The TORCHLIGHT Series 
 of Napoleonic Romances 
 
 I REVOLUTION 
 
 II LOVE 
 
 HI AMBITION 
 
 IV SUCCESS 
 
 V VICTORY 
 
 VI TRIUMPH 
 
 VII GLORY 
 
 VHI ARROGANCE 
 
 IX STORM 
 
 X RETREAT 
 
 XI DEFEAT 
 
 XII.. ..THE END 
 
 E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 
 
The TORCHLIGHT Series 
 of Napoleonic Romances 
 
 LOVE 
 
 BY 
 
 LEONIE AMINOFF 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 681 FIFTH AVENUE 
 
PRESERVATION 
 COPY ADDED 
 ORIGINAL TO BE 
 RETAINED 
 
 HAY 2 01994 
 
 Copyright, 1922, 
 By . P. Button & Company 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 PRINTED IK THE UNITED 
 STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
n\ b 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 LIKE the chorus employed by Mr. Shakespeare to 
 explain his play, maybe it would further our story to 
 return to the back number? Number one the first vol- 
 ume of these Napoleonic romances deals with the Revo- 
 lution. There's Robespierre and Tallien in it; Mme. 
 Tallien as a young girl; also as a girl bride she was 
 barely sixteen when her first child was born, the son of 
 her first husband the Marquis Devin de Fontenay, whom 
 she divorced during the Terror, partly because she was 
 tired of him, partly to shine the lovelier in the eyes of 
 M. Tallien, the zealous patriot of '93, and Governor of 
 Bordeaux. He set up a guillotine in that city and worked 
 it for all he was worth. The divorced wife of red-headed, 
 uninteresting Marquis de Fontenay was his mistress during 
 that bloody reign, and they say she deserved her title of 
 "Our Lady of Mercy" saving a good many aristocrats 
 from death by forging passports and getting them pas- 
 sages on outward-bound vessels. It is satisfactory to chalk 
 up any good thing about the lady, as, truth to tell, her sins 
 very much outweighed her virtues. In this present volume 
 married to Tallien, she is the moving spirit of the Direc- 
 tory, the government which immediately followed the 
 Revolution, in its turn overthrown, 1799, by Napoleon 
 Bonaparte, who, as you know, assumed office (and prac- 
 tically all the power) as First Consul "for life." 
 Josephine, when informed of this new proof of the nation's 
 trust in her general whom she'd married to do her 
 children a good turn did not appreciate it at all. "Oh," 
 she said, "it sounds very dull. I love change." As it 
 happened she had quite sufficient. 
 
 History is often stranger than fiction. In this first 
 volume of ours which I advise you to read far better 
 
 493473 
 
vi LOVE 
 
 than little tit-bits of information, which can't be either 
 instructive or entertaining we have actually Tallien's 
 mistress, a duchess who slips off into private life, and 
 Bonaparte's future empress all boxed up in the same cell 
 at Les Carmes, waiting every evening to hear their names 
 read on the list of the condemned. We like that piece, 
 though we have written it, we say it is true to life, with 
 just the necessary touch of romance to make it thrilling. 
 Fancy now, Josephine, Terezia and that dear little Ninon 
 who vanishes out of the story like a pretty little senti- 
 ment were actually living, breathing historical women 
 at the time when Robespierre went about in sky-blue 
 clothes, and Napoleon in disgrace, sucking an orange, in 
 the narrow undrained streets of old Paris. ... It is the 
 human touch, after all, which makes us all akin. The book 
 as far as it is written has that merit. Not a word in it 
 introduced for the sake of padding each line is a link in 
 the chain of one man's life. Through the Revolution and 
 the Terror he necessarily played a poor, humble part. To 
 be unknown is a severe penalty on ambition. No doubt 
 Napoleon, having finished his orange, and finding it did 
 not satisfy his appetite, thought very badly of the situa- 
 tion and turned his brain inside out to find a possible 
 loophole of escape. Odd enough to say, Toulon had come 
 out flat. He'd swept the English out to sea, but the Revo- 
 lutionists, after paying him the flimsiest compliment for 
 his military services, not only left him in a corner, but at 
 the first opportunity deprived him of his commission. 
 
 In this present volume our hero emerges from his 
 obscurity, succeeds even in getting married and learning 
 the foxtrot of the day. We see him at M. Barras' famous 
 parties, where Mme. Tallien launched the new fashions 
 and behaved disgracefully. For one thing she very soon 
 ousted "darling Josephine," as she called the widow Beau- 
 harnais, from the vacillating affections of Barras, who, 
 as the head of the Directory, was the most important man 
 in Paris, when sugar cost eight hundred francs a pound. 
 Mme. Tallien always looked to the main chance. As 
 
PROLOGUE vii 
 
 mistress of Paul Barras and the Luxembourg she reigned 
 for more than a year and a day. 
 
 On coming out of prison everyone was more or less poor. 
 No doubt it was wise of Josephine to let M. Barras help 
 her in her difficulties. That she did so and paid the price 
 is a fact we have no particular reason to hide. No 
 doubt Napoleon was aware of her "kindness" in that quar- 
 ter, though of course he did not mention it. Besides, any 
 little scandal between them was so very soon squashed by 
 Terezia's sandalled feet. She introduced sandals, bare 
 feet, even great-toe rings/ in ballrooms, and the very 
 scantiest frocks imaginable. A detestable young woman. 
 If you are not up in history we are glad to tell you her 
 vogue vanished with the Directory. In other words, after 
 the third volume of this work you'll hardly meet her. 
 Napoleon could not stand her at any price, though on 
 one occasion he made love to her. His word is law. Nat- 
 urally Mme. Tallien goes. And not a living soul need 
 regret her. That precious Tallien of hers whom, of 
 course, she divorced also retires into the background. 
 New lamps for old lamps? That's the idea. Once married, 
 Bonaparte buckles on his sword and goes to the wars and 
 has no end of a proud time. He was never happy ; but 
 domineering and wise. He creates his own atmosphere. 
 He brings his relations to Paris, and an entirely new set 
 of people. In the interests of the story let us say the 
 principals remain, including the doctor, the landlord, the 
 pawnbroker, the musician and the poet at The Cow. Poor 
 ojd blistered cow. You remember the signpost? centuries 
 old of a creature painted blue washed pale by many a 
 dew with gold spots on her body, poached-egg eyes and 
 a tail literally made of wrought iron twisting cunningly 
 out of the picture, a fair way down, tipped conveniently 
 to support mine host's foggy street lantern. We'll tell 
 you a secret to start off with. Souci is our favorite. Sec- 
 ond to him comes Joseph, the disguised turnkey of Les 
 Carmes, a brave gentleman if ever there was one, and the 
 greatest optimist of his day. 
 
BOOK I 
 
TORCHLIGHT 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MADAME JOSEPHINE DE BEAUHABNAIS took her widow- 
 hood, as M. Joseph had foreseen, quite angel- 
 ically. For the first two or three months after her 
 release from prison, she wore becoming mourning for the 
 late vicomte one of that splendid band of martyrs and 
 whenever she spoke of him which was far more frequently 
 than when he had been alive she invariably referred to 
 him as "poor dear Alexandre." How true it is that death 
 particularly under tragic circumstances improves our 
 worldly position. Her husband's memory was full of 
 tender light to Josephine. Aunt Fanny, the kindest of 
 ladies, understood her niece's attitude and sympathized 
 fully with her regenerated feelings towards the defunct 
 soldier and gentleman, her nephew by marriage. 
 
 When Josephine came out of prison, Madame Fanny 
 de Beauharnais received her as a mother, in poor circum- 
 stances. Everyone was poor at that time. Everyone had 
 to pinch and screw and hope for better times, with the 
 exception of a few lucky individuals, including M. Paul 
 Barras and mealy-mouthed, triumphant M. Tallien. As 
 we have said, Man-Tallien emerged from the Terror as 
 a frightened duckling from a slimy pond on to a patch 
 of golden sunlit earth, where like a duckling he very 
 quickly recovered, shook the slime off his body and grew, 
 as it were, a complete new set of feathers (principles). 
 
 One of Josephine's first pious acts was to buy her be- 
 reaved children suitable mementoes of their father, at the 
 
 3 
 
LOVE 
 
 expense of M. B arras. Both Eugene and Hortense had 
 been genuinely attached to their gay, good-looking parent. 
 However, as Josephine said, time would heal the cruel 
 wound inflicted on their young hearts. Hortense got a 
 dignified mourning-brooch, inset with a miniature portrait 
 of the vicomte. Eugene was presented with a new scarf- 
 pin and his father's old sword, which last treasure he 
 valued extremely. "Poor dear children!" their mother 
 would exclaim, "how uncertain is their future. What can 
 I give them?" 
 
 Madame Josephine, after accepting Aunt Fanny's hos- 
 pitality for a little while on the recommendation of M. 
 Barras removed into a modest apartment, not far off 
 from the Luxembourg. With her small means the widow 
 furnished it delightfully. At the end of the Terror furni- 
 ture was to be had quite cheaply in Paris. All the big 
 houses were empty, a great many demolished, others again 
 robbed of all their contents, from garret to cellar. The 
 streets were full of new people. If you went to the play, 
 probably you would not know a single person in the 
 theatre. There were few carriages in the streets. For 
 obvious reasons all the aristocrats in town lived very 
 quietly. Their reticence quite pained M. Tallien. His 
 heart yearned over the "unfortunates," or rather over a 
 class he and he alone had been able to snatch from 
 perdition. 
 
 The last year of Terror was going out meekly as a lamb. 
 True spiritual regeneration aside there was much to be 
 done from a practical point of view. The granaries were 
 empty. The exchequers full of worthless paper money. 
 Prices were ruinous. The dirt and confusion in France, 
 thanks to Robespierre's horrid excesses, were truly awful. 
 Each member of the new government was given any amount 
 of new brooms. "Sweep away," said Tallien, enthusias- 
 tically. "Sweep away!" gesticulating as a windmill all 
 eagerness to set everyone a good example. To tell you 
 the truth, it required a stronger brain than M. Paul Barras 
 possessed to know if he was standing on his head or his 
 
LOVE 5 
 
 heels at this ticklish transition period of French history. 
 He had accepted office as the head of the Convention. 
 Tallien was his right-hand man. Talleyrand was in Amer- 
 ica, or rather, on his way back to France. If his head 
 was safe Talleyrand could always be relied upon to look 
 after his own interests and (if they coincided) the interests 
 of other people. Barras was looking forward to the 
 ex-Bishop's assistance in the delicate task of pleasing all 
 parties, or, if that was impossible, to satisfy the majority. 
 Fouche was another public man to the fore. All moder- 
 ates. All innocent of any participation in Robespierre's 
 devilish schemes. That was to be understood. 
 
 The lovely Terezia was disappointed at the turn of 
 events. She had expected more of the Dagger Trick. 
 Tallien growing his new feathers struck her as a 
 lamentable object. He was greedy, untruthful, unpleas- 
 ant not a man a woman would go out of her way to 
 marry. The months slipped by and the lovely Terezia 
 gave her lover every cause for impatience we might even 
 say for jealousy. Freedom found her ready for any 
 extravagance. Her admirers were legion. Kisses always 
 agreed with her. She only laughed when Josephine advised 
 moderation. Prudence was totally out of fashion. Solo- 
 mon's teeth ! weren't they all entitled to the best of every- 
 thing, considering what they had gone through? 
 
 "I'll stop at nothing," said Terezia. "Do you re- 
 member Wednesday's soup at Les Cannes?" 
 
 Josephine made a face. "Please let me forget it," she 
 said. "All the same, I do consider mourning crepe and 
 red tulle incongruous." 
 
 "It is a symbol." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 The ladies were having tea at Bonfreres, the celebrated 
 pastrycook in the rue St. Honore. Josephine was hostess. 
 
 "Take another cream bun," she said. "I've had three; 
 they are delicious." 
 
 "Thanks, darling. I must think of my figure." 
 
 "When are you going to marry Tallien?" 
 
6 LOVE 
 
 "If only Tallien was a man and not a vile worm, I'd 
 marry him to-morrow. As it is, I can't bring myself to 
 the point." 
 
 "He'll get on, darling. A clever woman can always 
 shape a husband. A pat here and a pat there, and there 
 you are." 
 
 The pretty widow sat back in her chair, looking the 
 picture of all the virtues. 
 
 Terezia reflected. 
 
 "Dear, dear," she said, "I wish people weren't such 
 beasts. If they hadn't made such a wicked fuss, and mur- 
 dered the poor dear King and Queen, we would have been 
 much better off. Do you know jam has gone up to three 
 hundred francs a pound?" 
 
 Josephine smiled. "Paul is a darling," she said, some- 
 what irrelevantly. 
 
 "Anyhow, madam," said Terezia, "he is useful." 
 
 "Invaluable," said Josephine. 
 
 "Marriage is all the fashion," said Terezia, pettishly. 
 "You have got to follow my example." 
 
 Josephine sighed. "That's what all my friends tell me. 
 Find me the man, Terezia. He's got to be young and 
 handsome, ambitious and certain to get on." 
 
 "There's General Augereau " 
 
 "Not my sort at all. He's a block of wood." 
 
 "General Hoche " 
 
 "How can you contemplate marrying a man who pro- 
 poses by letter?" 
 
 "You are a horrid little wretch." 
 
 "I am satisfied with my children." 
 
 "They don't bother you. True." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Nothing. Has Barras got the ballroom in order?" 
 
 They both laughed. 
 
 "He is only a dear friend." 
 
 Terezia rose. "I've five visits to pay, and it is three 
 o'clock. I dine at five." 
 
 "It was charming of you coming." 
 
LOVE 7 
 
 "A treat, Josephine. How do you like my new hat?" 
 
 "It is lovely. A little bit too big, perhaps." 
 
 "Not an inch. Come along, darling. Don't forget your 
 bag." 
 
 The ladies rustled out of the shop, leaving a trail of 
 scent behind them. The little tea cost Josephine five hun- 
 dred francs. As we have said, prices were ruinous. Where 
 do people get their money from? We know Josephine's 
 source. Also Terezia's. But those people who weren't 
 in their fortunate circumstances. Or did everyone have a 
 friend with a private account on the public exchequer? 
 
 Josephine parted with Terezia outside. She got into a 
 cab private carriages were still looked upon as savoring 
 of class and the devil. Madame de Beauharnais preferred 
 to walk. It was only a step to her apartment, she said. 
 
 On her way she looked in at Henri's celebrated flower- 
 shop, and selected a big bunch of violets and lilies. She 
 took them with her. The order was entered in M. Henri's 
 big ledger. He was particularly polite to his customer. 
 
 "It is pleasure, citoyewie, to serve you," he said. "You 
 have such perfect taste." 
 
 He bowed. 
 
 "Thank you," said Josephine sweetly. 
 
 From his little diamond-paned window the proprietor of 
 the best flower-shop in Paris in 1794 watched the lady 
 disappear down the crowded thoroughfare. She was a 
 very graceful woman. 
 
 It was the last week in November, and everything 
 pointed to a brisk winter season. 
 
 "A nice change," said Henri to himself. "I am sure 
 I wish them the best of good luck." 
 
 We expect he meant the aristocrats, who last season 
 had been very much out of favor. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 A WEEK later, M. Paul Barras paid Josephine de 
 *"*- Beauharnais a visit. He was very kind in coming 
 to see her. 
 
 She had dressed herself in her prettiest clothes. After 
 five months' widowhood she permitted herse 1 ^ shades of 
 lilac, grey and white. Black was too sad. 'And black 
 and red as she had said to Terezia was vulgar. 
 
 This afternoon she was looking her very best and was 
 charmingly gay and confident of the future. 
 
 They were seated in front of the fire Josephine curled 
 up on the hearth-rug, with an elbow on M. Barras' knee. 
 He in the pink velvet chair. The hearth-rug was of white 
 fur. The little drawing-room, scented by lilies and violets, 
 was not over-lighted. In fact, the fire, which burned very 
 clearly, made all the effect it wanted. The shaded lamp 
 on the satin-wood round table in front of the big gilt- 
 framed sofa didn't interfere with it at all. 
 
 "You are so good to me," she said. 
 
 "Haven't I assured you a thousand times I'm your 
 debtor?" 
 
 "Si si," said Josephine. "How nice it is to be warm ! 
 How I have suffered from the cold." 
 
 "Poor darling!" 
 
 "We never complained. We made a point of never com- 
 plaining. Even when the rats ran away with our precious 
 soap we made a joke of it." 
 
 "The past is over." 
 
 "Is it? Really, really over? Sometimes I wake up in 
 the night and think I am dreaming. I touch my silk 
 counterpane. 'That's not a real bed,' I say- 
 He stopped her by a kiss. 
 
 8 
 
LOVE 9 
 
 "Josephine, I adore you." 
 
 "It would not have been real except for your generosity. 
 It was lucky meeting a fairy prince as you stepped out 
 of prison. I wrote to you at once " 
 
 "And I came round without the loss of a moment." 
 
 "So you did. And Aunt Fanny gave you tea and told 
 you about my children." 
 
 "I was not listening." 
 
 "For shame, sir!" 
 
 "I was thinking of you, and how sweet you looked " 
 
 "Thin as a post !" 
 
 "ana that you had the most wonderful eyes in the 
 
 world." 
 
 "To think," she said softly, "if it had not been for you 
 I would have starved. Aunt Fanny's reticule wouldn't 
 have gone round." 
 
 He laughed. "Of course you would. Those little hands 
 weren't made for work." 
 
 Josephine jumped up and fetched a bag of colored silks 
 and shook it at him. "Look, sir," she said; "my knitting." 
 She pulled out the heel of a stocking. "I must not tell a 
 story. Clementine helped me with the heel. But I've done 
 nearly all the rest." 
 
 He caught her hand and kissed it. 
 
 "You are a wonderful little woman. Don't cry; life 
 is too short for tears." 
 
 "We are going to live for ever. Oh, poor dear Alex- 
 andre! It does seem hard on him. We did not get on 
 exactly. But I've quite forgotten it." 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 She sat down on the rug again. She held her slender 
 hands to the blaze, looking into the fire. 
 
 "On the whole he was a good husband." 
 
 M. Barras cleared his throat. To tell you the truth, 
 the charming widow's reminiscences bored him stiff. The 
 late vicomte had never appealed to him. 
 
 "Crown him, by all means, madam. A dead man is 
 often a hero to his friends." 
 
10 LOVE 
 
 "Now you are cross. I don't like you when you arc 
 horrid." 
 
 "I was furiously jealous of your late husband." 
 
 Josephine turned round and gave him a look, quite a 
 tender one. She smiled with her mouth closed, or nearly 
 so. A trick ladies learn who have no teeth to disclose. 
 Her teeth were, as you know, her little purgatory. Most 
 of them had by this time fallen out. Dentistry a hundred 
 years ago was in its infancy. Ladies who lost their teeth 
 went without. . . . Napoleon did not mind. 
 
 "I have not known you for all these months without 
 finding out when you are angry," she said, nodding her 
 head. "I am really rather clever. I'll forgive you this 
 time." 
 
 "Amiable gentleman, I regret I did not know him better." 
 
 "You would have been great friends." 
 
 "Under the circumstances I doubt it." 
 
 "If he had lived they would not have existed. Alexandre 
 would have provided for his wife and children." 
 
 "God rest his soul !" 
 
 "Are you staying to dinner?" said Josephine, wisely 
 changing the subject. 
 
 "I'd love to. But I am up to my ears in work." 
 
 "Poor darling. That is why you are looking worried. 
 Pass it over to Tallien." 
 
 "He is the man who causes the work." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "I have to tone down his policy. He'll rant about 
 everything, knowing nothing of the situation." 
 
 B arras slapped his gloves against his knees. "I'd like 
 to murder him." 
 
 "The savior of France! Never forget he saved my 
 life." 
 
 "No, he didn't. Pure chance." 
 
 "Nothing pure about it! Another day and we would 
 have died, or gone mad." 
 
 "Don't think about it, my little one. You are safe." 
 
 She put her hand in his. "It is like a dream," she 
 
LOVE 11 
 
 whispered. "Just you and I, and the wicked world out- 
 side." 
 
 "I never want to leave you," he said. 
 
 Her soft dress was of dove-grey silk. An amber comb 
 shone in her auburn hair, and round her slender neck she 
 wore a curious filigree necklace of gold and hammered 
 silver, which seemed to emphasize her thinness. Her deli- 
 cate bust was ungirdled, and fell and rose with each 
 breath. At the foot of her petticoat dangled a little sachet 
 filled with her favorite violet perfume. Her shoes were 
 of grey satin, with silk stockings to match. 
 
 "You always have a moment to spare for little 
 Josephine." 
 
 "Even when she is naughty and extravagant." 
 
 "Sir, I'm not extravagant! Everything is so fright- 
 fully dear, except furniture." 
 
 She pointed to a magnificent Louis XIV bureau standing 
 in one corner of her pretty, though rather overcrowded 
 sitting-room. 
 
 "Fancy, I got it for a franc." 
 
 "A silver franc is a good deal of money in these times." 
 
 "As to your assignats I hate them." 
 
 She leaned forward and drew a bundle of notes from 
 her silk bag and flung them into the fire. 
 
 "They are absolutely worthless," she exclaimed. "Yes- 
 terday a cabman charged me for an hour's drive a thousand 
 francs. I've got to pay a hundred francs for a pound 
 of candles, and eighty francs for a pound of starch. And 
 gloves what do gloves cost?" 
 
 "You threw at least six pairs into the fire just now." 
 
 "How stupid of me !" she cried. "I am so sorry. For- 
 give me." 
 
 He rose to his feet, a fine, imposing gentleman with 
 a twinkle in his deep-set eyes dressed in the height of 
 the ornate fashion of the day. He might have been 
 forty or less. His thick dark hair was touched with grey 
 at the temples. He was clean-shaven except for a small 
 moustache which barely hid his sensuous mouth the 
 
12 LOVE 
 
 mouth of a man who does not stand on ceremony and 
 who is fond of life. His skin was sallow, save for a red 
 flush on his forehead. He had strong, white teeth. As 
 the nominal head of the Convention, M. Barras had at 
 this time every need of his well-known courage and tact. 
 
 In the intimacy of his private life M. Barras cheer- 
 fully forgot the dismal profession of politics. He 
 acknowledged to himself that he was master of as ugly 
 a crew as ever sailed on unknown seas. He couldn't see 
 a handsbreadth in front of him. So he conveniently shut 
 his eyes, made love to the charming widow Beauharnais, 
 and let his easily if somewhat dubiously amassed wealth 
 flow through his fingers. 
 
 Even at the worst stage of the Revolution he had kept 
 open house. After the fall of Robespierre he immediately 
 set the social wheel revolving. At the Luxembourg palace 
 he entertained on a princely scale when bread was thirty 
 francs a loaf which speaks volumes for his financial 
 genius if not for his statesmanship. His only rival in 
 the art of entertainment was apparently ce Tallien. Tal- 
 lien's was not a generous nature. The two men were 
 utterly and radically different. Barras was a gentleman 
 by birth and education. To be exact, a vain and pompous 
 gentleman. In his younger days he had had many adven- 
 tures. He had sailed the high seas, some say on a pirate 
 ship. He had ventured his life no, with his no doubt 
 highly-colored past we have nothing to do. 
 
 Josephine still kneeling on the hearthrug looked up 
 at her tall friend with a sweetly contrite expression. 
 
 "What am I to do?" she asked. 
 
 "Accept your punishment." 
 
 He bent down and kissed her soundly. 
 
 As in duty bound she defended herself (weakly), played 
 a good deal with her fascinating eyes, and at length 
 turned round and buried her face in a convenient fender- 
 stool (covered with vieux-bleu velvet). 
 
 "You are such a blessing," she murmured. 
 
 "Pshaw I" he said. "Gratitude is the last thing I want." 
 
LOVE 13 
 
 She thought a moment and looked up at him critically. 
 
 "I wonder they didn't guillotine you." 
 
 "I was born under a lucky star, madam." 
 
 Again she shook her head. "I suppose I am stupid. I 
 don't believe in that kind of thing. Terezia tells me Gen- 
 eral Bonaparte accepts his present poverty because he 
 believes in his own fortunate destiny. Are you all mad?" 
 
 "More or less," he smiled. "A man in love is never 
 sane." 
 
 "Is the little general in love?" 
 
 "I believe he has proposed to his grandmother " 
 
 "Grandmother?" 
 
 "In years, you know. However, the worthy Madame 
 Permon has refused him." 
 
 "The idea! He must be a droll person." 
 
 "A good marriage would help him on in the world. 
 He is rather in difficulties just at present." 
 
 "Why don't you assist him?" 
 
 "I do all I can. He is an exceptionally clever man." 
 
 "I don't like exceptionally clever people." 
 
 Barras laughed loudly. "That is one for me," he said. 
 "Have you ever met him?" 
 
 "Who? This terrifying Corsican? Never." 
 
 "You will see him at my house next Tuesday." 
 
 "He does not interest me in the least. Darling I only 
 love one man in the whole wide world." 
 
 For the next half-hour or so they were happily engaged 
 by strictly personal matters. 
 
