberlain ? Oh, yes, I know," said Catharine, 
 under her breath. " Probably about a scrap I had 
 with the Emperor's sisters. I spoke freely to them. 
 They complained, and the Emperor probably wants me 
 to explain. Go — tell M. de Remusat to enter ! " she 
 said to Lise, who tried hard to hear what her mistress 
 had to say to the clerk. 
 
 " Farewell, sir," softly. 
 
 " So madame is satisfied with the hat ? " asked the 
 apparent clerk, loudly. 
 
 " Quite so, you may present my compliments to your 
 chief." 
 
 And the Duchess of Dantzig threw herself into a 
 chair to receive with becoming dignity the Emperor's 
 chamberlain. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE FAITH OF THE LAUNDRESS. 
 
 Monsieur de Remusat's order was very formal : 
 
 •« The Emperor wanted the Duchess of Dantzig to ap- 
 pear at once in his study." 
 
 M. de Remusat being gone, Catharine hastened to 
 dress, and throwing on a cloak started to present her- 
 self. 
 
 The Emperor was busy delivering orders to his of- 
 ficials. He signed the papers before him feverishly, 
 nervously. 
 
 He read, with a fierce expression, the paragraphs in
 
 Pa&itttt gm$-(&tm. 375 
 
 foreign journals, which contained scandalous tales of 
 himself and his sisters. 
 
 One in particular irritated him. It told that M. de 
 Neipperg, the Empress's guard, had been disgraced 
 and sent back to her father ; and that, so it insinuated, 
 since the departure of her knightly servitor, Marie- 
 Louise had languished in despair, owing to Napoleon's 
 jealousy. 
 
 Added to this, he had heard a quarrel between his 
 sisters, Elisa being ever more and more jealous of the 
 fact that Caroline was a queen. They had begun in 
 French and ended in the Corsican patois of their 
 earlier days. He had tried in vain to quiet them. 
 
 So the Mare"chale Lefebvre, against whom these two 
 had complained loudly, came at an ill moment. 
 
 As a last resource, as a supreme defence, she had, 
 before starting out, taken from among her jewels an 
 old, time-yellowed paper. She slipped it inside her 
 dress, after regarding it tenderly for a moment, as a 
 witness of the past ; and calmly went down the palace 
 halls, to the door of the Emperor's private study. 
 
 Roustan, the faithful servant, was on duty. 
 
 An aide-de-camp announced the Duchess of Dantzig, 
 and retired. 
 
 Catharine entered, bowed, and waited. 
 
 It was so quiet that one could distinctly hear the 
 clock ticking on the mantel-shelf, 
 
 Suddenly the Emperor looked up. 
 
 " Ah — are you there, Madame la Mar6chale ? I have 
 heard fine tales of you — what was the last one ? Al- 
 ways violent language, crude expressions, such as
 
 376 gftadaw* £a»0-<Ektte. 
 
 make the journalists ail over Europe laugh at my 
 court ! You are, I know, unable to use the language 
 of courts — you never learned it — I do not blame you 
 for your ignorance. I am only sorry that Lefebvre 
 married while he was still a sergeant." 
 
 Napoleon stopped, went over to the table where the 
 coffee stood and took up a cupful. 
 
 Then turning to Catharine who stood, calm, im- 
 movable, he continued : " Your remaining at court is 
 become impossible. You must leave — your pension 
 shall be secured you — and in such a way that you will 
 not need to complain of your fortune. Your divorce 
 will not alter your title nor your privileges. I told 
 Lefebvre all about it — did he speak to you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sire — he told me all ? " 
 
 " What did you say ? " 
 
 •* I laughed at him." 
 
 The Emperor in his surprise let go of his cup which 
 fell with a metallic ring, into its silver saucer. 
 
 " What ? What did Lefebvre say, what did he do ? ** 
 
 " He kissed me and vowed he would not obey you." 
 
 " This is too much ! Do you dare to speak thus to 
 me, your Emperor, your master ? " 
 
 " Sire, it is true : you are our master, our Emperor," 
 answered Catharine firmly ; " you can dispose of all 
 our goods, of our existence ; Lefebvre and I owe you 
 everything. You are the Emperor, and, with a sign, a 
 simple move of your hand, send to the Danube or the 
 Vistula five hundred thousand men who will be happy 
 to die for you. But you cannot make us two cease 
 loving each other : you cannot part us. There your
 
 Padame Jto-CSent. 377 
 
 power stops. If you thought to conquer here, you 
 were mistaken." 
 
 "You think so ? What say you to the tales I have 
 heard ? Did you not insult the Queen of Naples, and 
 my sister Elisa ? You do not respect your Emperor 
 in the persons of his family. Can I tolerate such public 
 impertinence ? " 
 
 "Sire, you were misinformed. I only defended my. 
 self. I insulted no one. Your Majesty's sisters insulted 
 the army ! " 
 
 " Insulted the army ? he cried, rising from his 
 chair ; what do you mean ? Who insulted the army ? " 
 
 " Sire, your sisters outraged the army in my person,'" 
 Catharine answered proudly with a military salute. 
 