 There was scarcely room for two in the pink velvet 
 armchair, snugly drawn up to the fireside, so presently 
 Josephine accepted a seat on M. Barras' knee. She 
 declared she felt so safe in his arms. She laid her head 
 on his shoulder and shut her eyes. 
 
 "You will always love me?" 
 
 "Always." 
 
 "Until Never for ever?" 
 
 She played with his hair and patted his face. "You have 
 great responsibilities, sir," she said. 
 
14 LOVE 
 
 "I have you," he admitted. "Yes. Times are un- 
 certain." 
 
 "I don't mind as long as we have nice parties." 
 
 "My modest little Tuesdays " 
 
 "Your balls will be heavenly, of course. But there is 
 only one Tuesday in every week," she sighed. 
 
 "We are just starting. By-and-by you'll be longing 
 for the country." 
 
 "Never! I have had enough of dullness to last my 
 life." 
 
 "I thought you were fond of the country." 
 
 "So I am. I was only joking. I intend, sir, to have a 
 beautiful estate with the best gardens in France, some- 
 where in the neighborhood of Paris. You'll see, it will 
 be a lovely house. I arranged it all in prison. One room 
 will be all in yellow; another in green. And there'll be 
 a long south terrace prettily set out with garden furni- 
 ture, and bordered with fabulous roses. I was born in 
 the south. Flowers and dreams belong to each other. 
 They are inseparable." 
 
 "Am I in the picture, Josephine?" 
 
 "But of course," she said sedately; "you have got to 
 give me the house. Or if you won't, someone else must." 
 
 They talked of the Talliens. Josephine said she con- 
 sidered it very indiscreet of her friend to postpone her 
 marriage, allowing at the same time that she understood 
 her hesitation. 
 
 "In her place I'd do the same. He may be a hero," she 
 said. "But he has got awful hands. Objectionable hands. 
 And there is too much of his smile." 
 
 "A fox." 
 
 "Is he? But she must marry him. She said so herself. 
 Society demands certain regulations." 
 
 M. Barras laughed. "Don't trouble your dear little 
 head about her," he said. "She doesn't interest me in 
 the least." 
 
 Josephine hid her face on his breast. "Oh, dearest," 
 *aid, "I pity you." 
 
LOVE 15 
 
 He stroked her shining hair. "What is the secret?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Terezia had the enormous impertinence to tell me that 
 she admired you immensely, and that she intended, tout 
 simplement, taking you up. 'It will be perfectly easy,' she 
 said. 'He is the kind of man who loses his head at once/ " 
 Barras laughed constrainedly, meeting Josephine's merry 
 glance rather awkwardly. 
 
 "The good-for-nothing baggage! Madame, take my 
 advice and leave the future Madame Tallien ^severely 
 alone." 
 
 Josephine wriggled. "I can't afford it. I have so few 
 friends in Paris. Terezia can be very nice." 
 
 He wrapped her passionately in his strong arms. "What 
 odd creatures you women are," he said. "You never keep 
 to the same thing for one moment. Yet you are adorable." 
 
 "Yes, of course," returned Josephine, simply. (She 
 was entirely convinced of her rightful position in this 
 world.) 
 
 She sighed contentedly; they were both silent, until 
 an involuntary shiver on her side made Barras exclaim 
 anxiously, "You are not ill?" 
 
 "Oh, no," said Josephine placidly, "I have never felt 
 better in all my life. Feel my hands aren't they nice 
 and warm?" 
 
 "You are not accustomed to our climate." 
 
 "It is atrocious. Was there ever such a winter? It is 
 not yet Christmas and already the Seine is frozen ugh !" 
 
 She turned and faced the blaze. "How the poor must 
 suffer!" 
 
 "I'll tell you a piece of news " 
 
 Josephine slipped off her lover's knees. 
 
 "No, no," she interrupted. "I am sick of news ! I 
 know the royalists have been pardoned, and that there is 
 a talk of reinstating the monarchy " 
 
 "Come back ; I want you." 
 
 "Hush! There is someone at the door." 
 
 Barras sprang to his feet. 
 
16 LOVE 
 
 "Come in," said Josephine. 
 
 "The devil " 
 
 "Do I disturb you, my dear? It was such a fine after- 
 noon, I ventured on a walk." 
 
 "Not at all. Delighted to see you, ma tante. I think 
 you know M. Barras?" 
 
 "We are old friends," smiled Aunt Fanny, kissing her 
 niece and extending a very thin hand to M. Barras. 
 
 Josephine led the old lady to the seat of honor on the 
 sofa. 
 
 "Not too near the fire. I must think of my complexion." 
 
 "You look as pink-and-white as a girl," said Madame 
 de Beauharnais. "You must agree with me, monsieur?" 
 
 Barras bowed stiffly. 
 
 "Are you comfortable?" asked Josephine, slipping a 
 cushion behind her back. 
 
 "Perfectly." Aunt Fanny, with a dainty gesture, drew 
 out a large pocket-handkerchief from her reticule. "My 
 dear," she said. "The Talliens are married." 
 
 "Married! Where? When?" 
 
 "Last Thursday." 
 
 "How delightful ! Now I can account for Tuesday and 
 Wednesday. Terezia's parties are sure to be good." 
 
 "I hope they will be happy," said Madame de Beau- 
 harnais, blowing her nose. 
 
 "Dear Aunt Fanny, you are always so kind." 
 
 "And so well informed," said M. Barras drily. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 MADAME FANNY DE BEAUHARNAIS was Josephine's aunt 
 by marriage. 
 
 With flying colors the redoubtable lady had not only 
 survived the horrors of the Revolution, but she had also 
 managed to evade imprisonment; which was a mystery to 
 her large circle of acquaintances. The fact remained, that 
 while her friends suffered, she retained her freedom, her 
 dignity and her vanity. 
 
 She was in those days that rara avis an authoress 
 a woman who had produced both novels and poems, 
 without meeting with any marked success or failure. She 
 took her vocation with great seriousness and continued, 
 year after year, to publish some book or other. 
 
 "Needless to say, such a talented lady took a lively 
 interest in the members of her own family. Her relatives 
 never ceased to dread her inquisitiveness and to respect 
 her knowledge. By common consent there was nothing 
 Aunt Fanny did not know! 
 
 She was certainly an amusing woman and an inveterate 
 gossip. A morsel of scandal invariably made her seek her 
 voluminous shawl, her furred bonnet, her silver-crooked 
 walking-stick and hurry out of doors. She would in the 
 happiest frame of mind continue her house-to-house visita- 
 tion, exhorting her friends to secrecy for the sheer joy 
 of being the first in the field to impart some particularly 
 choice piece of news. 
 
 Josephine felt convinced that her aunt had been flying 
 round Paris since noon. The actual celebration of the 
 long-deferred Tallien marriage was an event in the social 
 world. ... So like Terezia to spring a surprise on her 
 friends. Anyone else would have had a proper wedding. 
 . . . True, there were reasons against festivities on a large 
 
 17 
 
18 LOVE 
 
 scale. Does a divorced woman wear white satin and 
 orange-blossoms on the occasion of her re-marriage? 
 Josephine was not at all sure. 
 
 While Aunt Fanny was complimenting M. Barras on 
 some creditable speech (she followed the political events 
 of the day with great interest), her niece let her gentle 
 eyes wander round her charming drawing-room. 
 
 It was a well-furnished little flat of five rooms. Through 
 a vista of intervening apartments, she saw in the end room 
 of all her great bed, upholstered in green silk and lavishly 
 carved and gilt. She knew it contained no less than five 
 down pillows and that under the lace counterpane there 
 Itay a stitched silk quilt of incredible softness and 
 warmth. . . . 
 
 All this in exchange for Les Carmes, at the price of 
 a little complacency and the generosity of a rich man. 
 . . . And such a nice, kind man. . . . 
 
 She glanced at Barras with affection. What a pity 
 she could not love him ! On the whole, perhaps it was 
 just as well. This was only an interlude in her life 
 a little affair, conducted on very respectable lines. She 
 could trust him not to compromise her reputation. 
 
 She wondered if, on the whole, she would have the 
 heart to marry again. Would it not be best to content 
 herself with her widowhood and the education of her 
 children? She sighed. Somehow the future on these 
 extremely prosaic lines lacked attractiveness. Josephine 
 loved romance. She had even read her aunt's novels, and 
 wondered who had written them. (There was a report 
 circulating in the literary circles that Aunt Fanny's 
 authorship depended on the good-will of a certain gifted 
 but irresponsible poet.) 
 
 From M. Barras' finely-cut profile, Josephine looked 
 at her aunt's wonderful face, which still showed the 
 remains of good looks in an extremely renovated condition. 
 
 Her wig was elaborately powdered and worn a la Marie 
 Antoinette, adorned with a wreath of pink roses posed 
 coquettishly on the left side poor paper roses, they were 
 
LOVE 19 
 
 frankly faded and crumpled. Aunt Fanny was excessively 
 careful in her expenditure. 
 
 Her thin cheeks were daubed with indiscriminate quan- 
 tities of blanc-de-perle and geranium rouge. By nature 
 meagrely furnished with eyebrows, the enterprising lady 
 had boldly resorted to the blackest dye and the most elab- 
 orate curves art had ever conceived. Her eyes, though 
 sunken, still gleamed brightly. Her very red lips were 
 generously proportioned. 
 
 Aunt Fanny always deplored her niece Josephine's tiny 
 mouth as denoting a certain weakness of character. She 
 had already prophesied for her an unenviable destiny, 
 which ended somewhere in the vicinity of a pauper's grave. 
 "Depend on it," she would say, "such extravagance will 
 inevitably prove your ruin poor child!" 
 
 Josephine always took moral lectures with admirable 
 good temper, listened sweetly and promised to amend her 
 ways without in the least altering her conduct. 
 
 Madame Fanny Beauharnais was attired in an old-fash- 
 ioned voluminous silk dress, draped over an immense hoop. 
 Her slender waist (of which she was inordinately proud) 
 was tightly corseted. Report had it that she slept in 
 her iron stays which may or may not have accounted for 
 the sulphur tint of her shrivelled bust but which certainly 
 pushed her figure out of all proportion. 
 
 Her bony, thin fingers were loaded with cheap jewelry. 
 Her neck was partly hidden under a garnet necklace of 
 fine workmanship, set with seed-pearls and filigree gold. 
 Under her chin she wore a ribbon of turquoise-blue silk. 
 
 "What are you doing, Josephine?" 
 
 "I am going to order you some of your favorite milled 
 wine." 
 
 "Dear child, how thoughtful you are. I have got a 
 charming niece, M. Barras." 
 
 "A niece to be proud of," he admitted, looking after 
 Madame de Beauharnais' graceful figure as she disappeared 
 into the dining-room. 
 
 "Her future lies on my conscience, sir." 
 
20 LOVE 
 
 "An unnecessary trouble, madam." 
 
 "You mean she'll get on in the world?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "She is not in her first youth, and she has got to look 
 after a couple of very high-spirited children, at present 
 being educated at their respective schools." 
 
 Barras smiled. "I'll find her a suitable husband." 
 
 "Sir, he will have to be strict." 
 
 "I'll see to that, madam." 
 
 "A reliable gentleman of a good family if you please." 
 
 "Naturally." 
 
 "In these days one can't be too careful about possible 
 connections." (She looked at him with her head on one 
 side.) 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "I have an extremely high opinion of your intelligence, 
 M. Barras." She raised her mittened hand with an arch 
 gesture. "As far as I can see, you honor my niece with 
 a good deal of your attention. She is attractive, sir." 
 
 "Extremely so, madam." 
 
 "And some say she is very pretty." 
 
 "She is lovely." 
 
 "Why don't you marry her yourself? From every point 
 of view the alliance would be suitable. You are not too 
 young ; you have a good position, and have hitherto evinced 
 an enviable firmness of character. If a man can success- 
 fully stand at the head of the Convention, it follows that 
 he could with equal success cope with a foolish woman. I 
 admit that Josephine has her good qualities, but she is 
 hopelessly extravagant and impressionable." 
 
 "You honor me greatly, madam," said M. Barras, feel- 
 ing very embarrassed. This solution of the problem of 
 Josephine's future had never entered his mind. She was 
 charming, undeniably charming but . . . besides- 
 On the whole he preferred his freedom. 
 
 "Surely, madam, you know that I am a married man?" 
 
 "Sir! A thousand pardons. I thought the lady dead 
 years ago." 
 
LOVE 21 
 
 "To Paris, madam, only Paris." 
 
 Considering all his manifold duties and anxieties this 
 was not the time to enter upon a second marriage. He 
 knew that Madame Josephine would be the very first per- 
 son to agree with him. She also preferred, as it were, to 
 take things easily. She was a dear little, sensible soul 
 and who cared a straw if it amused her to throw bank- 
 notes in the fire? 
 
 "Life is mysterious," said Madame Fanny in her deepest 
 voice. 
 
 "Very," agreed Barras politely. 
 
 "Sir, we have all our duties to perform." 
 
 "Dear madam you, with your great abilities " 
 
 0h, sir " 
 
 "Can understand that a man, a lonely man in my posi- 
 tion, appreciates a woman's friendship. Madame de Beau- 
 harnais honors me with her confidence. She is very sweet 
 and kind. At all hours of the day I know that I am 
 welcome here. I can come and go as I like " 
 
 Madame Fanny raised her eyes to the ornate ceiling. 
 "I understand the situation completely," she said. 
 
 "If I startled her by some unwarranted proposition I 
 might lose the little^ ground I have gained." 
 
 "I retract my words. In such matters it is presumption 
 to offer good advice." 
 
 "Madam, I thank you." 
 
 He rose and walked across the room, and stood staring 
 into the fire. 
 
 "How early it gets dark," remarked Madame Beauhar- 
 nais, nervously. 
 
 He looked at his watch, furnished heavily with seals at 
 the other end of the short fob-chain. 
 
 "It is close on five o'clock. 
 
 "As a man of honor " 
 
 He turned abruptly and faced her a dark red flush 
 on his face. "You mistake, madam," he said, almost 
 roughly. "I am a selfish scoundrel." 
 
 Madame Fanny could not credit her ears. Why this 
 
22 LOVE 
 
 sudden change of front? Had her plain-speaking offended 
 him? As the head of the family she was in the right to 
 look after the interest of her relatives. Poor Alexandre, 
 if he had lived ! True, if the honest colonel were alive, the 
 present delicate proposition would never have occurred. 
 
 She sighed. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," she said formally. 
 
 Happily she was spared further awkwardness by the 
 entrance of her niece, followed by a charming little maid- 
 servant carrying a tray of light refreshments. 
 
 "Place it there," said Madame Beauharnais, indicating 
 a table. "And bring in another lamp, Clementine. It 
 will be more cheerful, ma tante. What have you two 
 been talking about?" 
 
 "All kinds of things, my dear. M. Barras has been 
 telling me how fortunate you have been in your recent 
 purchases." 
 
 Josephine stood with her back to the firelight, with 
 a crystal jug in her hand, carefully pouring out some 
 claret. Her soft modern dress clung to her youthful 
 figure. She looked very slight and girlish. 
 
 The pretty maid-servant curtsied deeply to the ladies, 
 and left the room to carry out her mistress* instructions. 
 She seemed entirely to fit into the picture and was a credit 
 to the gentle widow's orderly establishment. Her quilted 
 green petticoat was short enough to reveal her high-heeled 
 shoes, red as full-blown poppies. Her basqued bodice was 
 of some dark material and her little rounded muslin apron 
 was furnished with two big silk rosettes. 
 
 "Yes," said M. Barras, "after this, madam, no one 
 can call you extravagant." 
 
 "I am so glad," said Josephine. "Isn't it a nice old 
 thing?" She pointed to the bureau. "And that sofa over 
 there I got it for five francs real gilding and hand- 
 carving and covered in Aubusson tapestry." 
 
 Her aunt laughed at her serious tone. It was so 
 delicious to hear Josephine pose as the most prudent 
 
LOVE 23 
 
 woman in Paris. Why, she did not even know the value of 
 vegetables! She kept house by paying money. 
 
 "I can congratulate you on your pretty home. I had 
 no idea that poor dear Alexandre had left you so well off." 
 
 "He made some lucky speculations, ma tcmte." 
 
 "Very wrong of him, my dear. A sensible man never 
 speculates. A proposl" (She turned to M. Barras.) 
 "I was talking yesterday to General Bonaparte at the 
 Bourriennes' they seem to have quite taken him up he 
 is anxious to invest a certain sum in house property " 
 
 "Who? General Bonaparte?" 
 
 "Exactly. He has an extraordinary way of forcing his 
 ideas on other people. Before I had left, M. Bourrienne 
 was prepared to advance him the necessary capital." 
 
 "Not a bad idea. Paris is filling up." 
 
 "The old houses exist, and for the most part belong 
 to their rightful owners." 
 
 Barras shook his head. "Excuse me, madam, that is 
 unfortunately not a fact. It has been part of our policy 
 to appropriate private property." 
 
 "In other words, you have been robbers, sir robbers 
 on a large scale." 
 
 She sat very upright, and her eyes blazed. Aunt Fanny 
 had the courage of her opinions. 
 
 "It is all over," said Josephine gently. "We are all 
 getting happy and good again." She smiled from one 
 to the other. 
 
 "Please don't wrangle. Dearest Aunt, I am so tired 
 of politics. I know I'll set up a beautiful baker's shop 
 and bake oh, hundreds of lovely hot loaves, and give 
 them away for nothing to the poor, then I'll cease to hear 
 of their sufferings." 
 
 "Don't be childish, Josephine. This is not a matter 
 for fun." 
 
 "I am in deadly earnest," she pouted. 
 
 "Do you think it is an edifying sight to find a family 
 encamped on your doorstep, and two of them dead from 
 sheer want?" 
 
24 LOVE 
 
 "Of course not! Only I hate hearing about horrors. 
 I have had quite sufficient to last my life." 
 
 "We must not worry the sweet lady," said M. Barras, 
 looking kindly at his hostess. "For the matter of that, 
 madam, we are all doing our best to alleviate distress." 
 
 "A teaspoonful of oil to a barrel of vinegar I would 
 like to know who tastes the difference," said Madame 
 Fanny in her sharpest voice. 
 
 "Rome wasn't built in a day," said Josephine. "Two 
 lumps of sugar and a little cinnamon isn't that how you 
 like it?" 
 
 "Thank you, my dear. I can't sleep at night for dread 
 of the future. I blush when I think how history will 
 talk of us say a hundred years hence." 
 
 Josephine, behind her aunt's back, made a wry face 
 at M. Barras. 
 
 "Who cares what happens in a hundred years?" she 
 said. "We will all be dead and buried and finished with 
 by then. No one will even remember the existence of 
 poor little Josephine." She came across the room towards 
 her aunt. "Say it is good!" 
 
 The old lady accepted the tumbler of wine offered her, 
 took a sip, and put it down on the table beside her. 
 
 "Excellent. There is nothing so hopeless as to battle 
 against egoism. We will leave the subject, my dear. 
 What might this wine have cost you?" 
 
 Josephine smiled. She very nearly said, "A kiss, 9 ' but 
 prudently refrained. "A thousand francs a bottle," she 
 answered. "It sounds awfully expensive, but it is quite 
 nice, so it does not matter. Monsieur, please help your- 
 self." 
 
 "Mark my words," said Madame Beauharnais, "in 
 another hundred years some fool will be giving a thousand 
 francs for your old sofa, and one franc for a bottle of 
 new wine. Of what account is progress? We practically 
 remain on the same spot." 
 
 "We are all savages at heart, madam." Barras spoke 
 
LOVE 25 
 
 slowly, looking at Josephine, standing upright against the 
 white-panelled wall. 
 
 The widow Beauharnais, as if conscious of his scrutiny, 
 replied, "Life has only room for to-day and to-morrow." 
 
 "And what of yesterday?" asked her aunt softly. 
 
 "Yesterday does not belong to the living, but to his- 
 tory," said Barras. 
 
 "That is a matter of opinion," replied the old lady, 
 drawing herself erect with a proud gesture. "In my young 
 days we at least respected our dead." 
 
 Josephine hung her head. Her lips drooped. Her heavy 
 eyelashes swept her flushed cheeks. (Barras, staring 
 broadly, considered her at that moment a very enchanting 
 person.) 
 
 "We must sacrifice ourselves," declared the widow 
 mournfully. "We have all agreed to bury the past. As 
 in war, we mourn our dead with pride." 
 
 "A very beautiful sentiment, my dear, especially when 
 easily carried out. I am not blaming you, child." She 
 snapped-to her immense reticule and held out a conciliatory 
 hand. 
 
 Josephine stepped forward and, kneeling down, she 
 buried her face in her aunt's lap. 
 
 "There, dear Josephine, pray calm yourself." 
 
 "It hurts," she murmured. "I did my best for him, 
 and I will always keep his* memory sacred." 
 
 "I am sure you will." The old lady almost winked at 
 M. Barras, as much as to say, "How can you resist her?" 
 
 The atmosphere was a little strained. 
 
 M. Barras bravely tried to turn the conversation, and 
 racked his brain to find a cheerful topic. 
 
 "Madam, were you present at the Tallien wedding?" 
 
 "No, sir. A civil marriage, and private at that." 
 
 "Who were the witnesses?" 
 
 "M. Freron and M. Masson." 
 
 "H'm!" said Barras, flicking a grain of dust from his 
 coat. "I wonder if Tallien will ever get his deserts?" 
 
 Josephine got up and dried her eyes. 
 
26 LOVE 
 
 "He seems to be a very lucky man," she sighed, sitting 
 down by the table in the lamplight, and selecting a sweet- 
 meat from a box lying by her elbow. 
 
 "We can none of us escape justice," said the old lady, 
 folding her hands in her lap. 
 
 "Yes, madam," said Barras respectfully. In spite of 
 her wonderful make-up Madame de Beauharnais had a 
 strong face. Beneath her vanity and her pitiable at- 
 tempts to improve her appearance there lay a dogged 
 honesty of purpose. 
 
 "Who can escape disappointment, sorrow, sickness? If 
 we only live long enough we must learn our lesson with as 
 good a grace as we can." 
 
 "There are exceptions to every rule." 
 
 "No, sir. Old age is never agreeable." She touched 
 her face with a grim smile. "Don't you think I regret 
 my lost beauty?" 
 
 Josephine, in the act of putting another chocolate in 
 her mouth, stopped and looked at her aunt. 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais' face glistened in the lamp- 
 light as a freshly-painted canvas. Her eyes looked remark- 
 ably bright. The faded wreath of artificial roses on her 
 white wig looked curiously withered. 
 
 "Have a chocolate, dear tante. They are excellent." 
 
 "Thank you, I never eat sweets. But if you will per- 
 mit me, I will take home two or three. My neighbor's 
 little boy will appreciate them." 
 
 "Oh, please do." 
 
 Josephine's eyes twinkled as they met those of M. 
 Barras. 
 
 The old lady, with a dignified gesture, opened her reti- 
 cule. "Yes," she said, "I am not accustomed to luxuries. 
 I made my dejeuner to-day on an apple, and I had some 
 fruit given me from Volnay." As she spoke she absent- 
 mindedly kept filling her bag with Josephine's chocolates. 
 "A rosy-cheeked winter apple is not to be despised. By 
 the way, Terezia has decided on a house in the Bois." 
 
 "I know." 
 
LOVE 27 
 
 "It is called La Chaumiere. An odd fancy of hers. My 
 dear, I am not robbing you, am I ? There is a young man 
 behind this," she said archly, pushing the empty box across 
 the table. 
 
 Josephine glanced at M. Barras. 
 
 "Ah !" said Fanny good-naturedly, snapping-to her bag. 
 "So you accept presents from M. Barras!" 
 
 "A little chocolate " said Josephine guilelessly. 
 
 "I have been young myself," admitted Madame, rising 
 and standing very upright. 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais' reticule was about as famous 
 as herself. She was never seen without it. By common 
 report it was her store-cupboard, just as much as "my 
 neighbor's little boy" was her polite fiction. (After all, 
 in these hard times it was just as well to be economical.) 
 
 "You are not going?" said Josephine. "Won't you 
 stay and dine with me and share my dull evening?" 
 
 "Impossible, impossible. I am going on to the Tre- 
 moilles, and I have half promised to look up the St. 
 Innocents." 
 
 "How is the duchess?" 
 
 "No better. The doctors doubt of her recovery." 
 
 "What a sad case!" 
 
 "Yes, very. At what time do you dine? I smell cab- 
 bage-soup." She sniffed. "My favorite dish." 
 
 "At five o'clock." 
 
 "How fashionably late we are ! You will see, M. Barras, 
 that my niece will one day become quite an important 
 person. I must run." 
 
 She swept a magnificent curtsey, which Josephine re- 
 turned with equal ceremony. 
 
 "How hideous are the new fashions," said the old lady. 
 " Josephine looks like a dish-cloth wrung out in water." 
 
 "You wicked, unkind aunt !" laughed Madame Beau- 
 harnais. 
 
 "Well, good-bye, dear. If you have a spare ticket 
 for Talma to-morrow, remember me. I am not too old 
 to appreciate talent." 
 