 " Explain yourself." 
 
 " Sire, your Majesty's sisters reproached me with 
 having been among the heroic soldiers of Sambre-et- 
 Meuse whose glory may have been equalled, but can- 
 not be surpassed." 
 
 " True ! But how were you among them ? " 
 
 "As cantiniSre of the old 13th. I went with 
 Lefebvre." 
 
 " So you have fought ? " asked Napoleon interested. 
 
 " Yes, sire, — at Verdun, Jemmapes, Altenkirchen — - 
 I was in the Army of the North, the Army of the Mozelle,. 
 the Army of the Rhine, the Army of Sambre-et-Meuse,. 
 — eighteen battles." 
 
 " You have done well, very well," said he. " Lefebvre 
 never told me all this ! " 
 
 "Why should he, sire? He had honor and glory 
 enough for two. It is only this occasion which makes
 
 37 8 Padam* £&w-(Btm. 
 
 me mention it. Otherwise I should not have mentioned 
 it It's like my wound." 
 
 " You were wounded ? 
 
 " A bayonet cut — at Fleurus — in my arm." 
 
 " Permit me, madame, to touch that fair wound," 
 and Napoleon gallantly took her hand and kissed the 
 scar left by the Austrian's bayonet. When he at- 
 tempted to do so a second time, she stopped him. 
 
 " Do you remember my visit to you long, long ago ?' 
 "It was the ioth of August. I came that morning to 
 your little room in the Hotel de Maureaud." 
 
 " What were you doing there ? " he asked, more and 
 more interested in the Duchess of Dantzig. 
 
 " I came to bring you your washing — you needed 
 the things." 
 
 Napoleon looked at her closely. He asked curiously — 
 "You were then " 
 
 " A laundress. Yes, sire — that is what your sisters 
 cast in my teeth." 
 
 " Laundress ! laundress ! " repeated Napoleon. " You 
 have done many things in your day ; you were a 
 laundress as well as a cantiniere ?" 
 
 " Sire, one earns an honest living as one can. One 
 does not count the means if the work is good with bad 
 debts. Do you believe there is a soldier in your palace 
 who owes me a bill since then ? " 
 
 " Do you expect me to pay you ? " 
 
 " I count on your Majesty." 
 
 " You are mad." 
 
 " I ask only my due. Then, my creditor was poor — 
 n«w, he is rich," she said, laughing.
 
 Hftadame gm$-(&tnt. 379 
 
 And she drew forth the yellow paper, saying : 
 
 " See, he cannot deny his debt. Here is the letter 
 in which he owns his debt, and prays me to wait a 
 little. Look ! See what he wrote — ' I cannot pay you 
 now — my pay is insufficient for my needs, and to as- 
 sist my mother, my brothers, and sisters, who have fled 
 from the trouble in Corsica, and are in Marseilles. 
 When I am once more in commission as an artillery 
 captain ' " 
 
 Napoleon rushed toward her, took the letter and 
 said, huskily: " Yes, that was I. Ah, how that crumpled 
 paper, that faded ink bring back my youth ! Then, I 
 was poor, unknown, devoured by ambition, uneasy for 
 my family, preoccupied by the fate of my country. I 
 was alone, without friends, without credit, with none 
 to believe in me — yet you believed ; you, a simple 
 laundress. Ah, I remember now ; you were kind, 
 you were clever, too ; you, alone, perhaps, in that day, 
 could see the future, and know that the little officer 
 would rise above the little room whither you carried 
 his washing and left it — in pity for his loneliness and 
 his poverty. The Emperor will not forget again." 
 
 Napoleon was moved. All his anger was gone. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " I see you again in your room in the 
 Rue des Orties. I seem to be there — your bedroom 
 door was at the left — on the right, the street door. 
 What was your name before you were married ? " 
 
 "Catharine — Catharine Upscher." 
 
 " Had you no other name — no nickname ?" 
 
 «• Yes, they called me la Sans-Gene."
 
 3 8 ° Padam* £m$-(&m. 
 
 "I have it. You have kept that name, too, at court.* 
 
 " Ay ; and on the battle-held, sire." 
 
 "True," said the Emperor, smiling. "You did 
 well to defend your cantiniere's short skirts against 
 the insolence of court nobles : but avoid scenes which 
 are disagreeable to me. Be at the chase to-morrow, 
 Catharine Sans-G6ne, which I hold in honor of the 
 Prince of Bavaria. Before all the court,, before my 
 sisters, I will speak to you in such fashion that none 
 will dare reproach you with your humble origin, and 
 the poor youth you shared with Murat, with Ney — ay, 
 with me ! But before we part, how much do I owe 
 you, Madame Sans-G6ne ? " 
 
 He felt in his pockets gayly. 
 
 " Three napoleons, sire." 
 
 She held out her hand. 
 
 "Faith," he said, " I haven't them." 
 
 " Never mind, sire, I'll trust you again." 
 
 " Thanks. Now, come, it is late : you must get home. 
 Why, it is eleven o'clock, and all the palace is asleep. 
 We should both be a-bed. I shall send Roustan with 
 you." 
 