28 LOVE 
 
 Josephine, through her lace blinds, looked out of the 
 window. "It is almost pitch-dark," she declared. "Really, 
 it is not safe for you to walk alone." 
 
 "I have only a hundred yards to go." 
 
 "It is much further to the Rue de Babylone. Let 
 Clementine call you a cab." 
 
 "I haven't got a thousand francs to spare." 
 
 "Perhaps madam will allow me to accompany her? Our 
 ways are practically the same." 
 
 "Sir, I will be charmed." 
 
 Aunt Fanny bridled and blushed as a schoolgirl. She 
 dearly loved attention. 
 
 "Take care of yourself, Josephine." 
 
 Josephine played with her rings. "What am I to do?" 
 she said. 
 
 "Read an edifying book, or go to sleep," counselled her 
 aunt. 
 
 "Of the two evils I prefer to sleep. I will try my best 
 to get you a seat, but I am afraid all the tickets are sold." 
 
 "Never mind, dear. I am not afraid of my own society. 
 When I sit alone I am always contented. There is no 
 better company than an easy conscience, an excellent 
 digestion and imagination. Build castles in the air, 
 Josephine." 
 
 Josephine held up her two empty hands. 
 
 "Alas !" she said, "without materials how can I manage?" 
 
 "Well, make them." 
 
 "Madam " 
 
 "I won't keep you waiting another moment, sir. A 
 happy new year, dear, in case we don't meet again this 
 side of Christmas." 
 
 M. Barras kissed Josephine's outstretched hand. "Au 
 revoir, madam," he said. "May I also add my good wishes? 
 All the luck in the world." 
 
 "Thank you. You are very kind." She spoke demurely, 
 looking on the ground. "Au revoir, monsieur." 
 
 (She knew that he'd be back again within an hour or 
 two.) 
 
LOVE 29 
 
 He held open the door for Madame de Beauharnais to 
 pass through. "One moment," he whispered to Josephine. 
 "Angel, I adore you! Say you love me a little?" 
 
 "Darling!" 
 
 He snatched her hand and pressed it to his hot lips. 
 
 "Josephine, don't come out here," called Madame Beau- 
 harnais. "It is quite chilly." 
 
 Josephine, conscious of her neglected duties, flew across 
 the room to the dining-room. "Clementine!" she called. 
 "Do hurry. My aunt is just going." 
 
 The pretty little maid-servant appeared from some mys- 
 terious doorway. "Out, madam," she answered breath- 
 lessly, running past Josephine to assist Madame de Beau- 
 harnais with her multitudinous wraps. 
 
 In a few minutes the street door slammed. 
 
 Clementine returned to the dining-room, lit the candles, 
 and laid the cloth. 
 
 Presently she came softly into the drawing-room 
 removed the tray and asked her mistress at what time 
 she would dine. 
 
 "When M. Barras returns." 
 
 The maid curtsied and withdrew. 
 
 Josephine, left alone, rose from her seat by the fire 
 and went in search of a pack of cards. She would pass 
 the time before dinner in telling her own fortune. 
 
 She shuffled the cards, pushed back her hair from her 
 forehead and was soon intent on her game. 
 
 "The ten of hearts that means money. And the king 
 of diamonds? " 
 
 She thought a moment and then called loudly: 
 
 "Clementine! Clementine!" 
 
 "Yes, madam?" 
 
 Josephine, without looking up, kept on dealing. "Tell 
 cook to be sure to serve the apple-tart very hot, and not 
 to forget the cream." 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 With lightning rapidity Josephine uncovered her cards. 
 
30 LOVE 
 
 They lay in a great circle on the satinwood table in the 
 full light of the lamp. She was exceedingly lucky. 
 
 "Madam?" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Cook has run out of cream, and has no money." 
 
 Josephine impatiently pointed to her workbag lying 
 on the hearthrug. "Bring it to me," she said. 
 
 Clementine did as she was told. 
 
 Josephine, with a little frown, pulled open the bag, 
 shook it, took out a handful of different articles scissors, 
 pins, a scrap of embroidery, a book of patterns. Then 
 she remembered her own stupidity. 
 
 "I have no money at home. Do you mean to say she 
 has spent all I gave her yesterday?" 
 
 "Yes, madam. Prices are terrible, and no credit given." 
 
 "How provoking!" 
 
 Josephine again shook her offending bag. 
 
 "Cream has risen to a hundred francs a pint, since 
 yesterday," said Clementine, looking demurely at her 
 pretty red shoes. 
 
 "They are mad." 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais, from a gold purse attached to 
 a long chain round her neck, handed Clementine a fifty- 
 centimes in silver. 
 
 "Tell cook not to sell it under five hundred francs." 
 
 "Yes, madame." With a bright smile the girl left the 
 room. 
 
 Josephine shuffled her cards impatiently. "I had notes 
 for ten thousand francs on Tuesday where have they all 
 gone to?" she asked herself. "Never mind," she mused; 
 "it is the privilege of men to pay women's bills. . . . Barras 
 will be more than delighted to hand me over some of that 
 detestable paper money. Poor dear man, he is so gener- 
 ous! . . . He is rather careful in some ways. I don't 
 believe he would divorce his wife and marry me, even if 
 I were willing to sacrifice myself on account of the chil- 
 dren. ... I am so glad Eugene has his father's sword, and 
 that he values it. How he wept when I gave it to him! 
 
LOVE 31 
 
 He would not part with it, no, not for anything in this 
 world. Only eleven, and such a determined character. . . ." 
 
 Again the pasteboard circle gleamed redly under the 
 light of the lamp. Not a single black card had turned up ! 
 
 She nodded her head, utterly oblivious of the trials of 
 housekeeping. "My children!" she said aloud. "Your 
 dear mother's future is assured. . . . Plus que Reme? . . . 
 I wonder ... I wonder . , ." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 T A CHAUMIERE was an ideal home for a young mar- 
 -" ried couple. A low, rambling building, with a 
 thatched roof and quaint-latticed windows, situated in a 
 fashionable quarter of Paris, in the Bois Terezia had 
 taken a fancy to it at once. 
 
 In spite of a driving snowstorm at the time, she realized 
 its potential qualities. In summer, when the roses were 
 out (she would have masses of roses) when the horse- 
 chestnuts in the great long avenue leading down to the 
 river were shady and green when the birds chirped and 
 sang it would look simply lovely. 
 
 Tallien Lad offered to buy his bride an historic mansion 
 in the Boulevard St. Germain, a great, gloomy hotel, splen- 
 didly furnished. 
 
 "No, she'd have none of it. La Chaumiere the quaint 
 little farm-house appealed to her. Of course there was 
 room for improvement. Tallien had shocking bad taste 
 (so she said) in most things, and not in the least in 
 furnishing. 
 
 She was not going to live in an old Jew's shop! The 
 place was overcrowded the rooms were caricatures of 
 a great man's establishment. Did Tallien imagine, par 
 exemple, that she was color-blind? Yellow satin draperies, 
 crimson velvet sofas, and, if you please, black lacquered 
 cabinets from his late majesty's Chinese collection. Where 
 were the Mandarin's embroidered slippers? 
 
 She'd darted this question at him one day, shortly after 
 their marriage, when they'd come to live at the place. 
 The sharp point of her irony had escaped him. He stood 
 looking at her, with his mouth open. 
 
 "I can't tell you, my dear." 
 
 32 
 
LOVE 33 
 
 "You're a fool. Give me the money, and go." 
 
 Only a fortnight married. T'ja! t'ja! As a marriage 
 it did not look promising. Truth to tell, our big roaring 
 lion of Bordeaux had been transformed into a tame cat, 
 a cat not quite certain of his cream, living in dread of 
 kicks. Horrid for him. 
 
 Not even his wife's beauty made up to him for her want 
 of sympathy. 
 
 "I'm not made of money. You'll ruin me, ma'am." 
 
 "My dear Tallien, to hear you speak one would imagine 
 you were three years old." 
 
 "You are a damned unpleasant woman." 
 
 "Don't be rude. I have three hundred people coming 
 on Wednesday. They'll eat for six hundred." 
 
 "What's the idea?" 
 
 "Progress, power, ambition. I intend to get on. I'm 
 the fashion. Tallien, go down on your knees and thank 
 God that I have married you." 
 
 She spoke very earnestly from her seat on a sofa in the 
 ball-room. It had two chandeliers, a polished parquet 
 floor, and magnificent curtains of lace, and daffodil-yellow 
 satin. Altogether a ludicrous room in a cottage. La 
 Chaumiere was little else. By throwing two or three rooms 
 together Madame Tallien had evolved her salon. It was 
 going to be the centre of fashionable Paris. 
 
 "You are a wonderful woman," he said. 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "That's talking sensibly," she said kindly. "You know 
 our interests are the same. I help you. And you help 
 me eh?" 
 
 She held out her shapely hand. 
 
 "We are getting on like a house on fire." 
 
 In the next room half a score of upholsterers and dec- 
 orators were at work. The yellow salon was nearly ready. 
 
 "I can see the crowds. I'll set the fashion. We'll have 
 Greek dresses to start with." 
 
 She looked reflectively at the sweep of her limbs, then 
 up at her husband. 
 
34 LOVE 
 
 "And you, you'll look like a butterfly. One ot Joseph- 
 ine's tropic butterflies. Aren't you happy, little lion? 
 Dear little lion!' 5 
 
 Her hand was still held out. Like some performing 
 monkey he obeyed the voice of his charmer. One by 
 one he took out of a knitted green silk purse ten pieces 
 of gold and dropped them one by one into her hand. 
 
 The last piece went with a choke. 
 
 "You'll ruin me," he blubbered. 
 
 "Foolish little man, just when I am making you ! You 
 are going to look like a hero and a dictator. Like a 
 Roman, draped in something. Yes? I am here." 
 
 An upholsterer came forward, with a length of bro- 
 cade in his hand. 
 
 "A thousand pardons, citoyenne, but I would greatly 
 esteem your attention for an instant." 
 
 Tallien looked after her as she walked into the next 
 room. There was hatred in his eyes. 
 
 "She spends my money like water," he thought. "In 
 her heart she despises me. . . . Eh? I'll give her a 
 start. I'll be top dog yet! I'll beat 'em all into jelly. 
 They are insolent, are they? Tallien is no good. Damn 
 their impertinence! I have got the people, the starving 
 people. Let them dance ! She and her lot. Barras and 
 his lot. I'll turn the music on. And it'll suit me, down 
 to the ground. Ha-ha-ha !" 
 
 Upon which pleasing reflection Man-Tallien allowed 
 his lackey to hoist him into a wonderful short-waisted blue 
 face-cloth coat adorned with silver buttons and a huge 
 velvet collar. His hat was of yellow plush. His silver- 
 headed cane was of cherry-wood. 
 
 "She's a lucky little woman," he murmured to his 
 reflection in the mirror. "In the street I'm popular. At 
 The Cow I'm loved." 
 
 The Cow was his favorite tavern. There he had his 
 own particular set of friends and his own table. He paid 
 the drinks. He paid for everything. In return he talked 
 in his cups and out of them. Always nonsense. "You 
 
LOVE 35 
 
 can't make a straw figure live," as said the poet. "Not 
 even in verse." "My dear friends," said Tallien, beaming 
 on all alike, not a whit put out. . . . (Wait, and you'll 
 hear for yourself. There's a treat in store for you. That 
 is to say, if you are fond of music.) 
 
 Citoyen Tallien swaggered back into the saloon and 
 called out to his wife. 
 
 "Don't wait dinner for me. I have important business 
 in town." 
 
 She never answered him. She and the upholsterers were 
 busy selecting hangings. 
 
 "Palms here," she said. "And that gilt screen by 
 the door." 
 
 "Why so glum? What are you thinking of? I hate 
 being stared at over the top of a newspaper." 
 
 "Of a lost opportunity." 
 
 Terezia sipped her coffee. 
 
 She put down her cup. "It seems to me you took a 
 very fair advantage of your lucky days." 
 
 Her eyes fell approvingly on a charming silver coffee- 
 set set out in front of her. 
 
 "I always liked the Rochefort silver," she said reflec- 
 tively, "but I must have their initials and crest removed. 
 People might think we stole it." 
 
 Tallien did not answer. He rustled his paper, looking 
 at his wife over its edge. She could not see his mouth 
 his grinning, loose mouth, now blankly distrustful. 
 How he hated Terezia's playing little jokes. 
 
 They were having breakfast in the little dining-room. 
 
 Such a warm, pleasant room. 
 
 The two windows were hung with green velvet curtains. 
 (Outside a white world of driven snow an unusual sight 
 in Paris.) The white-panelled walls were hung with valu- 
 able pictures, representing several notable private collec- 
 tions. The parquet floor was partly covered with an 
 ancient silk Persian carpet of indescribable and harmonious 
 shades. The furniture was of Louis XIII period, all 
 
36 LOVE 
 
 except the little round breakfast-table with its white lace- 
 edged cloth and inviting breakfast dishes. 
 
 The Talliens lived well. 
 
 Terezia was wearing a simple morning gown of pastel- 
 blue silk, edged round the wide sleeves and the open neck 
 with a narrow line of sable. By a stroke of genius her 
 dressmaker had embroidered one single pale pink rose, 
 tucked carelessly within the revers. 
 
 As Terezia put down the heavy cream- jug, she disclosed 
 an inner sleeve of old Mechlin and a lining of flesh-pink 
 ninon. The lace was repeated at her bosom, where the 
 loose gown fell away, showing the lines of her throat. 
 
 She wore her hair simply gathered together in a knot. 
 Her cheeks, in spite of her late hours, were as fresh as 
 the morning. The sun was shining on the snow. 
 
 "Pass me that dish of game, will you?" 
 
 He pushed it clumsily across the table. 
 
 "Why don't the men wait at lunch?" he asked sulkily. 
 
 She looked at him with her charming smile. "One lackey 
 is quite sufficient for me, thank you." 
 
 "Go to hell!" he spluttered. 
 
 "I beg your pardon?" 
 
 "I said nothing." 
 
 She had already done justice to a mushroom omelette 
 and to an excellent trout (caught that morning and fried 
 in cream), but none the less she appreciated the partridge. 
 
 "Quite tender," she murmured, placing her heavy silver 
 fork on the knife-rest, and dissecting the wing with her 
 fingers. She did it quite daintily. She held the wing to 
 her mouth and picked off the meat with her strong white 
 teeth. 
 
 He looked at her enviously, half leaning forward, his 
 arms sprawling on the table. The newspaper had fallen 
 on the floor. He had no appetite. 
 
 "Bad news?" she asked, wiping her fingers carefully 
 on her serviette. 
 
 "The papers never tell anything." 
 
 "Not even about me?" 
 
LOVE 37 
 
 "I never looked." 
 
 "No," she said thoughtfully; "you never do. I might 
 have been mistaken, but I thought last night at the theatre 
 that some of the people were less enthusiastic." 
 
 "No," he answered doggedly. 
 
 "Just as you please. However, no one can exist for 
 ever on the past, be it ever so glorious." 
 
 "I would like to know to whose advantage " he 
 
 yelled. 
 
 "Now, don't excite yourself. I fully appreciate the 
 significance of the IX Thermidor. Tallien is my hero, as 
 well as the idol of Paris." 
 
 He groaned. "My head is on fire," he said. 
 
 "This peaceful life does not suit you." 
 
 A canary from an adjoining room burst into an ecstasy 
 of song. 
 
 "Dicky ! Dicky !" called his mistress encouragingly. 
 
 "Can't you ever be serious? I tell you, times are omi- 
 nous. All the trash they write in the papers cannot hide 
 the main facts. We are ripe for another revolution." 
 
 The canary drowned Terezia's reply if she made any. 
 
 "If I could trust you " he began. 
 
 "You needn't. I know everything," she replied tran- 
 quilly. 
 
 He laughed, one of his immense, loud laughs. 
 
 "What a noise you two make," she said plaintively. 
 
 "There will be greater noise presently. Barras thinks 
 he is the cock of the walk. He is too sure of himself." 
 
 "At least he never screams." 
 
 "If I choose, madame, I'll howl! I'm master in my 
 own house." 
 
 "I wish," said Terezia still more plaintively, to no one 
 in particular, "that I had married in my own set." 
 
 His head rocked, but something in her tone calmed him. 
 His burst of rage gave place to maudlin sentiment. 
 
 "Darling," he whimpered, "you know I love you and 
 that the day you married me was the proudest one in my; 
 
38 LOVE 
 
 life. Haven't I shown you times out of number proofs 
 of my devotion? Darling, you treat me badly. If I was 
 jealous I'd never have a moment's peace. Sometimes I 
 cannot endure the sight of your lovers. Once you loved 
 me . . . yes, you loved me," he repeated mournfully. 
 
 Terezia was not listening. 
 
 He got up and stood over her; his hands working con- 
 vulsively. 
 
 "Terezia, for the sake of our unborn child 
 
 "Be quiet!" 
 
 "Say you forgive me. You must not be angry with 
 me, Terezia. I cannot bear it ! I can't sleep at night for 
 thinking of " 
 
 "Why this scene? If I give you cause for jealousy 
 and really and truly, it is hard to blame a beautiful woman 
 if men find her attractive I have ample proof of your 
 unfaithfulness." 
 
 He beat his hand on his chest. 
 
 "I swear by my son's salvation 
 
 "Don't ! It is so unnecessary. I don't mind your love- 
 affairs. I only deplore your taste. Will nothing make 
 you a gentleman, Tallien?" 
 
 "You treat me like a dog ... yet I love you ... I 
 respect you. We have only been married barely a 
 month " 
 
 "It seems longer." 
 
 "Let us begin again." 
 
 She drummed her fingers on the table. "With pleas- 
 ure," she said carelessly. 
 
 He fell on his knees. 
 
 She drew back her skirts in genuine alarm. "Whatever 
 you do, don't kiss my feet! I can't stand it!" 
 
 "Terezia, Terezia !" he moaned, hiding his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 She looked down at his thick, wavy, black hair. "What 
 a wreck of a bad man," she thought, almost regretfully. 
 Yet he was young enough as far as years went. Not yet 
 thirty. About ten years her senior ... It was ridiculous 
 
LOVE 39 
 
 at barely twenty to have lived through all her experiences. 
 ... It seemed such an age since her mother had brought 
 her to Paris, a shy little girl of twelve. Two years later 
 they had married her to M. le marquis de Fontenay. No, 
 certainly she had not been lucky in her marriages ! Had 
 she ever loved Tallien, that big, loose-built criminal, kneel- 
 ing at her feet? Or had she always despised him? At 
 Bordeaux he had saved her life, and she had paid hand- 
 somely for his kindness. . . . She touched his bowed head. 
 No, it would never do if Tallien lost his nerve ! The silly 
 creature might pull her down. . . . 
 
 "Dear," she said, "we must be sensible." And she 
 stroked his hair. 
 
 He put a fold of her dress between his teeth. 
 
 "I am not afraid!" she laughed. "In future I shall 
 have new duties to fulfil. Help me to bear my responsi- 
 bilities." 
 
 He looked up at her, his mouth still trembling. 
 
 "You need not be afraid," she said good-humoredly. 
 "It will be a little Tallien, sure enough. Only I hope he 
 won't have your nose. Pawvre ami, it is an ugly one." 
 
 "Terezia ! Terezia !" 
 
 "Get up," she counselled, giving him a little poke. "I 
 want to talk to you seriously." 
 
 "You might have kissed me," he sobbed. "If you had 
 kissed me I would have understood . . . We are strangers 
 to each other." 
 
 She kept her temper admirably. 
 
 "What babies men are!" she said gaily. She held up 
 her face. "I am waiting." 
 
 He bowed stiffly. "Not now. I am not yet a beggar." 
 
 He flung himself down on a sofa by the window. 
 
 A shaft of sunshine touched his face. Involuntarily 
 Terezia noticed how pimpled and blotchy his skin looked. 
 He was not properly shaved either. His eyes had a furtive, 
 frightened look and his big, loose lips were suspiciously red. 
 
 She passed her fingers over her own mouth. Did he 
 use some pigment? Or was it only fever? No wonder 
 
40 LOVE 
 
 the poor man did not sleep well at nights. And his bed- 
 room was so luxurious! 
 
 She turned round, pushed her chair forward, and looked 
 attentively at her husband. 
 
 "Seriously, what do you know? Last night I was too 
 tired to listen. Politics never interest a woman at three 
 o'clock in the morning -particularly if she has been danc- 
 ing all night. Barras does things well." 
 
 He stared out of the window. 
 
 "There is a strong faction in favor of the royalists. 
 I could lay my hands on a hundred sound and capable 
 men, ready to sacrifice " 
 
 "Is Barras amongst them?" she interrupted. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then keep quiet." 
 
 "I can't. I have practically given my word 
 
 "My poor innocent! Do you think anyone believes in 
 your word?" 
 
 He let the insult pass without comment. 
 
 "I have a better plan than that. I will entertain the 
 crowd." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "How!" she mimicked his tone. "By giving parties, 
 dances, dinners, kisses where necessary. I am not a fool. 
 I happen also to be irresistible." 
 
 He sat upright, fascinated by her audacity. 
 
 "And how the devil " 
 
 "Quite easy. If you play your cards well, by June you 
 will be Dictator in France. No bloodshed, of course. That 
 is happily out of date. The faculty of medicine have shown 
 us that it is quite possible to heal without shedding blood. 
 Why not follow their good example?" 
 
 "Why not?" He knotted his fingers together. "The 
 easiest matter in the world. You are very clever, madam." 
 His tone was biting. 
 
 "I am going to see Josephine this afternoon. I have 
 ordered the carriage for two o'clock. Come with me." 
 
LOVE 41 
 
 "Do you think I have nothing better to do than dance 
 attendance on Barras' mistress?" 
 
 "Do exactly as you please. We have nothing more 
 important to discuss than our contribution to the Bour- 
 rienne dinner. It is a good plan to club together. As 
 it is, meals are far too sketchy in Paris.'* 
 
 "Two and two together," he said, evidently engrossed 
 by some idea. 
 
 "Excellent," she assented. "How we laughed the other 
 night at the Simons' ! We were twenty people, and every- 
 one had brought a dish of herrings. When I entertain it 
 is different." 
 
 "Be careful, Terezia." 
 
 "No, no, little man, I am going to be very indiscreet! 
 The papers will mention our splendid dinners and people 
 will remember them and return." She rose as she spoke 
 and picked up the newspaper lying on the floor. 
 
 "Listen !" she cried presently. " * . . . Not only is 
 Madame Tallien noted for her beauty, her charm, her 
 intelligence, but also for her prodigal charity. As a 
 true Sister of Mercy, she does not spare herself on behalf 
 of the poor . . .* Tallien, I insist on having five louis 
 d'or at once!" 
 
 "The pay of an army corps. I'm not made of money." 
 
 "You are worth your weight in gold! Besides, your 
 reputation is at stake. I tell you, at the theatre last 
 
 night " She looked out of the window. "Oh," she 
 
 cried, "if that is not too bad! I refuse to see him." 
 
 A tall young man, muffled up to his throat in an 
 immense great-coat, was standing on the door-step, sav- 
 agely kicking the snow off his boots. 
 
 Presently he rang the bell. 
 
 After an interval a footman brought in a card and a 
 letter, "Citoyen Guery would be much obliged if the citoy- 
 enne could spare him a few moments " 
 
 Terezia waved her hand. "I am not at home," she 
 said, snatching the letter and tearing it open. "Remember 
 
42 LOVE 
 
 in future, whenever Citoyen Guery calls, I am never at 
 home." 
 
 "Yes, citoyenne" 
 
 "Stay! Did he say anything about his journey?" 
 
 "Citoyen Guery has his instructions and he is leaving 
 Paris this morning for Bordeaux." 
 
 Terezia did not like Pierre. He was Tallien's confiden- 
 tial servant. He had been with him all through the 
 Terror. It was he who had helped his master with his 
 dressing on the memorable occasion of Robespierre's down- 
 fall. The man had a marvellous memory. 
 
 "That's all right," said Terezia. "No answer." 
 
 Pierre gently shut the door behind him. In the hall he 
 adjusted the collar of his coat. 
 
 "It is an unpardonable mistake," he pondered, "for a 
 man to marry his mistress. They always either grow 
 overbearing or religious." 
 
 To the eager visitor, waiting on the doorstep, he deliv- 
 ered his message: 
 
 "Citoyenne Tallien is not at home." 
 
 Young Guery looked up at the charmingly curtained 
 windows. Then he turned on his heel and almost ran down 
 the broad avenue. 
 
 "He is well out of it," mused the discreet Pierre as he 
 shut the door and put up the safety-chain. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 TT was freezing cold this January, 1795. 
 
 The Parisians suffered heavily for the better part 
 were fireless and hungry. The Revolution had left want 
 behind her and disorder and great astonishment; poor 
 and rich alike in this respect. The prices asked and paid 
 were exorbitant. People talked of the good old days of 
 the Terror when living was cheap and comradeship easy, 
 and made their comparisons. It is always thus. A social 
 or a moral upheaval always leaves us the poorer. 
 