 " Sire, I am not afraid. Besides, who could enter the 
 palace by night ? " said the duchess calmly. 
 
 " None — yet through these empty halls some one 
 must light your way." 
 
 He called softly, '* Roustan." 
 
 The inner door opened, and Roustan appeared. 
 
 " Take Madame la Mare"chale to her apartments at 
 the other end of the palace," said the Emperor. " Take 
 a light"
 
 padame gm\$-(&tnt. 381 
 
 Roustan bowed, lighted a candle, and opened the 
 door leading to a long gallery. 
 
 He started ahead of the mardchale, then, turning, he 
 said with an Oriental coolness, and with an expression 
 of gravity that made Catharine shudder, 
 
 " Sire, there's some one in the gallery ! A man in 
 -white uniform ! He is going toward the Empress's 
 apartments ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 NAPOLEON'S MAMELUKES. 
 
 NAPOLEON had become terribly pale on hearing 
 Roustan 's cry, that a man was going toward the Em- 
 press's apartments. 
 
 " A white uniform," the Mameluke had said. 
 
 Who, wearing an Austrian uniform, could enter the 
 palace by night, like a thief, and penetrate that portion 
 closed to all ? No one but the audacious courtier he 
 had sent back ! 
 
 Thus Neipperg's name came into the Emperor's 
 mind. But he reflected for a moment. 
 
 " How absurd ! Neipperg is at Vienna. I am un- 
 necessarily alarmed. Ah, am I grown foolish, to think 
 even of that Austrian ! No, the white coat Roustan 
 saw is doubtless some assassin, who thought to strike 
 me in my sleep : but I am awake, and he will be caught." 
 
 So with the rapidity which characterized him on the 
 battle-field, he signed to Roustan to put out the light
 
 382 Padam* £m#-(&tu. 
 
 and get behind the door, ready to come when called. 
 He then put out his study lights. 
 
 The imperial study was dark. The dying embers 
 on the hearth lent a faint red glow, showing the door 
 to the gallery. 
 
 The Emperor crept to the duchess's side, took her 
 hand, pressed it hard, and whispered, " Hush ! " 
 
 Catharine trembled, and the secret she divined seemed 
 about to escape her lips. 
 
 She was sure Neipperg was the man whom Roustan 
 had seen. 
 
 " Poor fellow, he didn't keep his promise ! " she 
 thought, sadly. "He came here to the Empress ; he is 
 doomed. What shall I do ? " 
 
 She was quite at a loss. 
 
 She must wait the result of events. 
 
 All her blood, flooding her heart and choking it, it 
 seemed, she sank upon a couch, against which Napoleon 
 once more master of himself, leaned, watching the 
 door. 
 
 A soft step was heard, and a light sound on the floor. 
 
 The door opened, and a woman's form was seen. 
 
 " Madame de Montebello," murmured Catharine, 
 recognizing the lady of honor. 
 
 Napoleon pressed her hand hard, for he feared she 
 would make a sound. 
 
 The presence of the lady of honor, who seemed to 
 be conducting some one, aroused all his suspicions. 
 
 He followed, with an eye filled with rage, the slow 
 •and circumspect movements of Madame de Montebello,
 
 IMame gzn$-(&tnt. 3 8 3 
 
 who came to assure herself that neither the Emperor 
 nor any one else was awake there. 
 
 He saw her go away and open the door to gain, no 
 doubt, the Empress's apartments. 
 
 Then he rose and moved forward. 
 
 As he crossed the threshold, he stumbled against a 
 man who said to him, " Duchess, may I pass ? " 
 
 But Napoleon grasped him rudely, dragged him into 
 the room, and cried, " Roustan ! ** 
 
 The Mameluke came, light in hand. 
 
 " Neipperg ! It is he," cried Napoleon, enraged, 
 recognizing the man he held. 
 
 A woman's cry answered the Emperor's exclama- 
 tion. 
 
 Madame de Montebello, surprised at the moment 
 she was about to open the Empress's door, revealed her 
 presence thus. 
 
 In his anger, Napoleon had forgotten her. 
 
 " Roustan, hold that woman," he said, pointing to 
 her, " and come again when I call you." 
 
 The man captured Madame de Montebello. 
 
 «* Now, sir," said Napoleon to Neipperg, to whom 
 Catharine had looked pityingly and hopelessly. 
 " what are you doing in my palace ? It is night — 
 you come like a thief. I thought you were in Vienna. 
 How come you here ? Answer me, sir," said Napoleon, 
 huskily, trying to control himself. 
 
 Neipperg, pale but calm, answered : ** Sire, I had 
 left Vienna ! " 
 
 " Why ? "
 
 384 Padam* £att*-<#*tt*. 
 
 " On my sovereign's order." 
 
 «' To what end ? " 
 
 " To carry a confidential message to her Majesty, 
 the Empress. She is my queen." 
 
 " Ah — you come on a midnight embassy ? You are 
 laughing at me, Monsieur Envoy ! " 
 
 «« Your Majesty had sent me away ; the entry by day 
 was impossible, so I had to come at a lonely hour." 
 
 " It is past midnight — scarce an hour to present 
 letters." 
 
 " It is the hour my sovereign indicated." 
 
 " The Empress gave you a right to come to her at 
 midnight — in her chamber ? " 
 
 " At midnight her Majesty was to give me an 
 answer I asked of her in the name of the Emperor, my 
 master." 
 
 " The Empress could not have made any such en- 
 gagement. You lie, sir ! " 
 
 Neipperg trembled at the insult. 
 
 " Sire," he said, between his teeth, " I am an Aus- 
 trian general, I have the rank of a minister plenipoten- 
 tiary ; I am here to represent my sovereign to an Aus- 
 trian arch-duchess. You insult me — in your palace, 
 where I cannot answer you. To do this where I cannot 
 demand my due is cowardice, sire ! " 
 
 "Wretch," cried the Emperor, beside himself at the 
 audacious impertinence'of this man who tried to brave 
 him, in his own hall, after trying to steal an interview 
 with his wife. 
 
 Beyond all restraint Napoleon raised his hand to
 
 Padame jftraff-tftnt. 385 
 
 Neipperg's breast, and said, «« You came by night, like 
 an assassin, to my house ; you are unworthy the noble 
 emblems of your rank." 
 
 With an impulsive movement he snatched the orders 
 from Neipperg's uniform. 
 
 Exasperated, Neipperg cried, " Ah, death to you J ' 
 and drew his sword. 
 
 Catharine threw herself between them. 
 
 •* Roustan, come," cried the Emperor, who was 
 defenceless. 
 
 In the twinkling of an eye the door opened and 
 Roustan fell upon Neipperg, flung him to the ground, 
 disarmed him, and gave a peculiar whistle. 
 
 Three other Mamelukes, placed under his orders to 
 guard Napoleon's person, came and helped him to 
 secure Neipperg. 
 
 Catharine had gone to the Emperor. 
 
 " Grace, sire ! be lenient," she begged. 
 
 But Napoleon, pushing her aside, went to the door 
 and called, " Monsieur de Lauriston ! Monsieur de 
 Brigode ! Monsieur de Remusat I Come here, all of 
 you!" 
 
 Instantly, the chamberlain, the aides, all who were 
 within call, came running. 
 
 «• Gentlemen, here is a man who raised his sword 
 against me. M. de Brigode, take his sword. M. de 
 Lauriston, secure his person ! " 
 
 The Mamelukes helped Neipperg to rise. 
 
 M. de Brigode took his sword ; M. de Lauriston laid 
 his hand on the shoulder of the count, who stood like 
 marble. He said : " la the name of the Emperor, sir,
 
 386 Padam* £att;ei-<$m. 
 
 I arrest you." And to Napoleon, "Where shall I take 
 the prisoner ? " 
 
 The Emperor answered, M Guard Monsieur de Neip- 
 perg in your own room. Let some one summon the 
 Duke de Rovigo. We must take measures for an im- 
 mediate court-martial, to establish the identity of the 
 culprit, and, after his flagrant attempt upon my person, 
 to read his sentence. At daybreak all must be over." 
 
 And while Neipperg was being conducted to the 
 aides' quarters, Napoleon turned, pale and anguished, 
 toward his own room, leaving all those who had been 
 spectators of this tragic scene. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE DEBT OF THE CANTINIERE. 
 
 The duchess had remained as if stunned on hearing 
 the terrible words of Napoleon. 
 
 She sought vainly a means of saving Neipperg. 
 
 To think of interceding for him with the Emperor 
 would have been folly. Neipperg was condemned. 
 Nothing could change Napoleon's vengeance. The 
 all-powerful sovereign would punish the husband's 
 wrong. 
 
 She went over a score of plans, each more impossi- 
 ble, more impracticable than the rest. Suddenly 
 Lefebvre entered.
 
 Padam* £m$-(&tm> 387 
 
 He was in full uniform, and looked anxious and 
 grieved over Neipperg's arrest, of which an aide-de- 
 camp had told him. 
 
 " Ah," said his wife, *' you know " 
 
 " Everything, alas ! The unfortunate man has sac- 
 rificed himself." 
 
 " Is there no way of softening the Emperor, of obtain- 
 ing grace ? " 
 
 " None. The Emperor has sent for me. As marshal 
 of the palace, the sad lot falls to me to preside at the 
 court-martial which is to judge that unfortunate man." 
 
 " And you will obey ? " 
 
 " Can I disobey the Emperor ? " 
 
 " You know how the Count de Neipperg saved my 
 life at Jemmapes. They would have shot me like a 
 dog ; but for him, I should not be here." 
 
 "Yes, we owe him a great debt," said Lefebvre, in 
 a sad tone ; "and, then, you saved his life on the ioth 
 of August — and yet, O God, I can do nothing for him ; 
 my duty stands between. Oh, there come times when 
 duty is hard, and when one questions the justice of 
 discipline and obedience. Still, I shall execute the 
 Emperor's orders, but he ought to give this one to 
 some one else." 
 