 The winds swept over Paris biting northeast gales. 
 The Seine froze solidly. At the street corners roast chest- 
 nuts tempted the rich. There was quite a roaring trade 
 done in them at anything you liked to ask, or take. There 
 were no maximum prices in those days to check the 
 profiteer. No police to speak of. 
 
 Horses, rough-shod, clattered in all directions down 
 the ice-bound streets to the peril of unwary pedestrians. 
 Carriages were beginning to put in a tardy appearance, 
 of a very plain description. Still, it was a beginning. 
 Much as a snowdrop heralds spring. The sight of some 
 pale-faced lady, seated erect in her family chariot, prom- 
 ised better things. There was even a question of opening 
 the churches for religious purposes. However, the 
 Assembly put down the proposition as being too radical. 
 "Let things slide," said Tallien, beaming. One of his 
 happy days, when not only Madame Tallien had shaken 
 hands with him, but also Citizens Barras, Cambaceres, 
 Sieyes all influential people. Most days his friends cut 
 him dead. A very mournful state of affairs. 
 
 "Let things slide," he repeated. 
 
 The news-sheets odd to say made poor sales. The 
 
 43 
 
44 LOVE 
 
 public were indifferent to the press. It took a great 
 interest in their dinners, but the affairs of the country 
 left them yawning. "It is all the same to us," they said. 
 "Things could not be worse." 
 
 Then Tallien made another great speech. "Friends and 
 comrades," he shouted, "they might be better! I have 
 a scheme " 
 
 "Damn him!" said Barras languidly. Tallien's tirades 
 in the Assembly bored him completely. M. Barras' atti- 
 tude was typical of the times. If you can imagine a city 
 of sleep-walkers, see Paris, or rather the Parisians, 
 shuffling along without a purpose. They were too tired 
 to do anything else. Too tired of excitement and specu- 
 lation to ask a single question. If you had offered them 
 a peep into the future, no one would have taken it. "Let 
 things slide." 
 
 Walking at a very quick pace, towards Cour la Reine, 
 a young officer passed through the phlegmatic crowd. 
 
 "Roast chestnuts! Three for fourpence!" 
 
 He scowled at the buxom saleswoman who would thrust 
 herself on his attention. 
 
 Her face was the color of beetroot. Her eyes smiled 
 kindly. Trade was fairly prosperous. Her little bag of 
 coppers well worth five hundred francs in assignats; not 
 that she would have exchanged her poor handful of sous 
 for a flimsy note not even for a big blue. A big blue bill 
 bore the legend of one thousand silver pieces. . . . Bah! 
 why not ten thousand? 
 
 The wind tore round the corner, from the Place de la 
 Revolution. A cab-driver, muffled in an antediluvian cape, 
 swore loudly as he beat his arms on his chest. His frost- 
 bitten hand, swollen and red, caught at a tarnished metal 
 button. It burnt like fire. . . . 
 
 "Chestnuts! Roast chestnuts four for fourpence!" 
 
 The young officer looked back. 
 
 "My son," she said, "you want them more than I do. 
 Why, you look as hungry as a starved cat. Good God, 
 what eyes!" 
 
LOVE 45 
 
 The young officer smiled. He searched his pockets and 
 brought out a precious sou. 
 
 She took it gingerly and tested it with her teeth. 
 
 "Bon. Of what regiment?" 
 
 "The 23rd Artillery. General." 
 
 She gaped. "What imagination!" 
 
 "Great," he answered. 
 
 "He! Robert, Id " She waved her hand to her 
 
 friend the cab-driver. "Look at him. He is a general 
 he is. This little hop-o'-my-thumb. He has fought in 
 battles he has. He has commanded a whole army-corps." 
 She was richly tickled at her fancy. 
 
 The officer took the joke in very good part. 
 
 "True, mother; if all generals were as hungry as I am, 
 they would either eat each other or the world." 
 
 She shook her head compassionately. He was so thin, 
 so young and so obviously in poor circumstances. She 
 knew nothing of epaulets, but she was good at spotting 
 stains and the lack of darns. 
 
 His ugly boots had never feasted on polish, and were 
 as cracked as the mouth of a crater. Quite evidently he 
 had had to shift for himself in this freezing wilderness 
 of new Paris. 
 
 The old days were over (God be praised!). The new 
 days were as yet too unknown to bear comment. 
 
 People were returning to Paris. Here and there shops 
 were unshuttered. Musicians, with tuneless instruments, 
 strutted the streets and played their ear-piercing melodies. 
 Theatre-folk so she had heard were again employed at 
 their ungodly calling. At the Theatre Odeon they were 
 acting Moliere to aristocratic audiences. The pretty 
 ladies dared once again to peep out of their windows ; poor 
 dears they who had survived had battled through hard 
 times. . . . The chestnut-seller was not opposed to justice, 
 but she dearly loved the sight of an elegant lady. 
 
 Just at that moment she spied a well-known carriage. 
 
 "Look," she said to her customer. "She is well worth 
 
46 LOVE 
 
 a glance. The loveliest woman in France! Vive notre 
 Dame de Thermidor!" 
 
 Strange to say, this miserable sub-lieutenant disdained 
 to admire the redoubtable Madame Tallien, driving past 
 in all her glory, wrapped up to her enchanting chin in 
 black fox skins; her furred bonnet ornamented with a 
 cherry satin rosette, her beautiful face looking like a 
 flushed pearl. 
 
 "I am in a hurry," he said shortly. "Give me my 
 dinner." 
 
 She rocked with laughter. 
 
 "Hoighty-toighty !" she screamed. "Is he jealous? 
 Poor little puss in boots !" 
 
 He took her pleasantry in good part, and the proffered 
 bag of chestnuts. She had given him more than her con- 
 science afforded. Bah ! you did not every day come across 
 a pair of eyes of such exceptional fascination. 
 
 He saluted and thanked her, and was off like an arrow 
 from the bow. 
 
 She considered half a second. Then she clutched at 
 her bosom and drew out a bundle of notes. Quickly she 
 selected a dozen or so. 
 
 "Citoyen, your change!" she yelled. Half Paris could 
 have heard her. 
 
 "Keep it," called the lordly sub-lieutenant, continuing 
 his way. 
 
 The cab-driver, pulling his dejected horse after him, 
 drew near the chestnut brazier. 
 
 "Thou idiot," he said in the lady's ear, "he was a gen- 
 eral. His name is Bonaparte, and he distinguished him- 
 self at Toulon, and nearly lost his head when Robespierre 
 fell." (He scratched his own.) "Don't care a button 
 about politics and don't understand them. Anyhow he's 
 out of prison now and on the look-out for a job." 
 
 A sudden flash of sunlight lit up the wintry sky. 
 
 Straining her eyes, the chestnut-seller caught a glimpse 
 of her recent customer, tearing along at express speed. 
 
LOVE 47 
 
 Almost instinctively people made way for him. They 
 looked back at him in wonder. 
 
 There was no hurry in Paris, New Year, 1795. 
 
 General Bonaparte wasn't in luck's way that day. 
 
 Hardly had he reached his miserable attic, tired and 
 despondent after another futile morning, spent in tramp- 
 ing from one influential man's ante-room to another 
 (always with the same half-ironic, half-patronizing dis- 
 missal and a vague promise that his petition would be 
 "looked into" at some future date), before his privacy 
 was disturbed by his laundress. 
 
 She came in unannounced and stood upright by the 
 door and stared at her patron with no mild eye. She 
 meant business. It seemed that the general owed her a 
 bill as long as her arm. 
 
 At first he hardly seemed to grasp what she said. "What 
 is it?" he asked. 
 
 In the fading light of the day she could hardly discern 
 his features. He was lying on his bed, covered by his 
 military coat. The thermometer at zero in that fireless 
 room. She tried to pierce the secret of the place. There 
 was no secret, only blatant, cruel poverty. 
 
 She had mounted those interminable stone stairs he 
 lodged in an ancient house in the neighborhood of Notre 
 Dame fully determined, at the expense of a pair of 
 strong, though exhausted, lungs, to give him a piece of 
 her mind. In all the quartier she was the loudest-tongued 
 female. She had a vocabulary to match her voice ; besides 
 a good, strong temper, and, in this case, some excuse for it. 
 
 However, here she stood, curiously at a loss for an 
 answer. 
 
 "Times are bad," she declared, almost humbly. "I must 
 have ten francs on account." 
 
 He sat up on the bed, and kicked off his great-coat. 
 He had removed his boots. She noticed that his stockings 
 were in holes. 
 
 "Five," she said, looking at his heel. 
 
48 LOVE 
 
 "Add twenty to the bill. Surely you can't doubt my 
 word ? When I am a rich man, you'll be a proud woman." 
 
 "I'm a hungry one now," she said. 
 
 "I can sympathize with you." 
 
 He rose, searched his pockets, and offered her two chest- 
 nuts. In his stockinged feet he slipped across the floor 
 (uncarpeted) and looked out of the window. 
 
 Here and there oil lamps gleamed in the street below. 
 For the most part he had an uninterrupted view of con- 
 gested roofs and chimney-pots. From a neighboring 
 house a thick cloud of smoke a vertical column in the 
 still, frosty air spoke of warmth and food. A fresh 
 fall of snow had given a miraculously clean look to the city. 
 
 "Three francs on account," she repeated, greedily biting 
 her chestnuts and squaring her elbows. 
 
 He sighed ; flung himself down on a cane chair, standing 
 by the window, in front of a deal table, covered with maps 
 and books. 
 
 "In ten years, my good woman, you will tremble at 
 the mere thought of your present impertinence." 
 
 "Oh, lord!" she said, flinging the skins on the floor, "I 
 have no patience with visionary heroes." 
 
 "As to that " 
 
 He looked her straight in the face, and smiled. 
 
 From under her shawl she brought out a parcel and, 
 stepping gently, meekly placed it on his camp bedstead. 
 She straightened the coverlet and stood thinking a moment. 
 
 "M. le general," she said, "at Toulon you saved my 
 Loulou's life and incidentally the honor of France. I 
 don't care a scrap about France say what you will, there 
 you saved a tattered rag. But Loulou is my good husband, 
 except when he drinks and when I do the best I can for 
 your inexpressible linen, I always remember the service 
 you did me. Good evening, M. le general." 
 
 She made for the door in subdued silence, as it were, 
 resigned to a fate stronger than herself. 
 
 He rose impulsively, his thin hand resting on the table. 
 
 "Madam," he said in a low voice, vibrating with emo- 
 
LOVE 49 
 
 tion, "it is not always sufficient, especially under trying 
 
 circumstances, to believe in oneself. ... I tell you " 
 
 (he clenched his fist until the knuckles shone blue in the 
 fading light) "it is hell to tramp the streets of Paris, 
 dreaming, thinking, knowing! Why, woman, I am 
 crammed with knowledge, and opportunity evades me at 
 every turn. In this hurly-burly when shall I have my 
 chance ?" 
 
 Tears welled in his eyes. His fine, eager face quivered 
 as if from a physical blow. 
 
 "It is more than I can bear," he said dully, the flame 
 dying from his eyes, leaving to view a pinched, half-starved 
 physiognomy. 
 
 Woman of the people as she was, Loulou's wife, she was 
 yet impressed by her poor customer's earnestness. He 
 believed in himself that he did! And, par exemple, why 
 should not she credit him with unforeseen good luck? 
 Things happened. Strange things. La-la! 
 
 She shrugged her broad shoulders and flashed an honest 
 smile at him. She admired personal courage. 
 
 "What do you take me for?" she asked indignantly. 
 "Would I trust you for two hundred francs paid in 
 coin if I did not believe in your ultimate good fortune? 
 Am I a wicked woman?" {crescendo) "Am I a fool? Would 
 I defraud my family at the expense of an empty sentiment 
 
 The last word she hurled at him with the full force of 
 her outraged dignity. It was good to speak one's mind! 
 
 "Thank you," he said. "To hear such an opinion is 
 worth an actual slice of mutton. Will you permit me to 
 look at my account?" 
 
 "Certainly, sir." 
 
 Briskly she handed him a blue roll. 
 
 "Thank you." He waved his hand. "Be so good as 
 to be seated." 
 
 She stood up against the wall. 
 
 "By the light of future events it would be a liberty," 
 she said. 
 
50 LOVE 
 
 He unrolled the bill and docketed the iten:s with a lead 
 pencil. Once he glanced towards the bed. 
 
 "You have brought me back my best shirt?" he asked. 
 "I have but three in the world, as you know, and to-morrow 
 night I dine at the BourriennesV 
 
 "It is there," she said; "washed, ironed, mended." 
 
 "You are a good woman," he said, "but you have over- 
 charged me in two places. You have also accounted for 
 garments which I have never possessed. I will take the 
 liberty of correcting these mistakes " 
 
 There is a limit to human endurance. "Consider- 
 ing >5 she began. 
 
 "Wait a moment, if you please. 'Bill' (he wrote) 'to be 
 paid five years hence, from date above, at compound 
 interest, plus one thousand francs in gold. Signed, 
 Napoleon Bonaparte.' Does that satisfy you, madame?" 
 He looked up at her gravely. 
 
 She wandered heavily to the table and took up the 
 document. 
 
 "It will have to," she said. 
 
 Then she shook her head. "I'll wager my money that 
 your shirts won't last five years." 
 
 He laughed joyously. 
 
 "T'ja!" he said. "I'll have a dozen new ones before the 
 year is out. And two pairs of boots and a grand new 
 uniform, and a nice warm cloak and a pocketful of money." 
 
 She looked at him from her high estate as a sensible 
 woman. 
 
 "Good-night, my brave child," she said, and tramped 
 down the bare staircase, leaving the general engrossed in 
 his happy thoughts. 
 
 The night came on windy and cold. By dawn Paris 
 glittered under a fall of driven snow. A great light hung 
 in the eastern sky pale, luminous, clear. And the city 
 looked as if washed from all her sins. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THEY were playing billiards at the Bourriennes', when 
 General Bonaparte arrived, rather breathless and 
 very late. He could distinctly hear the click of the ivory 
 balls from an adjoining saloon. 
 
 From early morning until half-an-hour ago, he had sat 
 at his writing-table, by the draughty window, engrossed 
 in his work, entirely forgetful of everything else, his 
 hunger, the numb condition of his hands and feet even 
 of his dinner-party, until the lengthening shadows inter- 
 fered with his reading. When he realized the hour he 
 made the best of time. It vexed him to be late for an 
 appointment. 
 
 "Bon soir, M. le general." 
 
 "How are you, Peter? Am I very late?" 
 
 Bourrienne's confidential servant an old soldier shook 
 his head. "No, monsieur. Madame la Vicomtesse de Beau- 
 harnais has not arrived. She is always the last." 
 
 "My luck this time," said Bonaparte, flinging his cloak 
 into the arms of a footman and stamping his wet boots 
 on the door-mat. "It is snowing hard again." 
 
 "Shut the door," said Peter to the footman. "Why do 
 you always leave it open? Seasonable weather, citizen." 
 
 Bonaparte smoothed his long-cut ragged hair, and, 
 taking out of his pocket a clean linen handkerchief, he care- 
 fully wiped his face. "I'll cool down," he said, glancing 
 round the little hall which, in comparison with the freez- 
 ing temperature outside, felt hot as a vapor bath. 
 
 His eyes fell on a square table a solid piece of work- 
 manship from ancient times, standing to the left of the 
 winding staircase leading to a floor above. (The Bour- 
 
 51 
 
52 LOVE 
 
 riennes inhabited a commodious old house.) He clapped 
 his hands to his pockets in dismay. The table was prac- 
 tically covered with every variety of parcel for the most 
 part of modest dimensions. He stood there, straight and 
 thin as a reed, and his sensitive mouth quivered. "I have 
 brought nothing," he said simply. "I had nothing to 
 bring, but a hungry man's excellent appetite." (He had 
 eaten nothing all day.) 
 
 From the adjoining saloon, through the murmur of 
 general conversation, came the sound of a woman's light 
 laughter. It rang like a bell, clear and joyous, evidently 
 dominating the situation. M. Bourrienne's guests were 
 amusing themselves. Bonaparte felt himself an interloper. 
 What had he to do with a pack of pleasure-seekers? He 
 drew his brows together moody, silent, miserable. 
 
 Peter beckoned to the footman. "You are wanted in 
 the dining-room," he said. "Here, take these parcels. 
 Dish them and place them on the table. Scraps!" he 
 muttered beneath his breath. "Be careful, now. Your 
 thumbs won't improve Madame de St. Innocent's jelly, 
 even though it is a thimbleful." 
 
 "I'll do my best," said the young man, as he vanished 
 through a small door in the panelling. 
 
 "And that is little enough," said Peter, adjusting the 
 wick of a smoking lamp and staring vindictively at a 
 voluminous plum-colored cloth coat, heavily braided in 
 silver, with an immense roll-collar of orange velvet. It 
 hung on the same peg as a charming wrap, mounted and 
 lined with black fox-skins and further ornamented with 
 knots of cherry satin ribbons. Beneath these two garments 
 stood a tiny pair of ladies' over-boots laced with gold 
 cord and a mammoth pair of galoshes. They formed 
 an amusing study in contrasts. 
 
 The little hall square and low-pitched, with a massive 
 oak central beam, from which swung two oil lamps was 
 overcrowded with a varied collection of outdoor apparel. 
 On the polished oak floor, just as they had been kicked 
 off, lay the guests' overshoes, still wet with snow-slush; 
 
LOVE 53 
 
 indeed, here and there shining pools of water had collected 
 on the uneven surface of the dented boards. So few of 
 the guests could afford driving. 
 
 "M. le general is more than welcome to everything the 
 house affords," said Peter respectfully. "There are others 
 who can pay double, treble, a hundredfold !" He snapped 
 his fingers with a disdainful gesture. 
 
 Bonaparte continued his toilet. He was busy with a 
 clumsy-looking steel file, cleaning his nails. "My friend," 
 he said, "where does dirt come from?" 
 
 The old soldier deliberately kicked one of the monstrous 
 galoshes. "They can afford to buy up Paris," he said. 
 "They can eat ortolans and oysters out of season, and 
 raisin porridge when winter comes along as a snarling 
 wolf." 
 
 "T'jaT returned Bonaparte, "leaving raisin porridge 
 aside, we are well out of his shoes." 
 
 "Maybe, sir. But there is a mighty consolation in 
 food." Peter nodded his head towards the table. "How- 
 ever, to-day, I am sorry to say, most of 'em have brought 
 bread, and stale bread at that. We had a grand feast 
 last week. Why were you not here, M. le general?" 
 
 "I was not invited." 
 
 "Madame de Beauharnais sent a whole bucketful of soup 
 such soup meaty, strong, with forcemeat-balls, toma- 
 toes and peas ! I filled the four soup-tureens belonging to 
 our small dinner-service the East India one. It was 
 heated to a turn it came steaming hot to table. Only 
 twenty covers, and each person had a generous plateful. 
 There was amply sufficient over for us. Even servants 
 have stomachs, M. le general empty stomachs. Then I 
 heard my master's genial voice: 'Who will take a second 
 helping?' Eighteen responded." 
 
 "Who was the abstemious one?" laughed Bonaparte. 
 
 "Sir," said Peter solemnly, "there wasn't sufficient for 
 the last guest. He had to go without." 
 
 Bonaparte smoothed the lapel of his coat, a gleam of 
 fun in his eyes. He bent over the table until his nose 
 
54 LOVE 
 
 almost touched a parcel. "It is either wild duck or 
 partridge," he said. 
 
 Peter discreetly tore open a corner of it and disclosed 
 a game-pie. 
 
 "M. Barras," he said, "whenever M. Barras dines here, 
 or elsewhere, for the matter of that, he always brings six 
 handsome meat-pies. He is generosity itself. Not only 
 meat, m'sieu' meat at eighty francs a pound but fre- 
 quently he will send us, with his compliments, wine wine 
 at the Lord knows what figure ! Without doubt M. Barras 
 is the most popular guest of the day in Paris." 
 
 The general, with extreme difficulty, was manoeuvring 
 his hands into a pair of old, white kid gloves. He worked 
 his fingers automatically. "Confound it !" he said, holding 
 out his right hand. "The glove has split." 
 
 "Never mind," consoled the old servant. "Hands were 
 made before gloves, and an honest man is worth ten fops 
 any day. Besides, nothing will make M. le general elegant. 
 
 Bonaparte drew himself up to his full height, a slight, 
 virile, well-knit figure. "Don't be too sure," he said 
 gravely. "Appearances are often deceptive." 
 
 As if in answer to his statement, that clear, metallic 
 laugh, from the next room, rang out a trifle shriller than 
 before, followed by a chorus of approving male voices. 
 
 "Some woman playing to the gallery." 
 
 "Yes, M. le general. She is never contented until the 
 last man falls." 
 
 "I'll have to avoid her!" 
 
 "Why not capitulate at once?" said Peter, allowing him- 
 self this little pleasantry. 
 
 "Never ! while I have an ounce of shot left in my barrel," 
 said Bonaparte, taking a step forward. "I suppose I 
 ought to be going in?" 
 
 "Just as you please, sir. There is no hurry. The 
 lady " 
 
 "On second thoughts, I'll wait here for the unknown. 
 I have never met Madame de Beauharnais." He seated 
 himself in the big hall chair, smiling gaily. "Heigh, Peter ! 
 
LOVE 55 
 
 after all, there is no woman's laugh to ( ampare with a good 
 round of musketry, or, for the matter of that, any woman's 
 eye equal to the enemy's fire, for putting the right man 
 on his true mettle." He sat there silent for a minute, for 
 all the world as if defrauded of some precious privilege. 
 
 "Peter!" 
 
 "Yes, sir?" 
 
 "I am going to leave women out of my life." 
 
 "Love plays a winning game with the best of us," said 
 Peter with a prodigious sigh. 
 
 "My brother Joseph, who, between ourselves, is a bit of 
 a fool, made a brilliant marriage. I know all that. Money, 
 youth, love yet I don't envy him. I am glad for my 
 mother's sake that he can provide for her. They, my 
 people, have had an awful struggle to make the two ends 
 meet. One day I will relieve Joseph of his responsibilities. 
 After all, Mademoiselle Clerie is not our equal in birth. 
 Her father is a rich grocer in Marseilles." 
 
 "It sounds comfortable," said Peter, seeing in his imag- 
 ination a vast selection of smoked hams, bags of sugar and 
 rice, and flagons of purest oil. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Desiree his sister-in-law is a charming 
 young lady. But neither of the sisters are to be compared 
 with mine. Pauline is a beauty and Caroline is as lively 
 as a kitten. They deserve good fortune." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I have a pair of strong hands. And more than that, 
 brains to fit out a regiment, and imagination to go round 
 a well-populated town. . . . Why, I am the wealthiest 
 man in Paris ! What do I care about Tallien and his ill- 
 gotten gold and his well-furnished table and his downy bed 
 hard enough, I swear, when he lies awake thinking 
 thinking? His future is pretty sure, and his past written 
 in ink. We cannot evade our own actions, but we can 
 guard against possible alarms." He spoke extremely fast 
 hardly addressing his words to Peter, who, anyhow, 
 understood but vaguely their purport. 
 
 "You are too much alone, general." 
 
56 LOVE 
 
 "Alone! I am never alone. I have unlimited resources 
 and unlimited friends. A bare room is never empty. Are 
 you a reader, Peter?'* 
 
 "At times, sir." 
 
 "To-night, clear off these pegs, usher out the guests, 
 turn down the lights, take this chair and let all the heroes 
 and all the villains in your favorite romances march in. I 
 tell you, your blood will beat in your veins. The villains 
 you can cheerfully hang on the pegs fancy them there 
 all in a row. The heroes you will stand round the hos- 
 pitable board, each with a loaf in his hand a flagon of 
 wine by his side. You will be pleased and delighted. And 
 you will hear wonders. All the little details which, for 
 want of space, the best writer has to leave out of his books. 
 You have only got to sit there and listen until the cock 
 crows, or the sun looks in at the window, crying, 'Wake 
 up, old Peter; no 'time for dreaming. Set the breakfast 
 and see that your master's boots are cleaned.' . . . That 
 is the worst of it. A hermit is the only man who is really 
 to be envied. The wind and sun and birds never really 
 interfere with his proud leisure. He can eat his nuts in 
 peace and let his beard grow ." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Peter very respectfully, observing the 
 extraordinary brilliancy of the general's eyes and feeling 
 anxious about his health. 
 
 A loud knock on the door disturbed his reflection. 
 "There we have her at last!" he exclaimed, glancing up 
 at the grandfather clock and opening the hall-door with 
 a flourish. 
 
 The general rose to his feet, and the light died out of 
 his eyes. He looked nervous and tired. 
 
 On the doorstep, powdered with snow, stood a small 
 errand-boy, holding in one hand a big basket and in the 
 other a card. "Madame de Beauharnais' compliments. 
 She can't come," he said, thrusting the card into the old 
 retainer's hand and placing the basket on the floor. Then 
 he ran. At a safe distance he turned and made a face at 
 Peter, who hadn't clearly grasped the situation, or why 
 
LOVE 57 
 
 he had let that young rascal escape without at least one 
 sounding rap on his weather-beaten ear. 
 