 " I am not marshal of the palace. I have no duty to 
 fulfil — no orders to execute. I am a woman. I pity 
 him. We spoke of a debt. The cantiniere con- 
 tracted it ; the duchess will pay it. Let me go." 
 
 " What will you do ? " 
 
 •« The impossible ! Who, Lefebvre, can get audience 
 of the Empress ? **
 
 388 Padam* ^attf-Gka*. 
 
 •« Now ? No one." 
 
 •• No means of passing a single word, of recommend- 
 ing prudence, of letting her know " 
 
 •• No, I only may approach her door to see that the 
 sentinels are at their posts." 
 
 "You? Why," said Catharine, joyously, •• there is 
 still a saving clause. Lefebvre, will you help me ? " 
 
 " How ? I do not understand. You know in such 
 a time as this I need things explained." 
 
 " Listen. Try to place yourself very near the Em- 
 press's sleeping apartment." 
 
 " That is easily done." 
 
 " Make a sound to awake her. See that she recog- 
 nizes your voice. The presence of a marshal at her 
 door at night will arouse her. She will want to know 
 the cause of this tumult. She will be uneasy when she 
 misses her lady-in-waiting. Do you see ? " 
 
 " A little. When I have made this stir, what then ? '* 
 
 " You must say loudly to the sentinels, ' Be careful 
 that no one enters the Empress's room. Seize any one 
 who is found with a letter, though it be for the Emperor 
 of Austria.' You must say very loudly the name of the 
 « Emperor of Austria.' Do you see ? " 
 
 " Not quite — go on." 
 
 " No ; only go, and go quickly." 
 
 Lefebvre went, thinking of his wife's order, " Above 
 all say loudly the name of the Emperor of Aus- 
 tria ! " 
 
 While Lefebvre went off, his wife sought for help and 
 advice near by. 
 
 There was no one who cared for the prisoner's fate.
 
 padam* £atti$-$*tt*. 3 8 9 
 
 M. de Lauriston came from the Emperor and asked 
 for the Due de Rovigo. 
 
 " Where is the minister of police ? Why is he not 
 here ? He doesn't even know what is going on ! " 
 
 " The present minister of police knows absolutely 
 nothing," said a high, sarcastic voice. 
 
 " Monsieur Fouche" ! Heaven sent you," said Cath- 
 arine, running up to him. 
 
 " Most men think me damned, and now I am told I 
 am sent from above ! " said the former minister of 
 police, with his foxy face and his pale, smooth cheek. 
 " What can I do for you ? " 
 
 " You can do me a great service." 
 
 '* What ? You know I am always your friend. We 
 are old acquaintances ; you knew me when I fought on 
 the streets of Paris with no fortune but my Revolution- 
 ary ardor ; you were then a laundress — now you are 
 duchess." 
 
 " And, as was foretold, you have been minister of 
 police." 
 
 " Have been ! and shall be again ! " said Fouch6, 
 with one of his strange smiles. " But what can I do 
 for you, my dear Duchess ? " 
 
 " You know what has happened to M. de Neipperg ? " 
 
 " Yes, they are waiting for M. de Savary to see that 
 he is shot." 
 
 " He must not die. You are now Duke of Otranto ; 
 I count on your help to save him." 
 
 " Mine ? Pray, why ? M. de Neipperg is an Aus- 
 trian, an avowed enemy of the Emperor's ; he is neither 
 friend nor relative of mine ; I do not see why I should
 
 39° iftaflame gm$-(&mt. 
 
 concern myself in the matter, in the case of a man who 
 cast himself into the arms of Mamelukes instead of those 
 of a pretty woman ! " 
 
 " My dear Fouche", do not be heartless." 
 
 "Show me- why I should take an interest in Neip- 
 perg, and I will place what ability I possess at your 
 disposal. I had thought, I own, to do something for 
 him, but how can I ? " 
 
 The sudden arrest of Neipperg had, in fact, ruined 
 some of Fouche"'s plans, for the latter knew all his affairs 
 and would, according to circumstances, have delivered 
 him over to Napoleon or let him escape. 
 
 So he was put out. He had tracked Neipperg long 
 and steadily, only to have Roustan catch him ! 
 
 The duchess's words gave him some hope. 
 
 "What interest, my dear Duchess," he asked, with 
 an insinuating smile, " have you in the fate of M. de 
 Neipperg ? " 
 
 " A considerable interest. You wish to be once 
 more minister of police ? " 
 
 " Yes, for the good of the State and the safety of the 
 Emperor simply," said he, modestly. 
 
 " Here is your chance. Save M. de Neipperg." 
 
 " And expose myself to the chances of being exiled 
 by His Majesty ? " 
 
 " Not at all. Listen. Since there is not the shadow 
 of an intrigue between the Empress and Monsieur de 
 Neipperg " 
 
 " Oh, not the least ! You are sure ? " 
 
 " Quite. M. de Neipperg can prove his innocence. 
 But not alone ! **
 
 Padam* gm$-(&tM. 391 
 
 •With whose help'?" 
 
 " The Empress's." 
 