 The wind blew into the stuffy hall. The oil lamps began 
 smoking, and the general coughed. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir." 
 
 Peter lifted the basket on to the table, and undid the 
 wrappings. After a moment's silence he said, "I have 
 always respected Madame de Beauharnais." 
 
 Both the men stared in admiration at a big and ornate 
 cake, shaped like a pyramid and covered with whipped 
 cream. 
 
 "Inside we have layers of sponge-cake, almond icing and 
 chopped pieces of burnt sugar," observed Peter reveren- 
 tially. 
 
 "Exactly," said the general. "I have eaten the same 
 thing at M. Barras'." 
 
 "Indeed, sir?" 
 
 Peter's eyes fell on the card. Being written, as it 
 were, for the whole world to see, he did not scruple to 
 read it aloud. Peter was proud of his learning. 
 
 "I am desolated (it ran) and at the same time delighted ! 
 My daughter, Hortense, has just arrived from school to 
 pay me a surprise visit. The dear child has only permis- 
 sion to stay a few days. I have not the heart to leave 
 her. Pray accept my sincere excuses and this little cake, 
 which I am sending round to console you for my absence. 
 Josephine." 
 
 The general laughed boyishly. "You are an old sinner, 
 my friend," he said. "I'll see you again later. Hist, Peter, 
 I am devilish hungry." 
 
 Peter made a sudden dart and, grabbing a meat-pie, he 
 pointed to the window niche. "An appetizer," he said, 
 slipping the dainty into the general's hand. 
 
 Bonaparte, in spite of his gloves, whose ultimate ruin 
 he was preparing, clutched the pastry and, in comparative 
 seclusion, with his back turned to any possible observer, 
 he devoured the luscious morsel. As he had said, he was 
 desperately hungry. 
 
58 LOVE 
 
 Peter stooped and put the guests' over-boots in orderly 
 array. Only when, the general's j aws ceased working did 
 he look up. 
 
 A shade of color had crept into the young officer's face. 
 His brilliant, deep-set eyes sparkled with renewed fire. He 
 was now quite ready to face any odds. Even a woman's 
 laugh. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 GENERAL BONAPARTE!" 
 
 jje marched into the room, head erect, though 
 his hands felt cold and clammy. 
 
 He was conscious of his own insignificance. His pov- 
 erty struck him as so ludicrously real. He had practically 
 stolen his courage (what there was of it) at the expense 
 of one of Barras' immaculate pies. Food is man's 
 salvation. 
 
 Out of the throng his kindly hostess detached herself; 
 a plump, soft-eyed woman, modestly attired. 
 
 "Late comer!" she chided. "Welcome! I think you 
 know our little party?" 
 
 General Bonaparte bowed awkwardly and murmured 
 an utterly inaudible reply. He was the prey of intense 
 
 nervousness. Why had he ever come? Why ? He 
 
 scowled, and backed into a corner of the room. 
 
 As a lady afterwards confided to her friend who had 
 not the advantage of the "new" general's acquaintance 
 he frowned so wickedly that he absolutely froze her blood. 
 And then something or other made him smile, and she 
 forgot everything else in her admiration for his appear- 
 ance. "He's wonderfully handsome," she added. 
 
 Evidently from the above the new lion, underfed and 
 practically unknown was a creature of moods. 
 
 Terezia Tallien, from her place at the top of the room, 
 considered him gravely. Was he worth cultivating? As 
 a possible lover, would he satisfy her taste? He was thin, 
 uncouth, sprung from, comparatively speaking, humble 
 stock. Were not all Corsicans more or less savages ? The 
 general had come to Paris if not covered with glory at least 
 with an exceptional military record. There was no ques- 
 
 59 
 
60 LOVE 
 
 tion as to his bravery. M. Barras said he was clever 
 . . . later on he might do. He might amuse her. The 
 little man did not look at her. Her eyes swept his person 
 and rested on his boots. Evidently the boots were not 
 worthy the man ! He looked extraordinarily boyish. 
 
 Terezia turned to her hostess. 
 
 "I want to know our vaudeville general," she said. "A 
 man who scowls like that must be interesting. Does he 
 eat babies, dearest?" 
 
 And she laughed and leaned sideways in her high-backed 
 gilt chair, letting her beautiful bare arms fall downwards. 
 
 The general recognized the laugh. 
 
 He had heard of Madame Tallien and he hadn't approved 
 of her. Her character did not bear scrutiny. A woman 
 who could deliberately marry Tallien couldn't be worth 
 many soldi. 
 
 She was beautiful yes, beautiful as a glowing, soulless 
 picture. He despised her airs and graces. His keen blue 
 eyes flashed across the circle of men drawn around her, 
 apparently all desperately anxious to serve their queen. 
 All the service she demanded What fools ! 
 
 M. Bourrienne hurried up to him a genial, pleasant, 
 disturbed man. He had lived through so much that he 
 was continually doubting the next step. To-day his eye- 
 brows looked as if they were permanently fixed at their 
 present high level. His little round blue eyes looked guile- 
 less as an infant's. He appeared a young-old man of 
 forty. 
 
 "General, Madame Tallien wants to know you. Take 
 care, my good fellow ; she is invincible." 
 
 The general, who, feeling himself lost in the crowd, was 
 smiling happily at some joke of Captain Junot's, who had 
 found him out, and who was standing staunchly by his 
 superior officer's side, was now obliged to face the music. 
 
 The introduction completed, he immediately retired to 
 his corner, looking blacker than ever. 
 
 M. Barras, who noticed most things, was ridiculously 
 pleased at this little incident. 
 
LOVE 61 
 
 He nipped a fellow-legislator in his collar and whispered 
 in his ear: "There is a man for you, worth his weight 
 twice in gold! La Cabarus has had her first actual de- 
 feat. Now it is her turn to frown. Poor darling! a 
 beautiful woman never can understand a personal af- 
 front. Look at her eyes, sick with wonder." 
 
 "Console her, Barras." 
 
 Barras shrugged his broad shoulders., "Later on," he 
 remarked cynically, as he turned to offer his arm to his 
 hostess and led the way into the adjoining dining-room. 
 
 A poorly-lit apartment, with a long table down the 
 centre of the room, covered with a curious selection of 
 eatables. Here stood a flagon of thin ale beside a spidery 
 bottle of old wine. Flat hardbake and crisp currant 
 loaves ; dishes of fried fish and forcemeat balls ; slices of 
 cold ham and some kind of hot vegetables dished with 
 parsley-sauce; red-currant jellies; a big round dish of 
 stewed apples ; in an old Nankeen bowl a meagre supply 
 of fancy biscuits; on a Sevres plate a couple of small 
 cream meringues ; on the sideboard a dozen or so of large 
 meat-pies. There were no flowers on the table. Four 
 ancient and massive silver candlesticks each with its 
 lighted taper and two solid silver sugar-basins, gave, as 
 it were, all the decoration needed to Madame Bourrienne's 
 dinner-table. 
 
 Tallien and Barras occupied the seats of honor, one 
 on each side of their hostess. Tallien was in great form 
 to-day. Across the whole length of the table one could 
 hear his loud, piercing voice laying down the law. It 
 was quite necessary to insist on his point of view, as no 
 one felt in the least inclined to contradict him. Socially 
 speaking, all argument had died a natural death. 
 
 Madame Bourrienne listened to his remarks with her 
 head on one side, occasionally wiping her nose, and let- 
 ting her eyes wander up and down the table, taking in 
 the different contributions. . . . On the whole they would 
 not do badly. They had dear Josephine's cake in reserve. 
 So generous, on her poor little widow's pension. . 
 
62 LOVE 
 
 Terezia had run to a whole shoulder of veal a dish to set 
 before a king. It was well when riches came into right 
 hands. . . . 
 
 "I tell you," screamed Tallien, tucking his big napkin 
 under his chin, "no one could have settled the affair in 
 any other manner. Anything less dramatic would have 
 failed in its purpose. We require a picturesque action. 
 Nothing appeals more to our imagination than a great 
 splash of color. A man's personality is his most attrac- 
 tive weapon. I tell you " 
 
 "Yes, indeed," murmured Madame Bourrienne, wonder- 
 ing who amongst the party was responsible for the two 
 cream meringues and, incidentally, who would have the 
 honor of eating them. 
 
 In 1795 a hostess's anxieties were, relatively speaking, 
 small. Out of a penurious situation this excellent plan 
 had been contrived that each guest should provide some- 
 thing towards the feast host and guest mutually ignor- 
 ing the contribution. Poverty is no hard master if ge- 
 nially met. On the contrary: no one questioned your 
 poverty, but riches were looked upon with distinct cold- 
 ness. Even M. Tallien had recently been questioned by 
 the Convention from what source he happened to draw 
 his wealth. He had answered with much promptness, 
 and some anger, that he had married a rich man's daugh- 
 ter. Surely the honorable members recalled to mind his 
 excellency M. le comte de Cabarus, ex-financier to His 
 Majesty of Spain? He had worthily provided for his 
 only daughter. The honorable members did not in the 
 least credit the wealth or generosity of the ex-financier 
 (a notorious swindler), but they had to accept the state- 
 ment in default of a better one. As yet M. Tallien's 
 star though somewhat dimmed shone in public. Even 
 M. B arras had unconditionally accepted his colleague's 
 explanation. Yet it had not prevented him from smiling. 
 The joke was really rather above the average. Was he, 
 Tallien, a clever rogue? No; M. Barras, even to himself, 
 couldn't allow that point. . . . 
 
LOVE 63 
 
 "... I would have given my last drop of blood to 
 clear the situation! I tell you!" 
 
 "How very interesting!" murmured Madame Bourri- 
 enne, startled out of her reflections by the increasing 
 loudness of her distinguished guest, who was speaking and 
 eating with equal voracity. 
 
 In breathless silence both men and women hung on the 
 oracle's utterance. He was a noble patriot, Tallien. 
 
 He had a way, Tallien, of choking over his own words, 
 much as a greedy boy chokes over his food. To gain time 
 he would suck in his breath, and suddenly open his mouth 
 to its widest capacity. It was a deplorably ugly trick. 
 His mouth at such a moment looked like some hideous, 
 blood-red cavern. He would throw back his head and 
 close his eyes until they appeared as narrow slits beneath 
 his sloping forehead, and puff out his pasty cheeks re- 
 peating the performance several times. . . . Somehow, his 
 loud dress harmonized with his loud voice his loud ges- 
 tures were, as it were, reflected in his outrageous tie 
 and in the color of his high-waisted, high-collared 
 coat. . . . 
 
 M. Barras, from the complacent position of a really 
 well-turned-out man, would sometimes pity "patriot Tal- 
 lien's" taste in dress. Poor fellow what a vulgar devil 
 the lovely Terezia had in tow! Why did she not lick 
 him into shape? . . . Why couldn't somebody gag the 
 tiresome brute? Ugh! The clothes he wore to-night 
 were a positive outrage to decency. . . . 
 
 Barras, as a relief to his sorely-tried eyes, looked at 
 Madame Tallien. 
 
 She was in great beauty guileless, simple, quiet. She 
 was playing with a little teaspoon and lending an atten- 
 tive ear to her host. In the obscure light of the dining- 
 room her face bloomed like some exotic flower, under a 
 crown of matchless gold. . . . Was there ever such hair? 
 Yes, and he liked her flesh-pink gown, which fitted her 
 figure closely, only relieved by a diamond brooch, flashing 
 
64 LOVE 
 
 'at her high waist-line. . . . She had taste enough for 
 two. . . . 
 
 Looking up, Madame Tallien happened to perceive M. 
 Barras' approving glance. She smiled and modestly 
 looked away. At his leisure he studied her profile, and 
 came to the conclusion that in spite of his affection for 
 Madame Beauharnais he would like to know her friend 
 rather better than hitherto. Madame Tallien's regard 
 might be worth cultivating on purely platonic lines. 
 
 Tallien pushed his plate aside with a violent gesture. "I 
 tell you !" he bellowed. 
 
 Barras gave him a withering glance. There he was 
 again at his old tricks, gaping like a whale! Bah! the 
 man's capacity for big talk sickened him. What an 
 unmitigated bore is a conceited ass! 
 
 At the extreme bottom of the table he happened to 
 notice his young friend, General Bonaparte, seated be- 
 tween Junot and Madame de Beauharnais. He could not 
 help smiling both at the gravity of Bonaparte and at the 
 vivacity of Madame Fanny. 
 
 The general observed M. Barras' glance. He blushed 
 furiously, and then turned deadly pale. 
 
 M. Barras nodded kindly. He didn't actually dislike 
 the young man. He had under his, Barras', orders 
 done very well in Toulon. There was grit in him. At a 
 pinch he might again serve his masters. He would keep 
 his eye on him. Where Tallien brayed, talent was ob- 
 viously at an advantage. In sheer self-preservation, Bar- 
 ras turned to his hostess with a witty reminiscence from 
 his seafaring days. The atmosphere cleared as if by 
 magic, conversation became general, and Tallien yawn- 
 ing once relapsed into silence, furtively glancing round 
 the company. 
 
 "Are you feeling ill, general?" asked Madame de Beau- 
 harnais. 
 
 "I thank you, madame, I am perfectly well." Bona- 
 parte's voice was icy-cold. 
 
 "Lucie Bourrienne will never see that her rooms are 
 
LOVE 65 
 
 properly ventilated. Don't you feel the heat? The con- 
 sequence is, she is always suffering from colds. There 
 now! she is blowing her nose again." 
 
 The general accepted the statement in silence. 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais twisted her multitudinous 
 rings round her thin fingers, complacently conscious of her 
 own invincible charms. She turned a languishing eye 
 on the sulky young man. He wanted cheering up, poor 
 boy. 
 
 "I take a great interest in you, general. You must 
 forgive an old lady's plain-speaking." 
 
 "Madam?" 
 
 "Not at all, sir. When I have occasion to dislike a 
 person, I am just as frank." (Junot stared entranced 
 at her wonderful face. He had never seen anything like 
 it before. For the matter of that, he was a raw recruit 
 in polite society.) "Very few young men are as well-read 
 as you, general." 
 
 Bonaparte gave her a glance. 
 
 "I have been told that you appreciate Ossian. What 
 a poet! As you know, I am myself, in a small way, an 
 authoress. We have a fellow-feeling, yet I envy as much 
 as I admire my master's flawless composition. What 
 liquid lines! What easy expression! And, above all, 
 how uncommonly true to life! A book must live to 
 endure. Alas, I have not Ossian's noble gift of expres- 
 sion." (A sigh. Another stare from Junot. Bonaparte 
 immovable as a stone image.) "I read him last night, 
 and I am afraid I sat up unreasonably late. I admit my 
 weakness. Sir, I am a great admirer of genius." 
 
 She fluttered her tiny fan and glanced at the tall cap- 
 tain. What extremely odd people one met nowadays! 
 Junot's frank stare disturbed her. 
 
 "Kindly pass me that flask of wine," she said with 
 haughty condescension. Evidently poor Junot was not an 
 admirer of Ossian, and therefore incapable of interesting 
 Madame de Beauharnais. 
 
 Junot bowed gallantly and, stretching out his great 
 
66 LOVE 
 
 arm, he managed to reach the bottle. He shook it, with 
 a face of comical dismay it was empty. As it happened, 
 the brave captain caught the eye of Peter, and im- 
 mediately he came to the conclusion that he had spotted 
 the thief. There was no doubt about the old man's guilt. 
 He was nodding behind Bonaparte's chair like an old 
 baboon. As a matter of fact, the wine had gone into a 
 new bottle, and into the pocket of his favorite's weather- 
 worn overcoat. He only hoped the saints would in due 
 course inform the general of his good luck. "He is not 
 a popular guest," thought the old servant sadly. "Not 
 by the look of him. Between feasts there are long days 
 of lean privation." 
 
 "Madam, it is empty." 
 
 Junot's tone of utter dejection roused Bonaparte like 
 the snap of a timely pistol. He shouted with laughter. 
 
 From that moment Madame Fanny had no cause to 
 complain of the general's inaittention. He talked on 
 every conceivable subject and was hilariously gay. 
 
 Junot egged Napoleon on to new efforts, and kept 
 assiduously passing him food. Not a dish came that 
 way without being sampled. 
 
 As to Madame de Beauharnais, under cover of the 
 young officer's lively banter, she managed to slip many a 
 toothsome morsel into her famous reticule. She did it so 
 openly that Junot could not help wondering how on her 
 return home she managed, as it were, to separate the 
 goats from the sheep, and anyhow, if she did not find them 
 in a sticky condition. It was a monstrous difficult prob- 
 lem. 
 
 "Yes, madam," said Bonaparte, "I have every intention 
 of leaving the army and settling down in Paris as a house 
 proprietor. I shall have much pleasure in letting you a 
 flat at a purely nominal rental. A lady who appreciates 
 Ossian must be allowed some advantage. Junot will have 
 to pay through his nose. He will also fit him out with a 
 wife." 
 
 "I have found her " said Junot. 
 
LOVE 67 
 
 Captain Junot's love-affairs did not interest Madame 
 Fanny. She turned to the general. "I am disappointed 
 in you," she said archly. "You ought to do better." 
 
 Junot laughed. "So that is your little idea, my gen- 
 eral?" 
 
 "One of the smallest." 
 
 "And the greatest? We'll wring his secrets from him, 
 madam." 
 
 "Sultan of Turkey. Wouldn't I make an excellent em- 
 peror, Junot?" 
 
 "First-rate!" 
 
 "You may laugh, my friend, but I am speaking in 
 perfect good faith. I am not easily satisfied, madam." 
 
 "He is the greatest martinet alive," murmured Junot. 
 "And he has got the energy of ten devils. General, I 
 salute my future Emperor." 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais blinked her eyes and ate 
 toasted cheese and bread with excellent appetite. "Noth- 
 ing in this world ever surprises me," she announced calmly. 
 They all three nodded their heads in time. 
 
 Once or twice M. Tallien's uneasy glance fell covertly 
 on the little Corsican officer, who seemed to be amusing 
 himself at the far end of the table. He never liked the 
 general, but in any case he preferred him sulky. 
 
 Tallien pinched his upper lip reflectively and resolved 
 that he would take the very first opportunity which of- 
 fered to promote General Bonaparte to some post abroad. 
 It might do him good to see some other branch of the 
 service. It was said he was passionately devoted to his 
 guns well, he would sever his connection with the artil- 
 lery. General Bonaparte was lost in Paris. Again he 
 smoothed his upper lip and looked at Barras (Barras was 
 not looking at him, but at his wife) .... Barras thought 
 a great deal too much of Bonaparte's capabilities. He'd 
 been lucky that's all. At the present moment Tallien 
 shunned all competition. 
 
 The pulses beat painfully in M. Tallien's temples before 
 the lengthy meal drew towards its close. Many of the 
 
68 LOVE 
 
 guests had changed their seats. Terezia had made room 
 for M. Barras at her right hand. They were whisper- 
 ing together, and Terezia was smiling . . . damn the 
 shameless harlot! Tallien's thoughts swung backwards 
 and forwards like a pendulum of a clock. He recalled 
 Terezia's smiles in the old days, directed exclusively to- 
 wards himself, those vanished days of glory when he ruled 
 Bordeaux. . . . The chatter of Bourrienne's guests 
 seemed to break into the clamor of an excited crowd . . . 
 he struck his fist on the table and shattered a wine-glass. 
 
 "It does not matter in the least," said Madame 
 Bourrienne politely, glancing up with an involuntary 
 shiver at Tallien's face. 
 
 Madame TaUien laughed. She was feeling so happy 
 so sure of herself (she glanced full into Barras' rather 
 misty eyes) so sure of him. . . . 
 
 "Have you seen anything lately of the Widow Beau- 
 harnais?" she asked sweetly. 
 
 M. Barras relaxed his hold on Terezia's little hand, 
 which he had but a moment before longed passionately 
 to press to his lips. He drew back from her as you would 
 from something evil. 
 
 "Yes," he answered softly, "I had the pleasure of meet- 
 ing her last night." 
 
 With a pang at his heart he remembered Josephine's 
 gentle grace, her dove-like softness, her implicit trust in 
 himself. He pulled himself upright, staring at a picture 
 on the opposite wall. 
 
 Terezia laughed her silvery, musical laugh. (As if 
 dearest Josephine could ever compete with herself! The 
 mere idea was preposterous.) 
 
 "The next time you meet, give her my love," she said. 
 
 "I thank you, madam," said Barras coldly, still con- 
 templating the portrait of Bourrienne's grandmother. 
 
 Terezia leaned forward, until her breath fanned Barras' 
 averted cheek. "Oh," she murmured, "what have I done 
 to offend you?" She laid a light finger on his arm. 
 "Tell me." 
 
LOVE 69 
 
 It was useless; he could not resist her. She was irre- 
 sistible with that quiver in her voice and her flushed face 
 and her warm, loving glances. Besides, he had never in 
 all his life resisted either pleasure or temptation. It was 
 not in his line. . . . For all that, he stoutly declared to 
 himself, as he relaxed his guard, Madame Josephine was 
 infinitely Madame Terezia's superior. 
 
 He turned and faced her boldly. "You glorious 
 woman!" he breathed rather than spoke. His eyes 
 seemed to expand and grow darker, and he held himself 
 proudly. Desire gives us strength. 
 
 Opposite them, Tallien with difficulty controlled his 
 indignation. He knew the preliminaries of the game so 
 well. . . . Then Terezia's iniquities faded. . . . He seemed 
 to hear above the gay company the single note of a 
 mournful bell. The bell was ringing, slowly, relentlessly 
 sounding his own downfall. He covered his eyes with 
 his hand. 
 
 Terezia smiled. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 TT was Tuesday evening, and already the great suite of 
 reception-saloons of which the little white music-room 
 formed the last were in order to receive the fashionable 
 world of Paris. Many a light gleamed from the massive 
 chandeliers. Here and there groups of hothouse plants 
 gave a festive note to the decorations. In the card- 
 rooms tables had been set out for those who did not ap- 
 preciate dancing. In the green gallery furnished all 
 its length with comfortable settees M. Barras' servants 
 had arranged a well-provided buffet. Nothing lacked 
 in this rich man's house. The enormous ballroom was 
 brilliantly lighted. Already the musicians had taken up 
 their places in the music gallery, and at least two indis- 
 creet maids giving a last ecstatic look at the prepara- 
 tions had slipped ignominously on the highly-polished 
 parquet floor. 
 
 The music-room a corner apartment with two tall 
 windows, one on each side of the panelled walls painted 
 by Boucher had a peculiarly intimate air. The fur- 
 niture was of the lightest description, the coloring of 
 the daintiest. Against the white-panelled walls the 
 slender chairs, upholstered in palest blue silk with gilt 
 woodwork, looked charming. From the domed ceiling 
 hung an ancient crystal chandelier, at present fitted with 
 twelve lighted candles. There was something mysterious 
 in the little room. Something which spoke of long-dead 
 days. The Luxembourg is full of memories and mem- 
 ories are as often as not tinged with sadness. For is not 
 the joy linked by sorrow? 
 
 M. Barras fully dressed for the evening's festivities 
 was playing a ronda by Mozart. A little fantasia with 
 
 70 
 
LOVE 71 
 
 a light melodious melody, composed for the wedding cele- 
 brations of Elizabeth Haifner, in 1776. It seemed to 
 wake the echoes of the past. So much had happened in 
 less than two decades. 
 
 His fingers flew over the ivory keys and his thought's 
 took another direction. . . . He was tired of the Con- 
 vention, dog-tired of the ceaseless wrangles and disputes. 
 What would be the upshot of all this noise? He was too 
 much of an artist to underrate discord. It worried him 
 intensely, when he chose to listen. As a rule, he found 
 it easier to turn a deaf ear to difficulties which he could 
 not avert. . . . 
 
 He had behaved as an arrant fool the other night at 
 the Bourriennes'. (The music grew stormier.) "Notre 
 Dame de Thermidor" had had every reason to smile hap- 
 pily as he had folded her soft fox-skin coat around her 
 warm shoulders . . . the scent of her hair had intoxicated 
 him. . . . She had whispered a few words and given him 
 a few extremely intelligible glances . . . the old, old wiles 
 of every unscrupulous woman (he gave a bitter laugh). 
 And he had immediately responded with less dignity than 
 any mealy-mouthed boy. Looking back on the incident, 
 he hated her . . . yes, he hated her! (Which only shows 
 us that, for all his muscular strength, M. Barras was a 
 weak man.) 
 
 A pretty maid-servant, with a pan and brush in her 
 hand, stopped to listen to the music through the cur- 
 tained doorway. (There had been an accident in the 
 card-room; a clumsy footman in removing his step-ladder 
 had knocked down a bunch of crystal drops from the 
 chandelier. . . .) She peeped at M. Barras, holding 
 her breath at her audacity. How handsome he looked 
 in his grand new evening clothes ! She noticed the blue 
 veins on his massive forehead. . . . How beautifully he 
 played ! . . . Lord forgive her impudence ! And away she 
 fluttered, light as an evening moth. 
 
 The music grew fiercer than ever. With a final tre- 
 mendous chord M. Barras rose rather stiffly shut up 
 
72 LOVE 
 
 the piano, and raising himself on tiptoe, he blew out the 
 candles in the little chandelier a gem of sixteenth-cen- 
 tury workmanship. It had hung in the same place for 
 two hundred years. In his present humor, darkness 
 suited him best. 
 
 He yawned, and stretched out a pair of strong arms. 
 Life, even under its worst aspect, had its compensations. 
 He smiled. As long as he had the heart to enjoy him- 
 self, what did the rest matter? . . . He would explain 
 the situation to Josephine . . . she would understand and 
 forgive him and all that ... he would never look at 
 Madame Tallien again. . . . Was she not a bit over- 
 blown, in spite of her youth ... a bruised flower eh? 
 
 M. Barras, tired of his own society, strode through 
 the long file of reception-rooms in search of his secretary. 
 Even at that hour he would be sure to find him with his 
 nose at his desk. An incredible man for work was M. 
 Joseph. 
 
 He whistled the latest popular melody from the music- 
 halls as he swaggered along, giving a glance to right and 
 left. Everything was in order. The rooms had been 
 discreetly warmed and even a window opened to air them. 
 Must have been Joseph's doing. Joseph was not only M. 
 Barras' private secretary but also his housekeeper. He 
 kept the bills and he saw to the coals. Which is merely 
 one way of saying he managed everything. 
 
 In the green drawing-room M. Barras paused to ar- 
 range his neck-tie in front of a cheval glass. The glass 
 was put there (by Joseph) for the use of the ladies. 
 Men were permitted to take advantage of it. In those 
 days men often had the advantage of ladies in dress. 
 
 Heigh-day ! Mine host was fine. Look at his immacu- 
 lately fitting coat of fuchsia-red satin his skin-tight 
 white satin knee-breeches his black silk stockings his 
 diamond-buckled shoes the feathered hat he carried 
 under his arm. (Presently he'd put it down; couldn't be 
 bored to carry it; the feathered hat which would empha- 
 size his compliments.) Can't you see him, bowing, scrap- 
 
LOVE 73 
 
 ing his heels, to his guests, and pressing his hat to his 
 heart? He'd do it very well, too. An elegant gentleman, 
 with a great opinion of himself. The combination al- 
 ways does well in society. Here he was at home. In the 
 Orleans' old palace he was uncrowned king of the day. 
 
 Listen! The music is tuning up. Servants are run- 
 ning about with lighted tapers. In some rooms the soft 
 radiance of countless wax candles gives the finishing touch 
 to M. Joseph's preparations for the proper entertain- 
 ment of M. Barras' guests. By the way, at the bottom 
 of the list amongst the young men always asked to 
 parties in batches stood the name of General Napoleon 
 Bonaparte. He had accepted. But, of course. No 
 doubt he was very excited and impressed by the com- 
 pliment paid him. So many young men, and women too, 
 hungered for invitations to the Luxembourg parties. M. 
 Joseph could not fit them all in. 
 
 There he was, scribbling away as fast as he could go, 
 barely glancing up at M. Barras' interruption. 
 
 M. Barras had put a good-natured hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Sir," he said, "in ten minutes we'll have them here.'* 
 
 "I know. Your friends are punctual." 
 
 Barras seated himself in a great leather chair. The 
 library was all furnished in embossed leather. A very 
 handsome apartment. 
 
 "That's a pretty plant," he said, looking at a group 
 of flowers by the window. "I wonder how they grow 
 those things." 
 
 "Attention and money." 
 
 "Then give it to me. Am I not worth more than a 
 Christmas rose? Ha-ha!" 
 
 Joseph put down his pen and looked at his employer. 
 
 "Sir," he said, "we'll have to reduce our budget. The 
 pay of an army corps will have to come down to three 
 lows d'ors a month." 
 
 "I hate business " 
 
 "So do I, in moderation. There's bound to be trouble." 
 
74 LOVE 
 
 "They'll get their arrears later on." 
 
 "Except a miracle happens they'll have to eat their 
 boots." 
 
 "We have got to make money." 
 
 "Or save it." 
 
 "I'm bound to entertain, if you mean that, Joseph." 
 
 He waved his hand. "Touch the bell, will you? I am 
 thirsty as a crocodile." 
 
 His secretary rose from his seat by the small bureau. 
 He was very nearly as finely dressed as M. Barras. No 
 one would have recognized him as the turnkey of Les 
 Cannes. Joseph was carefully shaved; his finger-nails 
 were polished; his swallow^tailed coat fitted him to per- 
 fection in a word, he .was the type of an .elegant young 
 gentleman of 1795. 
 
 He came across the room. "I would not advise it," 
 he said. "Better start sober, sir. You have a good 
 long evening before you. M. Barras* Tuesdays invari- 
 ably encroach on Madame Tallien's Wednesdays." He 
 turned away, looking down the long vista of illuminated 
 rooms. "Let us dance and forget, for to-morrow we die. 
 It is a fine principle and poor doctrine." 
 
 "I am sick of authority " 
 
 "Give it up " 
 
 "To that mendacious fool, Tallien?" 
 
 "He would not keep it for long." 
 
 "Long enough to raise hell. He would love to whip 
 'em all back into prison. By the way, Joseph, it is 
 rather gratifying to see how the old order is returning. 
 We have got a lot of 'em here to-night." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I don't care a dewer if they consider it merely an 
 unpleasant duty I They save the situation. The young 
 bloods are rather inclined to go the pace " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "They are only fools." 
 
 "Fools can be as destructive as clever people." 
 
 "I can see Tallien licking his mouth." 
 
LOVE 75 
 
 "He is better out of Paris. We'll find him a lucrative 
 post in the provinces." 
 
 "They are just as badly off as we are " 
 
 "At Quiberon our pig might scent some truffles. He is 
 a greedy fellow, who suffers from nerves." (Joseph 
 smiled.) "As a matter of fact he is very nearly harmless. 
 His marriage has pretty well done for him " 
 
 "On the contrary " 
 
 "Tallien can never obliterate the past." 
 
 "Madame Tallien " 
 
 "I saw the lady daily for six months." 
 
 B arras laughed. "Anyhow, she is a beauty." 
 
 "You can make love to her, sir." 
 
 "I have no intention " 
 
 "She has all the more. Terezia takes everything she 
 likes under cover of charity." 
 
 "Confound it! Why can't women learn to leave me 
 alone?" 
 
 "You are a poor teacher, Citizen Barras." 
 
 A bell rang. . . . Footsteps sounded in the hall. . . . 
 Several bells ... a murmur of voices. From the great 
 courtyard below a link-boy shouted. His shrill voice 
 penetrated the double windows. 
 
 "Sir," said Joseph, with a catch in his breath, "the little 
 general will slay the pig, and not only Tallien but all 
 that he stands for riot, misery, starvation. That is to 
 say, if he is given his chance. At the present moment 
 he is handicapped for want of employment. The man 
 who saved Toulon is capable of saving France." 
 
 Barras pulled himself upright. 
 
 "France will have to wait," he said coldly. He was 
 already growing very jealous of Bonaparte's prestige. 
 
 Away in the ballroom the music struck up a popular 
 melody. "That is more our tune," he added, slipping on 
 his gloves. "Joseph, a word in your ear. Look after 
 Madame Tallien." 
 > "You are the best man " 
 
 "I insist on her being kept out of my way." 
 
76 LOVE 
 
 "And Madame de Beauharnais kept in ignorance ?" 
 
 "Pshaw! there is nothing to hide. Pass her on to 
 the valiant Bonaparte." 
 
 "Who? Madame Josephine?" 
 
 "She wouldn't look at him. Terezia will fit him into 
 her crowd." 
 
 A group of elegant people were passing into the ball- 
 room, staring around them with frank interest. Society 
 was of exquisite freshness. The ballroom was the same 
 in which la Grande Mademoiselle had danced with her 
 ill-favored cousin, Charles the Martyr's fugitive son 
 keeping an eye on the anointed Louis, twelve years her 
 junior and not yet in his teens, but still the best match 
 in Europe. . . . 
 
 And away strode M. Barras to do the honors of his 
 house. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 HE music was vibrating gently from the great ball- 
 room. In the green drawing-room for the moment 
 deserted Josephine was standing in front of the swing 
 mirror, adjusting a dance-blown curl. 
 
 She was fashionably attired in a short, pure-white 
 satin gown, with touches of silver and rose-colored tulle. 
 Her little white satin sandals (an extravagantly new 
 idea copied from the ancients) were laced across her 
 slender ankles with blue ribbons. Her face was liberally 
 sprinkled with powder, and her cheeks and lips were 
 rouged with careful attention to a natural effect. 
 
 Josephine twisted the curl carefully round her little 
 finger and smiled at her charming reflection. She was 
 conscious of looking her best. 
 
 Yet so perverse is human nature, that she turned, with 
 a little anxious pucker between her curved brows, to her 
 friend, lazily watching her from the depths of a com- 
 fortable chair. "How do I look?" she asked. "I feel 
 disgracefully untidy. You are simply marvellous to-night, 
 Terezia. Some of the ladies are dreadlfully shocked. 
 Turn round. Yes, exactly. You leave very little to the 
 imagination." 
 
 Madame Tallien stretched her long limbs and laughed 
 good-naturedly. "Someone must set the fashion," she 
 said. "After to-night everyone will turn Incroyable." 
 
 Josephine made a delightful little grimace at the mir- 
 ror. "God spare us," she said piously. "Fancy the 
 horrid sights we'll see! If a woman has a decent shape 
 she can do what she likes but think of the unwieldy 
 mammas or their skinny daughters appearing in the dress 
 you are launching to-night!" 
 
 77 
 
78 LOVE 
 
 "What is the matter with it?" 
 "It is indecent, for one thing." 
 
 "Nonsense! I have the most beautiful figure in 
 Paris 
 
 Josephine turned round with raised hands. "And the 
 most beautiful feet and the most beautiful garters," she 
 mimicked. "You are practically naked, darling." 
 
 "Am I?" sighed "Our Lady of Charity." (There was 
 no end to her titles they cropped up like mushrooms 
 in the daily press.) "I have received charming compli- 
 ments from everyone. Oh, I assure you " 
 
 Josephine slipped into a chair opposite her friend. 
 "You little goosie-goose," she said. "And what do you 
 think they say behind your back?" 
 
 "Do tell me!" (Here was a subject of absorbing in- 
 terest !) 
 
 "No, I won't," snapped Josephine, almost severely. 
 "Gossip is always horrid and nearly always false. I 
 heard, par exemple, that M. B arras, the other day, at 
 the Bourriennes' dinner, paid you extravagant atten- 
 tion " 
 
 "What a story!" 
 
 "That your two heads were continually together 
 
 "The idea!" 
 
 "That when he ceased staring at you, you looked him 
 out of countenance " 
 
 "My dearest!" 
 
 "Once he so far forgot himself yes, in front of every- 
 one he kissed your cheek; and that, instead of box- 
 ing his ears, you appeared celestially happy. There! 
 Terezia, you are not nearly careful enough." 
 
 Terezia balanced one foot on the other and shifted her 
 position so that her narrow draperies of some corn- 
 colored silk muslin fell apart, disclosing the clou of her 
 costume, a broad, plain gold circlet worn above her left 
 knee, matching a similar band in her hair. Beneath the 
 corn-colored muslin she wore flesh-colored tights. 
 
 "What silly stories people invent ! My dearest Joseph- 
 
LOVE 79 
 
 ine, do you really think it would amuse me to flirt with 
 your avowed admirer?" 
 
 "I am only joking, darling," said Josephine gaily. 
 She did not wish to quarrel with Terezia. She was also 
 sure she had heard an exaggerated version of what had 
 happened at the Bourriennes' . . . Paul Barras was her 
 devoted lover . . . only to-night he had looked at her so 
 tenderly half-reproachful, half-sorrowful. He had been 
 so taken up with his duties as host that, so far, they 
 had had no opportunity for private conversation. . . . 
 "How many times have you danced this evening with 
 M. Barras?" she asked gently. 
 
 Terezia shut her eyes. "Twice, I believe, but I can't 
 remember. You still have your doubts?" (She opened 
 her eyes.) "Time will prove my innocence," she said 
 very virtuously. 
 
 "No doubt," said Josephine, placidly. 
 
 Terezia rose excitedly and stared at her face in the 
 mirror. She gave a long-drawn sigh of pure content. 
 "Ah, ah!" she said, raising her arms above her head. 
 "What it is to be alive again really alive, after all we 
 have gone through ! I enjoy every minute. It is ex- 
 quisite ! I don't mind how many lovers I have." 
 
 "And you'll never love anyone but yourself." 
 
 "You are the right person to speak!" She flashed 
 round. "Get up, darling; this is my favorite dance, and 
 Pve promised it to that little stiff-necked piece of decorum, 
 General Bonaparte. Don't we both like having a good 
 time?" 
 
 They kissed each other. "The general? I caught a 
 glimpse of hkn in the refreshment-room." 
 
 "They say he has nothing but debts, and that he keeps 
 his people on his miserable pay." 
 
 "That is nice of him." 
 
 "He is a paragon. Come; I will introduce him." She 
 looked critically at Josephine. "My dearest, you want 
 a new distraction. I would in your place give M. Barras 
 
80 LOVE 
 
 his conge and take on the little general. You can't af- 
 ford to lose flesh." 
 
 Josephine shrugged her shoulders. "Take care you 
 don't get too fat," she retorted. "Keep him yourself." 
 
 "He is not my style," said Terezia, candidly. She drew 
 herself up to her full height, and leaned backwards, hold- 
 ing her hands beneath her splendid bust, letting her 
 eyes slowly sink to the level of her bare feet as if admir- 
 ing the antique ring ornamenting her left big toe. Her 
 pink satin sandals were extremely low-cut a very apol- 
 ogy for a shoe. In truth she had every cause to love her 
 feet they were flawless. 
 
 "You ought to marry him yourself. Widows are out 
 of it. A husband is such an enormous protection." 
 
 Terezia yawned. "I feel so excited. Come along, sweet 
 pet." 
 
 She put her arm around Madame Beauharnais' supple 
 waist. "You are soft as a kitten," she said. "I am so 
 glad you are out of mourning." 
 
 Josephine murmured something, which Terezia didn't 
 catch. In the doorway the ladies paused, looking down 
 the long picture-gallery. Every seat was occupied. 
 They got all the attention they wanted. 
 
 Terezia smiled. 
 
 "They don't love me," she murmured. She must have 
 meant the elderly ladies. At sight of her half a dozen 
 men rushed forward. She waved them aside still keep- 
 ing her arm round Josephine. 
 
 "I'm engaged for this dance. I am waiting for my 
 partner." 
 
 "He seems a bad young man," said Josephine. 
 
 They walked down the gallery arm-in-arm, we may be 
 sure with every eye upon them. Terezia's favorite waltz 
 had crowded the ballroom. The ladies stood (in an atti- 
 tude), watching the dancers, one of them at least in a 
 towering passion. 
 
 "He's the rudest little man on earth!" said Terezia. 
 
LOVE 81 
 
 "Fancy not looking out for me ! No doubt he's hiding in 
 some corner." 
 
 Josephine sighed. "It's only shyness, darling. You 
 are such a great person and he's a nobody. Oh, of course, 
 I know all about Toulon. M. Barras says he behaved very 
 well and understood his instructions at once. The others 
 floundered. It was such a relief for dear Paul. He had 
 all the responsibility, of course. There's no knowing 
 wJiat the English might have done. M. Barras told 
 me-" 
 
 Terezia stopped to tie her shoe-lace. One or two men 
 sprang forward to help her. She waved them aside. 
 "You treat women as if they were helpless dolls," she 
 said, balancing herself on one foot and adroitly raising 
 the other. 
 
 The attitude was extremely graceful and flattering 
 to her figure. Josephine standing by remembered that 
 dear Terezia was always coming to grief over her san- 
 dals. . . . She dug her little heelless slipper into M. 
 B arras's handsome pile carpet, annoyed at dear Terezia's 
 idiotic methods of gaining attention. So unnecessary 
 as if people did not stare enough at her! 
 
 "Madame Tallien !" 
 
 "Chere Madame Tallien!" 
 
 "Keep back! I don't want any of you," commanded 
 Terezia, putting down her foot and kissing her fingers 
 to her admirers. "Except my dearest Josephine." 
 
 At that moment the music stopped. The little gen- 
 eral had forever lost the good opinion of Madame 
 Tallien. 
 
 The decorative youths gaped open-mouthed after the 
 "fleeing Venus." The wittiest young man in the group 
 christened her thus instantly. 
 
 Her draperies were as foam, he said, and she herself 
 the incomparable Goddess. ... If Terezia had heard 
 such a distinguished compliment, who knows, she might 
 have forgiven an ill-bred soldier. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 A S they passed through the great rooms they formed 
 ** a very pretty picture these two young women linked 
 together by youth and inclination, smiling, whispering, 
 apparently utterly unaware of the interest they created 
 in reality conscious of each shade of expression in each 
 dowager's steely glance. 
 
 There, on a gilded settee, sat the authoress, Madame 
 de Beauharnais, talking to her friend Madame de St. 
 Innocent both representing a vanished world. Madame 
 Fanny was magnificent in her flowing, purple silk skirts 
 and her stiffest corset. She held herself as straight as a 
 poker her immense powdered wig not a hair's-breadth 
 out of place. So she had sat in that very same costume 
 in the royal halls of Versailles. She breathed dignity 
 and past grandeur. She weighed her words and guarded 
 her glances. She knew her own place when the world 
 looks on. . . . Alas ! except for one or two of her own 
 friends, no one noticed her. And if they did they only 
 laughed at her antediluvian appearance. 
 
 Madame St. Innocent was, comparatively speaking, a 
 young woman. She would also have entirely escaped 
 toublic attention except for her history. She belonged 
 to the old ndblesse she held herself as proudly as 
 Madame Fanny her voice was soft and melodious, and 
 her big grey eyes, under their delicate arched brows, 
 looked sad and wandering one might also say vacant at 
 times. Was she a ghost, this slight lady with her regular 
 features and well-bred air? . . . No, she was only a 
 woman who had suffered. Madame St. Innocent had re- 
 cently lost all her nearest and dearest under peculiarly 
 tragic circumstances. Even the lightest-tongued woman 
 
 82 
 
LOVE 83 
 
 in Paris unconsciously lowered her voice in her presence: 
 "Why does she persist in showing herself? She makes 
 me shiver " 
 
 "Don't look at her " so they said, these giddy 
 
 young representatives of a New Order. 
 
 In many cases the surviving members of the old aris- 
 tocracy considered it prudent to appear in Society 
 this wonderful, hideous mockery of society, where good 
 manners went for naught and where the newcomers (wit- 
 ness the Talliens) carried all before them by sheer 
 audacity. 
 
 The New People instituted new fashions, new gestures, 
 a new language and a code of morals almost prehistor- 
 ically savage. There was no limit to their extravagance. 
 They obeyed no laws except the laws of pleasure. They 
 aped the dress of the Greeks without understanding their 
 culture. No one grasped anything beyond the glorious 
 fact that they were at liberty . . . each hour was a 
 jewel, a brilliant jewel, shining in the crown of Time. 
 They worshipped the Present as sun-worshippers wor- 
 ship the heat. 
 
 Even Madame Fanny de Beauharnais, though she was 
 fond of Madame Tallien, who had always treated her 
 with distinguished consideration, had to allow that dear 
 Terezia's costume to-night was, if nothing else, a liberal 
 education. 
 
 "Disgraceful!" she said, her eyes following the two 
 ladies of fashion, much as she would have looked at the 
 vulgar exit of a third-rate actress. Mrs. Fanny was 
 genuinely shocked. She clutched her immense reticule 
 her best, gold-framed bag of white satin, brocaded with 
 roses so tightly in her mittened hands and pressed her 
 lips so severely together, that Madame de St. Innocent 
 looked at her in alarm, half fearing for her old friend's 
 health. 
 
 In spite of her wonderful make-up, her best party wig 
 and her new wreath of pink roses, Mrs. Fanny looked 
 her age beneath the radiance of many candles. 
 
84 LOVE 
 
 The music from the adjoining ball-room beat in merry 
 time. The dancers were shouting, romping in an endless 
 chain the women clutching their partners' coat-tails, the 
 men circling the women's necks with their arms. . . . 
 Here a girl shook down her hair her action meeting with 
 a shout of applause. The chain broke up the couples 
 dancing back to back and, swinging round, they pranced 
 forward improvising unique steps to fall into each 
 other's arms. A mad stampede followed the best to the 
 strongest. Women were literally torn from their part- 
 ners, shrieking half in joy, half in terror. The music 
 pealed and clashed with the whoops of the victors kisses 
 and favors were flung broadcast ; a cloud of dust from 
 the floor; smoke from the guttering candles where the 
 grease fell into ready-prepared pans a flutter of drap- 
 eries and hot, clinging scent, and the air like lead. From 
 painted faces the perspiration ran in uneven patches. . . . 
 The pale women looked the best, as exhausted, with half- 
 closed eyes, they leaned against their partners. 
 
 Madame de St. Innocent never once glanced towards 
 the ballroom where, through the great arched doorways, 
 a good view of the proceedings could be had. She sat 
 immovable, erect, her hands folded in her lap looking 
 strangely out of place in her old-fashioned, wide-hooped 
 petticoats and her high-heeled shoes. Her well-bred face 
 only indicated slight weariness. It was close on midnight. 
 
 "The weather is sad for the poor," she remarked in 
 her gentle voice. "I have never known such an icy winter, 
 nor such an expensive one. Last week I had to pay five 
 thousand francs for a load of wood." 
 
 "Paper," snapped Mrs. Fanny, looking into her reti- 
 cule. "I don't think it is fair to have supper so late. I 
 am very hungry." 
 
 "So am I, dear. Yet we must allow that M. Barras 
 does everything very well." 
 
 "He is an excellent host. I have particularly remarked 
 to-night that he is always talking to different people. 
 
LOVE 85 
 
 Now, at the Bourriennes, he and Terezia never left each 
 other's side. Everyone was remarking upon it." 
 
 "Indeed?" said Madame de St. Innocent indifferently. 
 "Come with me to church to-morrow. I am so glad we 
 are allowed that privilege." Madame de St. Innocent 
 deliberately changed the conversation. She did not like 
 Madame Tallien. 
 
 "Sorry, my dear, but I have promised to join a theatre 
 party to see Talma," returned Mrs. Fanny with equal 
 coldness. She very much disliked being interrupted in 
 her remarks. "I make a point of never going to mass and 
 to the play on the same day." 
 
 "Quite right. None of us can afford to give up our 
 principles." 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais sighed. "It is a mad, bad 
 world," she said. "If it were not for my religion and 
 my work I would at times feel very disheartened." She 
 made a gesture towards the ball-room. "That is sufficient 
 to sicken us. What a display of vanity and vulgarity!" 
 (She held herself with immense dignity and spoke very 
 clearly.) "At present I am writing a tragedy," she said, 
 "a noble theme and elevating to the human mind. At 
 times my spirit soars on happy wings." (Madame de St. 
 Innocent looked up at her.) "It is a laborious task and 
 difficult of achievement, yet I believe in perseverance, sus- 
 tained by that inward glow which is in itself a sufficient 
 reward for an artist, however humble." 
 
 Mrs. Fanny spoke with elegant conviction. Her voice 
 was regulated by her gestures. The mittened fingers 
 made passes in the air Mrs. Fanny was conscious of an 
 audience. 
 
 Two young girls stood in front of the ladies, respect- 
 fully waiting for a pause in Madame de Beauharnais' 
 oration. 
 
 They were enchanting young creatures: black-haired, 
 pale-skinned, dark-eyed, dressed alike in purest white satin, 
 each with a red camellia fastened in their high blue sashes. 
 
 Both the young ladies curtsied low. The prettiest one, 
 
86 LOVE 
 
 and probably the elder of the two sisters, kissed Madame 
 de St. Innocent's outstretched hand. "Pray excuse us, 
 madame," she began. "We have a great favor to ask you. 
 My mother is getting up a subscription ball 
 
 "To buy bread for the poor," supplemented the second 
 girl. 
 
 "It is going to be simply lovely * 
 
 "A perfect dream ! We are all to wear red dresses, and 
 each lady is to have a black crepe bow tied round her 
 throat, and each man a similar band round his arm 
 
 "Mamma says no one is to be admitted to the Ball of 
 the Victims who has not lost a relative " 
 
 "All the lights are to be shaded. Only serious dances 
 on the programme polonaises, gavottes, minuets " 
 
 "Dear madam, you must be our President? Ah, no! 
 It is no good refusing. You are by far the greatest 
 victim of us all!" The young girl lowered her voice to 
 an awestruck whisper: checking her fingers, she spoke. 
 "You have lost your husband, father, mother, brothers, 
 not to mention several cousins " 
 
 "You forget madam's sister," prompted the other 
 young lady, with her round childish eyes fixed on Madame 
 de St. Innocent's startled face. (Madame de Beauhar- 
 nais, after one glance at the girls, studied the lace edge 
 'on her immense handkerchief she gave the matter her 
 undivided attention.) 
 