 «' True. She is the interested party. But how " 
 
 " If you will delay the convening of the court-martial 
 to decide the execution — to keep Savary away — to give 
 the Empress time to interfere — then our man is saved." 
 
 «• Ah ! " 
 
 " The Empress, knowing that through you the execu- 
 tion was delayed, and being angry with Savary, will 
 prevail upon the Emperor to reinstate you. She will 
 praise your ability, protest against the injustice of your 
 removal, and make her august spouse put you again at 
 the head of his police ministry." 
 
 " Duchess, I am convinced. I will try to save him. 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " I will see the Emperor at once." 
 
 Just then Constant, the Emperor's valet, came 
 out. 
 
 "Will you tell the Emperor I am here, my good Con- 
 stant ; I wish to speak with him ? " 
 
 Constant bowed and withdrew. 
 
 " What will you say ? " asked Catharine. 
 
 " I will show His Majesty that it is impossible to 
 deliver an order of execution at once without regular 
 proceedings, without judgment, upon a man found by 
 night in the palace ; that he will be ridiculed ; that he 
 will compromise the Empress, irritate the Austrian 
 court, and, at the same time, justify all the scandalous 
 tales afloat concerning an intimacy between M. de 
 Neipperg and Marie-Louise." 
 
 * Ah, here comes Constant."
 
 392 Padame £att0-<$*tw. 
 
 «• Will his Majesty see me ? " • 
 
 " His Majesty will receive the Duke of Otranto ; but 
 only after he has seen M. le Due de Rovigo." 
 
 " Is that all his Majesty said ?" 
 
 " His Majesty added, ' I cannot receive the Duke of 
 Otranto now ; I must first settle with M. de Neipperg.' 
 So, monsieur, you must wait. Ah, here comes M. de 
 Rovigo. I must announce him." 
 
 Savary had come, rather out of breath. 
 
 «' Ah ! What has happened ? Do you know why the 
 Emperor has sent for me in the middle of the night, 
 you who pretend to know everything ? " he said to his 
 predecessor. And, he added scornfully, "I presume it 
 is to you I owe this call. You have again given his 
 Majesty a notion of a military conspiracy ! " 
 
 " Not at all," said Fouche", in his most indifferent 
 tone. "Itis about M. de Neipperg, the former courtier." 
 
 " M. de Neipperg ? Why, he is peacefully sleeping 
 on his estates near Vienna. He hunts, he fishes, he 
 plays the flute. I have just received a most detailed 
 report. He is seen only near Vienna." 
 
 " My dear successor, tell that to the Emperor, and 
 he will congratulate you on your accurate information." 
 
 " Oh, that is nothing. I shall simply tell him M. de 
 Neipperg is at Vienna, to stay there ! " 
 
 And Savary entered proudly into the Emperor's apart- 
 ments. 
 
 " Neipperg knows your writing, does he not. 
 Duchess ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, since Savary is here we must work rapidly
 
 Padam* $m$-(&tnt, 393 
 
 Write as I dictate," and he handed her pen and 
 paper. She wrote, not without an effort, two lines, 
 ordering Neipperg to feign sleep, and then to get out 
 of a window which would be noiselessly opened for 
 him while the guards were drawn aside. 
 
 " Send this note to him," said Fouche" to Catharine, 
 " and say it is sent so he may write to his mother be- 
 fore he dies." 
 
 Catharine sent the paper and ink, and M. de Lauris- 
 ton undertook her mission. He returned empty-handed. 
 It was done — and none who had charge of Neipperg 
 knew what had been sent him. 
 
 " I must leave you a moment, my dear Duchess, '* 
 said Fouche", " I must post some of my men below the 
 window, to receive our prisoner. You, Madame la 
 Mare"chale, must try to attract the attention of M. de 
 Brigode, who, through an open door, watches Neip- 
 perg. Your protege" must get a chance to go to the 
 window and leave his coat, as if he were sleeping 
 under it. Good-bye, and do not despair ! " 
 
 Fouche" slipped out. Like a shadow, he glided 
 among the officers and was gone. 
 
 Catharine, taking courage, called loudly : " M. de 
 Brigode, will you kindly ask the Emperor if I may 
 retire, or if I am to wait here ? " 
 
 "The Emperor wants to see you, madame," said 
 Napoleon's voice, behind her. 
 
 "Sire, I obey orders," said Catharine, trembling. 
 
 The Emperor's entry presaged no good. Would he 
 hasten the execution ? Savary was there I Would the 
 prisoner have .time to escape ?
 
 394 PadHtne gM$-(Btnt. 
 
 All these anxious thoughts tortured her. 
 
 «' For once, you understand," said Napoleon, rudely 
 to Savary ; " try to be less incapable than usual. Go ! " 
 
 *' Sire," answered the Duke de Rovigo, bowing, *' in 
 three hours, at sunrise, the condemned will be no more, 
 and no trace will be left of the place where his guilty 
 body is laid." 
 