 "Oh, how stupid of me! Of course, madam's sister 
 was murdered in the September massacres. My God, 
 how terrible and how interesting ! Madam, I assure 
 you your position is unrivalled. There is no one to ap- 
 proach you, except perhaps Madame de Tremoille." She 
 spoke very rapidly, with charming little imploring ges- 
 tures. Tears shone in her sweet brown eyes. 
 
 "Madeleine, you know very well," corrected the pretti- 
 est girl, almost angrily, "that the duchess is quite mad. 
 Let me speak. Indeed, madam, the doctors say she will 
 never recover. She insists on sleeping on the bare boards 
 as she says there are others who require the bed more 
 
LOVE 87 
 
 than she does. She is always secreting little pieces of 
 soap and washing out her handkerchiefs and stockings. 
 Sometimes she will sit without saying a word all day long ; 
 at other times she laughs, or she cries not often; she 
 is really very brave. She imagines she is in prison. She 
 won't listen to reason " 
 
 "How can she when she is mad?" said her sister re- 
 provingly. 
 
 "Dear madam " began Madeleine. 
 
 During this lively dialogue Madame de St. Innocent 
 had time to collect her bewildered thoughts. She smiled 
 kindly at the young girls. 
 
 "I thank you very much for your kind suggestion," 
 she said gently. "I hope the ball will be very successM, 
 but you must excuse me if I am obliged to refuse." 
 (Just for one second her voice faltered.) "I I do not 
 feel I could be present." 
 
 The young ladies expressed their deepest regret, curt- 
 sied charmingly to both ladies (Madame de Beauharnais 
 folded her handkerchief and inclined her head), and ran 
 lightly down the long gallery in search of fresh "victims." 
 
 The band was playing a delicate air, a soft berceuse, 
 probably to give the heated dancers time to cool before 
 supper. 
 
 In the doorway of the ballroom stood a group of men 
 amongst them M. Tallien, visible as a gaudy dragon-fly. 
 He was pleasantly conscious of the undeniable effect he 
 was creating. His clothes were "immense" both as to 
 cut and color. His white satin breeches fitted like a skin ; 
 his orange satin coat boasted no less than forty- two silk 
 lapels of different sizes and different shades ; his lace cravat 
 would have robed twenty infants; his rings would have 
 furnished a jeweller's shop in short, after Madame Tal- 
 lien, he was easily the biggest sensation of the evening. 
 As one wit had declared in an open circle, "Dress was less 
 than nothing to the beautiful Te*rezia and everything to 
 her husband." 
 
 M. Tallien was Drawing on his white kid gloves human 
 
88 LOVE 
 
 skins were out of fashion and talking volubly to a young 
 aristocrat. 
 
 The young aristocrat, intoxicated by the night's rev- 
 elry, had quite forgotten that once not so long ago he 
 and M. Tallien had been avowed enemies. He was clap- 
 ping the dreaded man of Bordeaux on his shoulder. 
 
 "Bravo!" he said. "Bravo!" 
 
 And M. Tallien always encouraged by admiration 
 opened his enormous mouth and laughed loudly. 
 
 "Hug your luck, my young man 
 
 "I will!" 
 
 "Take the pick of the basket! I am your friend! I'll 
 stand by you! " 
 
 The great man winked. He did not trouble to lower 
 his voice, but he came a step nearer to the infatuated 
 youth, very well aware that they were overheard. He 
 stroked his marvellous shirt-front, decorated with bil- 
 lows of antique Mechlin. "My heart to-night," he cooed, 
 "is as a kidney stewed in milk, tender, you know, soft and 
 tender." 
 
 The circle roared. "Bravo ! Bravo !" 
 
 On the gilded settee sat Madame de St. Innocent and 
 Madame de Beauharnais, the one looking a little weary, the 
 other with a dull red flush under her paint. Madame de 
 St. Innocent's face was, if anything, a little whiter than 
 before. She glanced round the thinning room the guests 
 were going in to supper as if she was barely conscious 
 of her surroundings. Maybe the softly executed berceuse 
 recalled to her happier days or a voice that was dead? 
 She was smiling as she had not smiled all that evening. 
 Mrs. Fanny, looking at her, felt an unaccountable lump in 
 her throat, and was unreasonably annoyed at her weak- 
 ness. A lady in society controls her feelings. . . . Were 
 these monstrous individuals (ah, that man's voice!) actu- 
 ally pulling down all their cherished ideals? Could none 
 escape contamination? . . . 
 
 M. Barras, accompanied by a young gentleman, bowed 
 profoundly to the ladies. 
 
LOVE 89 
 
 "May I have the honor, citoyenne" said he, offering 
 his arm to Madame la marquise de St. Innocent. 
 
 She swayed a little as she rose. "I thank you, citoyen" 
 Her voice was perfectly level. 
 
 As to Mrs. Fanny, she briskly regained her composure 
 and her most bewitching expression. She was very par- 
 tial to a young man. She dangled her reticule and leaned 
 lightly on the arm of her acquaintance, giving him a 
 roguish smile. 
 
 "I am quite hungry," she confided to him in a whisper. 
 "Yet I must not be selfish. In case I should forget, I 
 must rely on monsieur's good memory to remind me to 
 take home something nice for my neighbor's little boy. 
 I am afraid I spoil him sadly." (A sigih.) "Agree, 
 monsieur, that I have got a kind heart?" 
 
 "I'll swear to it, madam." 
 
 "You flatterer !" said Madame de Beauharnais,' tripping 
 elegantly after her friend, 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 A/TADAME TALLIEN, long before supper was an- 
 *** nounced, had completely forgotten her quarrel with 
 General Bonaparte. She and Josephine had given up 
 their fruitless search for the "little monster," after having 
 looked in all likely and unlikely corners. Evidently he 
 had gone home, or he had locked himself into a cupboard, 
 for greater security against danger. Terezia supposed 
 that even Bonaparte's conscience had awoken to the 
 enormity of his offence. 
 
 Madame Tallien was severely strict on all lapses of 
 etiquette (however allowing herself a wide margin but 
 then she, Terezia, stood above the whole world. . .). 
 Her memory was as shortlived as her anger. She was an 
 April child, so she said which seldom comforted her re- 
 jected lovers when caught in the teeth of the storm. She 
 was extraordinarily unreliable, the beautiful Madame Tal- 
 lien. If she loved you to-day, very probably she would 
 not look at you to-morrow. When directly attacked on 
 the subject she would smile: "My friends, make hay 
 while the sun shines," she would say with her charmingly 
 direct confidence. . . . They worked feverishly, but to- 
 night, as it were, the sun was always shining on some new 
 point. 
 
 Joseph had kept Terezia amused. It rather amused him 
 to watch her methods they were so frankly pagan. In 
 the ball-room partners flocked round her as sensitive 
 moths round a particularly attractive flame. She rather 
 loved the familiar atmosphere. She rather liked to watch 
 a young man's "hopeless passion" (she was quite con- 
 vinced of its depth). To alleviate his hurt Madame Tal- 
 lien invariably out of her boundless "goodness" treated 
 
 90 
 
 
LOVE 91 
 
 him gently. When she danced with the poor singed moth 
 she took good care that he burnt himself thoroughly. As 
 the dance proceeded she would cling closer to her partner, 
 allowing his warm embrace, inviting, as it were, the can- 
 dor of his warm glance, listening to the beating of his 
 foolish young heart. . . . More often than not, directly 
 the dance was over she would coolly leave him to collect 
 his scattered senses, vanishing (on the arm of someone 
 else) from his bewildered sight. 
 
 Someone has once uttered the profound truth, that the 
 loneliness of a crowd is more oppressive to a single in- 
 dividual, who for the moment lacks companionship, than 
 the wastes of a limitless desert. 
 
 Without anchorage, the unpopular hero, General Bona- 
 parte, kept wandering by himself through the great rooms 
 bf the Luxembourg, pondering on many things yet sel- 
 dom giving a thought to his immediate vicinity. 
 
 His admirable features were marred by his half-sullen, 
 half-sarcastic expression, and his eyes, gazing into space 
 did not invite any friendly advance. He was left 
 rigorously alone, yet not escaping some flattering com- 
 ments from the women and from the men some rather 
 ill-natured chaff. Behind his back they laughed at the 
 little general his youth was so pertinently real, even 
 so his thinness and his habitual and famous scowl. His 
 straight-cut hair and his ungainly boots all came in for 
 their share of raillery. 
 
 Truth to tell, in this hyper-elegant assembly, where the 
 right tone was set by M. Tallien's yellow satin coat, Gen- 
 eral Bonaparte cut a poor enough figure. Yet, strange 
 to say, the crowd did not swallow him up. His person- 
 ality in spite of his deplorably shabby appearance was 
 too insistent. Under the brilliant light shed by M. Barras' 
 many cut-glass chandeliers (by the way, all "appropri- 
 ated") he merely looked out of focus, a fit target for 
 universal mirth. It is so easy to be witty at another 
 person's expense. His heavy field boots (very provi- 
 
92 LOVE 
 
 sionallj cleaned) excited, if anything, the greatest fun 
 of all. 
 
 One man approached him on the subject with rather 
 an insolent swagger. "A thousand pardons, citizen gen- 
 eral, but what might you have paid for them?" he asked 
 in all gravity. 
 
 With equal gravity the general replied, looking stead- 
 ily at his interlocutor (he never forgot a face), "Time will 
 show." And without another word he had walked off, 
 leaving the elegant individual rather nonplussed. What 
 the devil did he mean? And what the devil did Barras mean 
 by inviting such a savage to his house? 
 
 For the most part, as we have said, Bonaparte was left 
 strictly alone. All dared at a discreet distance to 
 laugh at him, but few cared to question him. 
 
 At the beginning of the evening, or rather when the 
 proceedings were well under way, he stood in a doorway 
 watching the crowded ballroom. There was something 
 rather melancholy in the attitude of this lonely student 
 of human nature, as, with his arms crossed on his chest, 
 he leaned against the doorpost looking at the different 
 couples as they swung past him. 
 
 Once he nodded and smiled affectionately at his friend, 
 Captain Junot, who this evening had disgracefully deserted 
 him for an attractive young lady. The gallant captain 
 was so obviously head over ears in love with Mademoiselle 
 Permont that Bonaparte could only resign himself to the 
 inevitable. And here he fell to musing on the strange 
 fellowship of love. Would he ever fall a victim to honest 
 Junot's complaint? ... At least Junot looked extremely 
 happy. A shadow effaced his smile. 
 
 He watched the celebrated Madame Tallien and here 
 his expression of contempt deepened. Her provocative 
 dress, her eternal smile, her everlasting airs of Venus Vic- 
 trix only irritated him. 
 
 She happened to catch sight of him, and before he could 
 realize her intention on the arm of her reluctant part- 
 
LOVE 93 
 
 ner she swayed up to him and presented him with her 
 hand and her dance-programme. 
 
 "Choose," she said. "They are all taken, of course, 
 but that does not matter." 
 
 "It would be unfair " 
 
 "No, general; all is fair in love and war." 
 
 He bowed. "May I have number seven?" 
 
 "Is that your lucky number?" 
 
 "I have no luck, madam." 
 
 "What monstrous ingratitude!" She turned to the 
 young man by her side a rather breathless young man 
 "Would you not say that General Bonaparte had his fair 
 share of good fortune?" 
 
 "It is staggering," he said. 
 
 "A bientot, mon general." And away she fluttered, 
 giving the taciturn officer a parting smile. . . . After all, 
 in spite of his atrocious manners, he was only a man. He 
 was bound sooner or later to worship her. . . . Such an 
 obstinate case was really rather interesting. 
 
 "What are you thinking about, beloved?" 
 
 She looked up dreamily, pressing herself closer to her 
 happy partner's breast. "Of love," she whispered. "I 
 would like to dance for ever, just you and I together. 
 Isn't it divine?" 
 
 And he believed her. And his eyes grew a shade more 
 misty, and his breath came a shade faster, and he forgot 
 to envy General Bonaparte. 
 
 The general wandered away presently. He walked 
 through the long gallery and bowed to Mrs. Fanny. He 
 followed the throng into the refreshment-room and mod- 
 estly asked the attendant for a glass of lemonade and a 
 biscuit. He drank the lemonade and ate the biscuit with 
 slow enjoyment. 
 
 All around him people were laughing and talking. There 
 was an overpowering sense of ease and opulence in the 
 crowded room. The long white tables were elegantly 
 spread with all kinds of fanciful dishes. The immense 
 
94 LOVE 
 
 floor was covered with a thick-pile carpet. The walls were 
 richly decorated. The ceiling frescoed, finished with a 
 heavy white cornice incrusted in gilding. In different cor- 
 ners of the room stood groups of plants and here and 
 there seats were at the disposal of the guests. On the 
 buffet shone some rare pieces of plate, including two solid 
 gold urns. The table service was of purest china embossed 
 with B arras' coronet and monogram in relief. 
 
 How quickly the tide turns! Last year that service 
 would have been quite superfluous. 
 
 General Bonaparte turned his back on the room, 
 slipped into a window embrasure and looked down on the 
 street below. 
 
 The snow gave a certain elusive fairness to the city. 
 In the dark sky a lew pale stars were visible, also the silver 
 crescent of a new moon. He looked quickly down again 
 our general was highly superstitious. The new moon led 
 his thoughts some leagues from Paris yet still in the 
 homeland; he gazed, as it were, along its frozen frontier. 
 The bitter frost had gripped the whole countryside. In 
 Marseilles, and further along the coast, towards Italy, the 
 soldiers of France were fighting a hard-pitched battle 
 against cold, privation and inaction. . . . The cursed 
 unfairness of it all! Here was he, and a handful of his 
 fellow-beings, roundly feasting while good men and true 
 men had to make the best of a fireless, often enough a 
 breadless camp singing their favorite songs, and repeat- 
 ing their favorite jests just to keep up their courage 
 staring at their frostbitten toes, and hoping that the regu- 
 lation supply of boots would soon arrive. It was awkward 
 exercising barefooted. . . . 
 
 Through the tall iron gratings surrounding the palace 
 yard, and more especially at the very imposing entrance 
 gates surmounted on either side by two flaring lamps set 
 high and forming pools of light on the snow, a number 
 of the poorer citizens of Paris had gathered, watching 
 the brilliant windows of the palace, and forming their 
 own ideas of the rich man enjoying himself. Some of 
 
LOVE 95 
 
 these pictures were, no doubt, very fantastic, and others 
 merely pathetic. Joy is such a very personal thing. Shiv- 
 ering, hungry, ragged, these wretched outcasts kept mov- 
 ing about, yet always returning to the best point of 
 vantage. 
 
 General Bonaparte could not discern their faces. In 
 that shadow world below, the cold night hid her secrets 
 (and her limitless forces). . . . He could not distinguish 
 these shivering creatures. But he could imagine them. 
 He did not lack imagination. 
 
 A smiling woman, sitting on a sofa, looked up at him. 
 (In after days she remembered the incident.) She was 
 a pretty, graceful creature dressed in purest white satin 
 her little white satin sandals laced with pale-blue rib- 
 bons, across lier slender ankles. 
 
 "He has got a good nose," she observed. 
 
 "Not a bad mouth, either," returned her companion 
 languidly. 
 
 "But isn't he thin!" 
 
 General Bonaparte, also without giving the matter the 
 least attention, met the sympathetic glance of the lady in 
 white. They looked at each other just as people do glance 
 at each other in a crowd without observation. For the 
 fraction of a second he stood still. His big, mournful 
 eyes, with their restless, dissatisfied expression, searched 
 her face. She was sitting in partial shadow the light 
 was very becoming. She looked charming, the slender lady 
 in white. With the ghost of a smile on his thin face he 
 passed on. 
 
 Madame Josephine de Beauharnais leaned forward, look- 
 ing after his retreating figure. "He has got fascinating 
 eyes," she said. 
 
 "Has he? I did not notice," answered her companion, 
 helping herself to a coffee eclair. 
 
 In the outer room General Bonaparte paused irresolute. 
 Should he go to the left or to the right? It really did not 
 matter two straws. He smiled very bitterly. It was a 
 
96 LOVE 
 
 queer world. Why should he be superfluous? There was 
 Junot dear, foolish Junot having the time of his life, 
 only eyes and ears for a tolerably pretty girl. General 
 Bonaparte stood still to speculate on love. 
 
 Almost as if in answer to his thoughts, M. Barras 
 accosted him with rousing good cheer. 
 
 "How are you, general? Having a good time?" 
 Barras happened to be alone and evidently in an exceed- 
 ingly pleasant frame of mind. His face was flushed; his 
 eyes glittered; and he held himself with easy distinction. 
 Maybe the music, the wine and the -women, each or col- 
 lectively were responsible for his breezy optimism. 
 
 He tapped the general in an affectionate manner on his 
 thin shoulder and gave him a friendly piece of advice. 
 "Get married," he said. 
 
 Bonaparte looked at his host a little vaguely. M. Bar- 
 ras was uncomfortably struck by the young man's extreme 
 pallor. And just now any discomfort was excessively 
 unpleasant to him. 
 
 "You ought to strengthen your position," he said. "A 
 sensible match makes all the difference to a young man's 
 prospects an ambitious young man, bien entend/u*. I 
 honor you, general, for your determined purpose." He 
 waved his hand. "There is choice enough here to-night 
 to suit any taste." (He came a step nearer.) "What 
 do you say to Madame Tallien?" (He laughed.) "7"ja, 
 I am not proposing her at least, not as a wife! Isn't 
 she simply a wonder? What convincing beauty!" 
 
 Barras had (with slight variations) made the same 
 remark countless times that evening. You see, it was his 
 little scheme of salvation. He thought by soundly admir- 
 ing Madame Tallien he could keep out of her toils. You 
 don't for some unknown reason sing the praises of the 
 woman (or the man) you happen to be seriously interested 
 in. That is your little secret your precious little secret. 
 . . . Barras was greatly comforted by his cunning. . . . 
 Anyone was at liberty to express his opinion on Madame 
 Tallien. He looked over Bonaparte's shoulder and fidgeted 
 
LOVE 97 
 
 with his handsome watch-chain. He was feeling bewildered, 
 attracted. Yet, considering him as a sensitive moth (we 
 must allow), he was a superlatively precautious one. 
 
 "Ah, I see her! Good-bye, so long!" M. Barras' sharp 
 eyes had noticed in his immediate vicinity (nothing what- 
 soever to do with the vision beyond) two charming young 
 girls dressed alike in purest white satin, each with a red 
 camellia tucked into their high blue sashes. 
 
 "Let me introduce you," said M. Barras, genially, sweep- 
 ing, as it were, the trio with his pleasant, almost fatherly 
 smile. 
 
 The general acknowledged the introduction with a deep 
 bow. And away went M. Barras alas, steadily nearing 
 the perilous zone. The music, the wine, the women (we 
 have said it before) had clearly mounted to his head. 
 
 He made a straight bee-line for a lady dressed in corn- 
 colored chiffon, sitting, to all intents and purposes, quite 
 alone. The miserable youth at her side was no hindrance 
 whatever to their desire. 
 
 "Our dance?" said M. Barras. (The youth shivered.) 
 
 "Yes," said Madame Tallien, with her unmistakable 
 glance. 
 
 And they went away together, leaving the miserable 
 youth to his own reflections. 
 
 "Citizen general," said the prettiest girl, "do you like 
 dancing?" 
 
 "Citoyenne, I am a very bad dancer, but if I might have 
 the honor of this waltz I shall be very grateful." 
 
 She giggled. "Oh, I didn't mean that!" 
 
 "I am sorry." And he meant it. He was struck by 
 her freshness, her innocence, her simplicity. Without 
 doubt mademoiselle found life very attractive. He looked 
 around at the other young lady. How exactly alike they 
 were! 
 
 "And you, mademoiselle, will you take pity on a poor 
 soldier?" 
 
 She curtsied. "I shall be charmed," she said demurely. 
 
98 LOVE 
 
 "M. le general, do let me explain." And off they went 
 in a perfectly practiced duet, until the general almost 
 swore he was a "victim." 
 
 "Don't you think it is a grand idea?" 
 
 "I cannot conceive a better one." 
 
 "M. Tallien has promised to make the first speech of 
 the evening " 
 
 "In honor of the dead," said Mademoiselle Madeleine. 
 
 "I did not know he had lost " 
 
 "No more he has. You are perfectly right, monsieur. 
 But of course he must be admitted. He is our hero ! He 
 has saved us all!" 
 
 "What superb courage " said Bonaparte. 
 
 "Think of it!" said the prettiest girl. 
 
 "And you have lost no one, monsieur?" asked her sister, 
 sadly. 
 
 "No one, mademoiselle." 
 
 "I am so sorry." 
 
 Then they all three laughed together the absurd side 
 of the question struck them forcibly. It was really a 
 very difficult matter to explain. 
 
 The prettiest girl tapped a little slip of paper she held 
 in her hands. "We have got such a long list of names," 
 she declared. "The beautiful Madame Tallien is a 
 patroness * 
 
 "Is she a victim?" asked Bonaparte politely. 
 
 "Oh, yes!* 
 
 "And 1 Madame de $eauharnais is coming. Do you know 
 her? She is a widow, and is perfectly charming." 
 
 "No, mademoiselle. I have not the honor." 
 
 They looked at him with just a slightly patronizing air. 
 Poor young man, he evidently knew very few people. 
 
 "The tickets cost five francs each. It is for a good 
 cause, monsieur. . . ." 
 
 "In silver," seconded the other. 
 
 "Won't the poor be delighted!" 
 
 "Won't they be delighted, monsieur !" They echoed each 
 other with absolute unconsciousness. 
 
LOVE 99 
 
 And their eyes shone in glad anticipation. And the 
 little general's eyes shone in response. For the first time 
 that evening he realized the music and, perhaps, his own 
 youth. "We must not miss this," he said almost pas- 
 sionately. 
 
 Providentially some one claimed the attention of one 
 young lady. He offered his arm to the remaining one and 
 hurried her rather more quickly than strict decorum per- 
 mitted into the ballroom. 
 
 He did not pay much attention to the music or to the 
 time, but he danced with tremendous vigor. He kept 
 whirling her up and down the great room, his tall boots 
 clattering, his long coat flying, his long hair interfering 
 perpetually with his eyesight. Nothing interfered with 
 his enjoyment. They both enjoyed themselves even their 
 occasional misdirected efforts. ("It is not my fault," he 
 said, as they bumped into M. Barras, folding the beautiful 
 Madame Tallien in his warm embrace. They were not 
 dancing wildly, those two, but slowly, gently as if each 
 reluctant step was to be their last.) 
 
 The general did not look at them. They did not interest 
 him in the least. Nor did he notice a pretty little lady in 
 white (with blue ribbons to her sandals) standing up by 
 the wall with a very mutinous expression on her charming 
 face. She was talking to her partner and staring at 
 M. Barras. 
 
 When the music finished, General Bonaparte led the 
 young girl to a sofa, took hold of her fan and tried to 
 fan her. He did it a little clumsily. 
 
 "During these last two or three years, where have you 
 been hiding, mademoiselle?" 
 
 "Safe in the country, monsieur. For the matter of that, 
 we have always lived in the country." 
 
 "This is your first season?" 
 
 She nodded. "My first big ball. Don't you think it is 
 all very wonderful?" She looked round her with a half- 
 puzzled expression at the gay scene. 
 
100 LOVE 
 
 "Yes," he said, looking at her with his shining eyes and 
 his deferential though slightly awkward manner. 
 
 "Mamma is not quite papa's equal, in birth . . . she 
 is the doctor's daughter, you know. Grandmamma has 
 a lovely old house just outside our village, and grandpapa 
 is quite rich, and we had on the whole a lovely time. It 
 seems rather wicked to say so. But it is a fact. I adore 
 the country. And so does Madeleine." 
 
 "Is your mother here to-night?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! She is quite different. She loves society. 
 It is mamma who is getting up the ball, you know. Mamma 
 has so much energy." ,(She laughed gaily.) "She is very 
 determined 5? 
 
 "I can imagine it, mademoiselle." 
 
 "I was dancing with M. Tallien. Was it not kind of 
 him to ask me? I was feeling quite proud of myself * 
 and Madeleine was just a tiny bit jealous (he asked her, 
 afterwards). And he said all kinds of flattering things 
 rather silly things on the whole. At least I did not under- 
 stand very much " 
 
 "I am glad." 
 
 "Why should you be glad, when I tell you I am stupid?" 
 
 "You are safer in the country, mademoiselle." 
 
 "There is no danger, now!" She spoke with utmost 
 assurance. 
 
 "That is true." 
 
 Her bright eyes clouded. "It was awful at the time. 
 You can imagine our feelings when we heard one report 
 more terrible than the other. Grandmamma would not let 
 us talk about public affairs. And mamma was away in 
 England. She said we were safer at home. I am so 
 thankful it is all over." 
 