 And the minister of police took his departure. " 
 
 «« Now, madame," said the Emperor to Catharine, 
 we too have an account to settle ; or rather we three, 
 for I shall send for Madame de Montebello." He had 
 that lady brought to him. " Now leave us," he said. 
 
 He plied both ladies with questions. He wanted to 
 extract a confession, a revelation. Madame de Monte- 
 bello had brought Neipperg in, and guided him toward 
 Marie-Louise's room ; Mar^chale Lefebvre had known 
 him ; during his sojourn in France Neipperg had often 
 been at the Lefebvres' — an intrigue with the mar^chale 
 had even been hinted at. 
 
 Holding them with his piercing eye, Napoleon 
 ordered them to hide nothing of the truth, however 
 dreadful. 
 
 He must know if Marie-Louise were true or false, no 
 matter how much it would hurt ! 
 
 He almost feared to know the truth ; and yet doubt 
 was worse. He would gladly have said : "My crown, 
 my sceptre, my empire, for a word, an indication, a 
 proof ! " 
 
 In his great mind, now so troubled, so dejected, a 
 thousand confused thoughts arose. He made scores 
 of conjectures.
 
 Padame £8tt0-<3«n«. 395 
 
 With the tenacity of an officer of the Spanish Inquisi- 
 tion, he plied the two women with questions, fixing 
 upon them his burning eye, losing no movement of face 
 or figure, seeking to read their conscience, and their 
 innermost thoughts. 
 
 By their firmness, they succeeded in allaying some 
 of his suspicions. 
 
 His voice grew softer, his eye less stern, less cruel. 
 
 " So you think, Madame, the Duchess of Dantzig, that 
 I am deceived in my opinion of the object of M. de Neip- 
 perg's visit here-to-night ? " he said, in a less irritated 
 tone. " You really think Madame de Montebello told 
 the truth, when she said that it was only about a letter 
 to be sent, confidentially, through M. de Neipperg, to 
 my father-in-law ? " 
 
 "Sire, I am persuaded that such is the truth, and 
 the whole truth," said Catharine, firmly. 
 
 "Oh, would it were the truth!" murmured Napo- 
 leon, wistfully. 
 
 " But, sire, you can verify Madame de Montebello's 
 statement," said Catharine, to whom a bold idea had 
 come, which might persuade the Emperor. 
 
 " Tell me how ! " 
 
 " Her Majesty is asleep — she knows nothing of what 
 is going on in the palace." 
 
 "True — silence has been enjoined — the sentinels are 
 forbidden to speak with her or her women." 
 
 " Then, sire, act as though you knew nothing. Let 
 Madame de Montebello finish, under your own eyes, 
 her interrupted mission, and you will see for yourself! "
 
 396 PKdame Jtetuei-ta*. 
 
 " By Heaven, you are sensible, madame. I will try 
 your experiment at once." Only he added, severely, 
 taking Madame de Montebello by the arm, " do not 
 you play with me ! Not a word, not a sign to warn 
 the Empress. Forward ! Remember, I am behind 
 you ! " 
 
 So the lady-in-waiting started toward the Empress's 
 apartments, her knees shaking, her body trembling con- 
 vulsively, for she did not know that the Empress had 
 been warned by Lefebvre's loud words to the sentinel, 
 in regard to intercepting her letter and sending it to 
 the Emperor. 
 
 Napoleon stood, burning, in a corner, his hands 
 clenched, grasping the arm of a chair, listening, look- 
 ing, with head thrown forward, eyes bright, and every 
 nerve tingling. 
 
 Madame de Montebello, meantime, had entered the 
 Empress's room, and, leaving the door open, on the 
 Emperor's orders, said, distinctly : 
 
 " Madame, M. de Neipperg sends me to ask your 
 answer — he is in the ante-chamber — what shall I say 
 to him ? " 
 
 The Empress sighed like one aroused from sleep, 
 stretched her arms, and took, from a table beside her 
 bed, a sealed letter, which she gave to Madame de 
 Montebello, saying, " Here is the answer ! Greet M. 
 de Neipperg kindly for me — and leave me, for I am 
 very sleepy." 
 
 The lady-in-waiting returned to Napoleon, the letter 
 in her hand.
 
 gttadame £aws-$*tte. 397 
 
 He took it eagerly, opened and read it. 
 
 The Mar6chale Lefebvre and Madame de Montebello 
 watched his face anxiously. 
 
 They saw his brow clear ; and, as he read, suddenly 
 he smiled and, pressing the letter between his hands, he 
 lifted it, passionately, to his lips. 
 
 " Dear, dear Louise," he murmured ; '« she does love 
 me ! " 
 
 Then addressing the ladies, he said, " Ladies, you 
 are right. Not one word here could disturb the most 
 jealous of husbands. It is all politics. The Empress 
 is not altogether of my opinion, but that is a trifle. 
 Only one word of M. de Neipperg. My sweet Louise 
 asks her father to choose, in future, another messenger, 
 as the presence of that gentleman at my court has 
 caused gossip. Ah, Duchess, I am too happy," he said 
 joyously to Catharine. 
 
 «« Now, sire, since your doubts are dead," said Cath- 
 arine, " you will surely countermand that order about 
 the Count de Neipperg." 
 
 '« Let him go at once, and never return to my court, 
 no, nor to France. I want no more of him. Heavens ! 
 I couldn't think for a moment that ht was guilty ! But 
 he had a treasonable air. A poor thing, indeed, on the 
 part of my father-in-law, to send thus to find out if I 
 made his daughter happy," he said. 
 
 " As for poor Neipperg," he added, " you shall see ! " 
 
 And the Emperor, forgetting all his suspicions, called 
 to M. de Remusat. 
 
 " Take," he said to him, " M. de Neipperg's sword.
 
 398 ptadam* £an$i-6*tt*. 
 
 there, on my desk, and give it to him, and invite him 
 hereafter to put it to a better use." 
 
 " And then ? " asked the chamberlain. 
 
 "Conduct M. de Neipperg to his carriage, and wish 
 him a pleasant journey. M. de Neipperg is free." 
 
 " Alas ! M. de Neipperg is dead," said a voice behind 
 the chamberlain. 
 
 It was Savary who had entered, accompanied by 
 aides and officers. 
 
 " Dead ? Have you shot him already ? " cried the 
 Emperor. " Why this haste ? You should have waited 
 for the dawn ! " 
 
 " Sire," Savary said, •* I had intended to do so. But 
 M. de Neipperg evaded me. He escaped by a window. 
 Happily there were men posted there. They caught 
 him. They put him into a vehicle and drove him to the 
 place of execution in the forest. Listen, here is M. the 
 Duke of Otranto, who was there." 
 
 *• By chance," said Fouche", approaching. 
 
 «' M. le Due d'Otranto can tell your Majesty that all 
 has gone as I have told you." 
 
 " You are a bungler," said the Emperor severely. 
 «* If M. de Neipperg escaped, you should have let him 
 go. Don't you think so, Fouche" ? " 
 
 " Your Majesty is quite right. Had I had the honor 
 to be still the minister of police, I should have guessed 
 that something would turn up. I should have known 
 that when the Emperor knew all he would surely 
 pardon." 
 
 •« Yes, one must foresee things," said the Emperor to
 
 Paitame $?att£-tfktt*. 399 
 
 Savary, " you cannot foresee anything, therefore you 
 cannot administer justice." 
 
 " It happened," continued Fouche", profiting by the 
 Emperor's approval, " that another order should have 
 been given to the officers to wait final instructions at 
 the place of execution — that is what I should have done 
 had I been in power to do it." 
 
 " It's a pity you were not," said Napoleon. 
 
 " Really, sire ? Then pardon me but I acted as if I 
 had been." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 "Seeing that there was a mistake, and sure that, 
 when your Majesty was assured of all interested par- 
 ties you would regret your hasty decision and pardon 
 M. deNeipperg, I took it upon myself to give orders to the 
 men. I knew I could rely upon them. I told them to 
 turn their backs on the forest and conduct M. de Neip- 
 perg to the Soissons road. They believed me to be 
 again minister of police." 
 
 " So you are," cried Napoleon, charmed at Fouche"s 
 solution of the difficulty. 
 
 " Those men obeyed me, sire, so well, that M. de 
 Neipperg is not dead, as M. de Rovigo has told you. 
 M. de Neipperg is going toward Soissons, where he 
 will be at breakfast time." 
 
 " My compliments, Duke of Otranto, you are a pre- 
 cious servitor — you divine what others cannot see. But, 
 tell me, were you quite sure I would pardon ? " 
 
 «« Almost sure, sire. I had spoken with the Duchess 
 of Dantzig."
 
 400 * gfladame g>m$-(&mt. 
 
 " But you let a prisoner of State escape. That was 
 serious." 
 
 "Sire, I had men sent in advance to Soissons. I 
 should have been able to re-arrest him." 
 
 " You are a devil — you see everything," said Napo- 
 leon, in a gracious tone. 
 
 And, turning to the Mare"chale Lefebvre, he added, 
 ** I fancy it is time, Madame la Duchesse, for you to 
 rejoin your husband. As for me, I shall awake the 
 Empress and assure her that her letter to Vienna has 
 been sent." 
 
 Just then Lefebvre entered for orders. 
 " The Emperor has pardoned," Catharine said to 
 him, "and, as you know, dear, he no longer wishes to 
 part us." 
 
 " Bravo ! I thank you, sire," said the marshal, moved 
 by the Emperor's leniency. 
 
 " Lefebvre, when one has a wife like yours, one 
 clings to her," said Napoleon, smiling. 
 
 Happy in the assurance that Marie-Louise was true, 
 pleased that he had been lenient, satisfied that Neip- 
 perg, thanks to Fouche\ had escaped Savary, Napoleon 
 lifted Catharine's face and kissed her — a mark of un- 
 usual favor at his court. " Good-night, Madame Sans- 
 Ge*ne," he said. 
 
 And, glad at heart, Napoleon went to seek his wife, 
 Marie-Louise. All this was nine months prior to the 
 birth of the King of Rome. 
 
 THE END.
 
 M"3/3 
 
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