 He did not answer. She paused. "Yes," she said. 
 "Where was I? I was telling you about M. Tallien. 
 Mamma did not like me dancing with him. 'Come away/ 
 she said sharply. 'Don't do if again.' 'Why not?' I 
 asked. Mamma thought a moment. 'I don't like you 
 
LOVF 101 
 
 dancing with married men,' she explained. . . . Are you 
 married, monsieur?" 
 
 "No, mademoiselle." 
 
 "I am so glad. Then you are all right. I wish I was 
 a little older. At times I feel I know nothing at all. 
 Are you clever?" 
 
 He shook his head. "I have studied, mademoiselle." 
 
 "So have I. I got a prize for history at the convent 
 school. Such a pretty walk from grandmamma's hquse 
 through the orchards and then across two fields and down 
 the village street. We were day-boarders." 
 
 "That is very interesting. . . . What did Mademoiselle 
 Madeleine get?" 
 
 She moved very slightly. She doubted if the general was 
 attending to her best conversational efforts. He was 
 looking away into the distance . . . looking. She fol- 
 lowed his glance. He was staring at nothing at all ! The 
 room was practically empty. 
 
 "My sister, monsieur le general, is also interested in 
 history," she explained with cold politeness. Then her 
 native charm took the upper hand of her momentary 
 hauteur. "But I am only talking of my own affairs," she 
 said. She thought a moment. "Have you got any broth- 
 ers and sisters?" 
 
 "Several." 
 
 "That is nice. Are they also clever?" 
 
 "I never said I was clever." 
 
 "Someone told me " 
 
 "Never listen to idle gossip." 
 
 "It was not idle. Besides, you don't look stupid." 
 
 "It is kind of you to say so." 
 
 "Have you got a good memory?" 
 
 "An excellent memory." 
 
 "That is my weak point " 
 
 "Otherwise you would have had more prizes. Very 
 true, mademoiselle. Without memory the greatest genius 
 on earth is handicapped if not lost." 
 
 "Is that so?" 
 
102 LOVE 
 
 He took up the little fan lying on her lap, and looked 
 at it carefully. "When we look back " 
 
 "I like looking forward. For weeks my sister and I 
 have talked of nothing else but this ball." 
 
 "Have you realized your expectations?" He glanced 
 at her, waiting her reply anxiously. 
 
 "Yes of course." She hesitated. 
 
 "Not entirely! We hope too much. We mean too 
 much. Sooner or later the crash will come. . . . Made- 
 moiselle, forgive me." 
 
 "It doesn't matter." (She looked a little woebegone.) 
 They both studied the fragments of the broken fan. 
 
 "It is my ill-luck," he said. "All I do ends in disaster." 
 
 "This is such a small matter. I daresay it can be 
 mended," she returned politely. 
 
 He stared a little vaguely at her, sweeping back his long 
 hair from his forehead. "Yes," he said, "the matter is of 
 no consequence." Then he smiled. "Frankly, made- 
 moiselle, I don't like a patched-up affair. All or nothing. 
 There you have my ambition in a nutshell." 
 
 "You ask too much," she said timidly. 
 
 He pocketed the fan. "I am going to keep this and 
 send you another in exchange. You will allow me that 
 privilege? It is the first favor I have asked of a lady.'* 
 
 "I hardly like " she began, involuntarily looking at 
 
 his shabby uniform. 
 
 "I have so few pleasures." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you ever so much." She looked 
 half shyly into his eyes. "Do you ever consider the fu- 
 ture, monsieur? Your own future, I mean, not history." 
 
 "Sometimes, mademoiselle, and always together." 
 
 "I beg your pardon?" 
 
 "It is quite simple." 
 
 "I don't quite understand. How" changeable you are! 
 A moment ago you looked as bright and as happy as 
 possible. You have no business to look sad." 
 
 "On the whole I have not. You are quite right." 
 
 He leaned eagerly forward. . . . "Look at me, made- 
 
 
 
LOVE 103 
 
 moiselle. Your eyes are as pools of light, shining, clear 
 pools searched by the morning sun. You give me con- 
 fidence." 
 
 She laughed gaily. "You must not pay me compli- 
 ments," she said. 
 
 "It is not a compliment, mademoiselle. I know nothing 
 about them." 
 
 "Very well," she answered, sitting demurely back. "Now 
 tell me all about yourself." She spoke very placidly, with 
 just a tiny, encouraging smile. "I want to help you 
 if I can. Grandmamma says sympathy is of the greatest 
 value. I have nothing else to offer you." 
 
 "I would like to meet your grandmother." 
 
 "She is dear, though she is very strict. She is always 
 busy herself. She says work prevents more evil in this 
 world than anything else." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Often on winter evenings just like to-night, only such 
 a difference ! she will sit upright in her own chair by the 
 fire she keeps famous fires. I love a bright fire, don't 
 you?" (He sat immovable.) "speaking of all kinds 
 of things. She has her fancies, grandmamma. She will 
 tell us fairy stories and stories out of life. And she 
 will always end up with a comfortable reflection. Last 
 winter was a very sad one for us. Mamma was in England, 
 and dear papa " 
 
 "Go on, mademoiselle." His voice was a mere whisper. 
 
 " 'Out of darkness will come a bright light,' said grand- 
 mamma. 'All this is only God's inscrutable justice. 
 France will clear herself. Someone ' " 
 
 "Yes, mademoiselle ?" 
 
 She had drifted away from the main question. Like a 
 little child, tired of its plaything, she leaned her rosy 
 cheek curved just as a baby's on her hand. "Life is 
 difficult to understand," she sighed. "We must all try to 
 do our best. Isn't that it, monsieur?" 
 
 The band struck up a spirited galop. The music rolled 
 down the long gallery. The dancers flocked back into 
 
104 LOVE 
 
 the ball-room. And Mademoiselle Madeleine's sister quite 
 forgot to feel sad. 
 
 "How I love that tune!" she said. "Do look at that 
 lady, she is quite too wonderful for words. No, no, that 
 one to the right. Oh, she has gone! You have lost your 
 chance, monsieur." She shook her curls and laughed at 
 him. 
 
 He caught her hand. "Listen!" there was a note of 
 , triumph in his voice, and dogged determination. "For one 
 week I have slept exactly four hours all told." 
 
 She looked very discouragingly. "It is nothing to be 
 proud of," she said severely. 
 
 "I have been just as busy as your grandmother " 
 
 "You will ruin your health " 
 
 "I am very strong." 
 
 "You don't look it." 
 
 "That is nothing, mademoiselle. I can prove it." 
 
 "Prove what?" she spoke impatiently. 
 
 "That I have not wasted my time. Like you, made- 
 moiselle, I am interested in history. And I study. It is 
 my amusement. Otherwise my life just at present is not 
 very enviable. It is only a passing phase. I can afford 
 to wait " 
 
 "I am very sorry," she said politely, wondering if her 
 cousin would find her. She was engaged to her cousin 
 for this dance. She was very young, was Mademoiselle 
 Madeleine's sister. And Bonaparte (with a slight gasp) 
 .recognized her youth and bowed before it. He was not 
 angry with her, nor did he envy her, but her indifference 
 filled him with disappointment. He was hungry for human 
 sympathy this taciturn, lonely soldier. Suddenly the 
 thought of an old fairy story comforted him. Any human 
 interference invariably destroyed the picture. All the 
 fairies and all their surroundings beautiful as God's 
 springtide were fashioned of mist. A human breath 
 destroyed the illusion. He looked away and turned the 
 key on his own heart. 
 
 "There is mamma," she cried excitedly. 
 
LOVE 105 
 
 Mamma was leaning on M. Tallien's arm, a tall, hand- 
 some woman, with a cold face, ridiculously dressed. She 
 did not in the least resemble her daughters. 
 
 "I am glad to have seen her," said Napoleon, rising 
 ceremoniously. 
 
 His little partner's eyes shone like twin stars. She had 
 detected her cousin, coming leisurely forward. She nodded 
 and smiled at him. 
 
 "And your father, mademoiselle? I hope one day to 
 have the pleasure " 
 
 For one second her eyes filled with tears. "Don't you 
 know?" she said sadly, rising and facing General Bona- 
 parte. "Papa was a victim. That is why mamma is 
 getting up the ball." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 HE did not even look after her as she disappeared in 
 the crowd. He stood rather awkwardly stock-still 
 in the middle of the gallery, and people jostled him, giving 
 him a half-pitying, half-amused stare. After all, what 
 could you expect? A rough-and-ready soldier may no 
 doubt shine admirably in his own field of activity (horrid 
 things, battles, you know), but it was almost impossible 
 to ask the same individual to successfully grace society. 
 He is out of the social picture. No, really, it was not 
 only in this case a matter of clothes, wrong clothes and 
 an abrupt manner which struck a jarring note, but the 
 fellow's whole personality was at fault. He had the con- 
 summate conceit (a sober fact) to look above the heads 
 of his superiors. He gave himself airs if you please! 
 On the strength of what? His military skill? Possibly. 
 He had managed to turn out the English from Toulon and 
 he was very young his solitary merit his youth gave 
 him a certain status in the public eye. A general at 
 twenty-four and all that, you know, and yet his con- 
 founded insolence! that was no valid excuse for jumping 
 down a fellow's throat! The young bloods, brandishing 
 their gold-headed canes, were very certain on this point. 
 
 So you see, the general, in spite of his shyness and 
 awkwardness, managed to give offense. What we don't 
 understand as a rule angers us. There is a streak of 
 paltriness in human nature and it is quite indelible. Just 
 as fast a color as human curiosity. 
 
 Almost more apparent than Bonaparte's studied "inso- 
 lence" was M. Tallien's comical dislike of the little officer. 
 The young bloods noticed the expression in Mr. Yellow 
 Coat's rather protruding eyes and very protruding lips 
 
 106 
 
LOVE 107 
 
 as he took the measure of a certain uniform and its owner. 
 If ever a man's doom shone certain as taxes, Bonaparte 
 poor little fellow stood in a tight place. Tallien would 
 snuff him out anyhow, he would do his bounden best. 
 There are always two sides to every question. The gen- 
 eral's partisans considered Tallien a spent value. He 
 was of no more account, they said, than last year's hail- 
 storm. He, Tallien, had had his day. He could never 
 retrieve his fortunes. There were black facts look you 
 against him, whereas Bonaparte's slate was clean 
 except for a good mark or two. Why, you could not in 
 any manner compare the two ! The general was so obvi- 
 ously gifted. He was clever as blazes. You need not 
 look further than his eyes to see that. He had the right 
 temperament and a fund of cool calculation, hidden well 
 out of sight. He was born to succeed, they said. The 
 friends of Bonaparte wasted a good many warm words 
 over their man. 
 
 Yet in spite of this backwater flow of confidence, the 
 odds stood fairly even between the gentlemen. 
 
 To-night M. Tallien shone in the full effulgence of popu- 
 larity. Never had he socially speaking appeared to 
 greater advantage. Never had he laughed louder or spoken 
 to better purpose. He was the cynosure of admiring eyes 
 the object of rare attention. Wherever he went he was 
 followed by his little special coterie of friends, very consid- 
 erably swollen by chance individuals, people who did not 
 know him intimately, but who none the less- were flattered 
 by his attention. Tallien had a kind word for everyone. 
 He made no distinction of person or, if anything, he may 
 have leaned towards the aristocrats. He wanted to show 
 (dear fellow) that there was no evil blood between them. 
 Man as man blue or red they were just honest friends 
 eh? 
 
 M. Tallien had but to wink his eye to attract the crowd. 
 Much as a popular comedian has but to cross one foot 
 over the other to raise almost hysterical mirth. 
 
108 LOVE 
 
 Stay, now, when we think matters over was there not a 
 trifle (and a bit over) of nervous excitement in M. Tal- 
 lien's genial manner? He was not drunk oh, no, he was 
 pretty careful in some things but his jokes were a bit 
 too vivid he laid the paint on with absolutely no taste 
 nor any regard to economy. Also he had a slightly 
 monotonous touch. He either forgot what he had just 
 been saying or he considered his words good enough to 
 bear repetition. In any case he repeated himself to such 
 an extent that his faithful adherents could easily have 
 prompted him, when (as it happens once or twice) his 
 witticisms lacked fire. Of course, being tactful gentle- 
 men speculating on promotion they did nothing of the 
 kind. They only laughed the louder when the story, as 
 it were, lacked its tail. Probably something had dis- 
 tracted M. Tallien's memory. He was easily upset. Maybe 
 a casual glance from a rank outsider had disturbed his 
 imagination. Or some merely superstitious trouble. The 
 jangle of a plate as it fell on the ground; the young 
 moon meekly meeting his rather bloodshot eye through 
 a pane of burnished glass ; the prick of an ancient wound; 
 the sound of a voice remarkedly like a voice which was 
 dead. There is such a thing as heredity. And it is con- 
 fusing, to say the least of it, to unexpectedly meet a man's 
 son who, to all intents and purposes, might stand for 
 his own dead father. Little things like that can waken 
 a chain of recollection and they say a guilty conscience 
 never sleeps. There in a nutshell we can account for 
 Tallien's loud laugh and magnificent peacock strut. He 
 was never at his ease, any more than a person suffering 
 from a pernicious rash. In the dead quiet of the night, 
 away from all this glittering world, unattended by obse- 
 quious time-servers (he never had a friend), the irritation 
 was, if anything, more acutely felt. His whole body 
 fretted. M. Tallien's soul, heart, mind call it what you 
 will was such a small part of his anatomy that it hardly 
 counts. 
 
LOVE 109 
 
 Yes, he was decidedly a nervous creature. On ordinary 
 occasions his city of refuge in society was the shadow 
 of his wife's brilliancy. If he was anywhere near her he 
 gained self-confidence. Where he failed she would surely 
 pull him through. She had superb impudence, Terezia! 
 Also she was the fashion. Also he was her husband. Glory 
 by reflection is cold comfort, but it is better than nothing 
 at all. In times of doubt he would manoeuvre to be near 
 the light. To save herself Terezia often enough adroitly 
 saved Tallien. Once over a bit of stiff ground why, it 
 may all be as easy going as a rocking-chair! Outwardly 
 he was full of confidence, this big, flashy fellow. And, if 
 beneath his clothes his skin pricked the devil, whose affair 
 was it but his own? 
 
 To-night he felt he could do without Terezia, and con- 
 sequently he enjoyed himself immensely. The assiduous 
 flattery of the men, and the sight of the women giving, 
 as it were, a free rein to prejudice, warmed his big heart. 
 
 M. Joseph might be responsible for the supper, the 
 incidental details of a successful party, but he, Tallien, 
 had made the whole a possibility. He stood sponsor for 
 the spirit of the entertainment it was he who had brought 
 about this truly enjoyable evening. Here they were gath- 
 ered together friend and foe as one happy, reunited 
 family, romping and dancing without a care in the world 
 "And was it not sweet and natural?" asked M. Tallien, 
 presiding at his end of the supper-table. 
 
 All the evening his yellow coat had formed the centre 
 of attraction. He was an indefatigable dancer, and 
 between the dances (as we have seen) he did not disdain 
 friendly conversation with anyone bold enough to con- 
 verse with him. He, figuratively speaking, patted all his 
 fellow-guests on the back by preference the ladies. On 
 occasions he stepped over the narrow bridge of decorum. 
 But what of that? Far more unpleasant than his vul- 
 garity to some sensitive women was M. Tallien's unmis- 
 takable perfume. If you remember, he liberally indulged 
 in carnation scent of quadruple extract. At close quarters 
 
110 LOVE 
 
 a very delicate person felt faint. Everyone does not like 
 carnation scent. 
 
 The ball was at its loudest height. Such screaming, 
 such caperings, such ear-piercing yells must surely have 
 annoyed the august ghosts of the royal departed, who, a 
 short hundred years ago, had entertained with solemn 
 dignity within these very halls. 
 
 General Bonaparte, drifting through the ballroom in 
 search of a quiet corner, evaded M. Barras shadowing 
 Madame Tallien. For one reason, he disliked that thinly- 
 veiled woman, and for another, he did not wish for any 
 further introductions. In his fatherly good-nature Barras 
 would certainly have found him a fresh partner. Barras 
 did not like any of his guests to be worse off than himself. 
 (Strictly speaking, he and Tallien had followed much the 
 same line of policy, at least in the matter of take-what- 
 you-can-get. But no one ever now or hereafter 
 thought of accusing M. Barras of handling other people's 
 property a trifle too roughly. Such a jovial, good-tem- 
 pered, generous fellow could not steal. It went under 
 some other name. Legal gentlemen and kind people are 
 full of finesse. Lucky dog, Barras!) 
 
 Bonaparte, engrossed by his thoughts he was arrang- 
 ing, very charmingly, the future of his dear little partner 
 we nearly said playmate continued his search for a 
 resting-place. 
 
 His head ached. During the last fortnight he had 
 rather overtaxed his strength. He has worked prodi- 
 giously, day and night, day and night. . . . And what a 
 study ! That cold, comfortless attic, with a devil's draught 
 wheezing in at the curtainless window. And meals at odd 
 moments. When the general remembered that he was 
 hungry you can understand that he was starving. What 
 it is to possess youth and an iron will! 
 
 The yellow drawing-room a very ornate and gilded 
 apartment led into the red salon also a place of luxury 
 and cold comfort. At the extreme end of this apartment 
 
LOVE 111 
 
 hung a curtain of Genoa velvet of indescribable and faded 
 tints wholly artistic. 
 
 Without observing its truly delightful coloring the gen- 
 eral, engrossed by his reflections, stumbled into its heavy 
 folds. (He had arrived at the young lady's happy mar- 
 riage to some man more worthy than himself.) 
 
 The curtain swayed forward. 
 
 And he, without any idle curiosity but merely because 
 the texture felt soft and cool to his heated face (M. Barras 
 kept his rooms at a very high temperature), lifted the 
 curtain and let his fingers glide across the smooth surface. 
 . . . He looked in. Then he dropped the heavy curtain 
 behind him. 
 
 Chance had befriended him. In this little empty room, 
 with its cool panelled walls and delicate furnishings, almost 
 in darkness, he felt safe from interruption. He could just 
 see the dim outlines of a grand piano, a music cab- 
 inet and two uncurtained windows, through which the 
 stars looked in. 
 
 If the obscure light had been better or if he had given 
 the matter his attention he might also have noticed on 
 the deep divan (which ran the whole length of one side of 
 the little white music-room) a knot of corn-colored chiffon, 
 very probably torn from some woman's dress. And if 
 he had remembered, or cared sufficiently to note such a 
 small circumstance, it was precisely from this direction 
 a minute or two ago that his genial host had escorted the 
 radiant Madame Tallien. 
 
 The general walked across the shining parquet floor 
 as it were in the wake of the moonlight towards the 
 piano, and, selecting a chair at random, he sat down, 
 passed his hand across his brow (a favorite gesture of 
 his), and, leaning slightly forward, he stared at a pattern 
 on the floor, without actually seeing it at all. 
 
 And here he dropped Mademoiselle Madeleine's sister 
 from his romantic reflections. His thoughts swept away 
 to his own future that shrouded, mysterious enthralling 
 
112 LOVE 
 
 future. He was safe for an hour's enjoyment. He liked 
 to picture the scenes of an oft-told tale . . . one day . . . 
 
 And in his immediate vicinity a handful of Parisians 
 very mixed showed their enjoyment by loudly telling 
 each other by various, though curiously similar methods 
 how altogether happy they were. 
 
 The noise floated in through the ancient Genoa velvet 
 curtains the laughter, the stamping, the murmuring, the 
 music yet delightfully mellowed. This outside world 
 two good strides away was of such very small signifi- 
 cance to General Bonaparte. He could afford to treat 
 it with the contempt it deserved. These pleasure-seekers 
 could not interfere with his schemes. They had nothing 
 whatever to do with his plans . . . these capering marion- 
 ettes pulled by no master-hand. He had long ago summed 
 up Barras and with considerable accuracy. 
 
 He did not signify. Nor M. Tallien Tallien, with the 
 shifty eyes and the immense laugh. Tallien was practically 
 a corpse, swaying on the gallows of contempt. A certain 
 (and unpleasant) wind had set him going. People were 
 very blind when they could accept Tallien as the real 
 thing. 
 
 The Potter fills his vessels thus 
 In secrecy to each of us 
 In one a flame of lambent fire, 
 To another empty nothingness. 
 
 Thou Soul, cast in clay, 
 What of thy little day? 
 Be thou at peace or war, 
 Mov'st thou from place to place 
 God's light, through the open door, 
 Falls full upon thy face. 
 
 Look thou up at the wintry sky, 
 
 When darkness wanders by; 
 
 Ten thousand stars alive, alike, 
 
 Yet none alike. 
 
 Each life a star, her little trade to ply; 
 
 To quicken, to twinkle, and to die 
 
 Alike, yet none alike. 
 
LOVE 113 
 
 There we have his own blind reasons, his own blind 
 trust, his own supreme faith in some shadowy Being, whose 
 sole divine right was to guard his Bonaparte's interests. 
 
 He would win through. He saw the victory. As yet 
 but darkly the means. Revolution? No, played out, the 
 revolution of antics and somersaults. It would not pay 
 for instance to set Tallien against Barras and Barras 
 against Carnot and Carnot against Menou ... he pre- 
 ferred to work it out one against all. . . . One against all! 
 He raised his head with an upward j erk and his eyes shone 
 almost uncannily bright. He looked a Csesar every inch 
 of him. . . . (Ah, Bonaparte, what it is to have youth 
 and an iron will!) 
 
 There he sat in a brown study though actually his 
 mental circle was amazingly clear and wrought sheet 
 after sheet in his mind, of no fantastic will-o'-the-wisp 
 schemings, but scholarly deductions based on sober fact. 
 
 The clock struck two hours after midnight. 
 
 In the adjoining rooms complete silence reigned. If 
 General Bonaparte had given the matter a thought (which 
 he did not), he might have realized that M. Barras' 
 extremely contented guests were feeding. The dining-room 
 lay a good long way from the little white music-room, and 
 there Noise had gathered. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 TF we could only look into the heart of things below 
 * the surface. Anyone given some natural aptitude 
 can describe a man's appearance; ring the accurate note 
 from a dwelling-room or reproduce the coloring of a land- 
 scape. The picture may be crude yet fairly correct. But 
 how much wider the scope of individuality ! They say an 
 idle pipe black from usage the thumbed seam of a 
 woman's needlework, still warm from the imprint of her 
 hand can speak volumes. How much more so a glimpse 
 of a man's soul, seen beneath his unguarded glance? 
 
 It is quite easy to conceive the outward appearance of 
 the future Emperor in his lean and early stage. We have 
 a good view of his features. We observe his sensitive 
 mouth, his blue-shadowed eyes, the pinched pallor of his 
 face. We note his threadbare uniform (boots and all) 
 in spite of the gloaming. We can see the little white 
 music-room and the hangings of Genoa velvet (of inde- 
 scribable and lovely tints). By craning our necks we can 
 look up at the domed ceiling painted by Boucher. But 
 the man the chrysalis of a great man can we get beneath 
 the surface and share his hunger ? He was close on starva- 
 tion. Understand us. Not for Esau's mess, but for 
 Esau's heritage. He was starving for action. This ball 
 represented to him endless stagnation ... it might go 
 on for years. In the meanwhile he'd die. And no one 
 would be sorry. Except, maybe, his mother. His mother 
 loved him. 
 
 I tell you he was near to tears. His hands trembled on 
 the hilt of his rapier. He had nothing to do with balls. 
 He hated them. He was an outsider; an interloper, not 
 worthy of Tallien's disused yellow coat. Not in the owner's 
 
 114 
 
LOVE 115 
 
 eyes eh? Now that was monstrous. If he had it given 
 to him as a present, he would not wear it. He'd stuff it 
 into the mouth of a cannon and shoot it into the sea. 
 
 He laughed hysterically. He wouldn't trouble to pick 
 the man out of it. He'd shoot Man-Tallien in his yellow 
 coat into the sea. . . . That would be fine. Then he'd 
 go on as if nothing had happened. "Gentlemen of France," 
 he'd say, "I'm ready to help you. You are in a corner; 
 I'll pull you out. Let Tallien sink. We'll go on, march- 
 ing in time. There are thousands behind you, gentlemen, 
 ready to fall into line. We'll conquer the world. We'll 
 attract glory and the attention of the Powers. We'll win, 
 hands down. I'll lead you. Victory awaits us. God's 
 sun is shining on our faces. . . ." 
 
 He had his speech pat. He conned it over with great 
 relish. He got up and marched round the room. His 
 boots creaked. His rapier tapped his heel. It didn't 
 inconvenience him. 
 
 Suddenly lie stopped, bewildered. 
 
 The little room, dim and deserted, was full of ghosts. 
 They mocked him. They danced round him. "How are 
 you going to start eh? Drawing maps no one looks at 
 isn't the best work for your job. You yourself are in a 
 corner, little man. The ladies are dancing in front of you. 
 And Tallien and Barras and the other big men won't 
 look at you." 
 
 He held up his hands, his thin, nervous hands. 
 
 "Stop!" he yelled to his unseen tormentors. "One 
 against all ! And absolute victory !" 
 
 There was a magic light in his face. I tell you he fright- 
 ened the ghosts away. They vanished in a troop down 
 the empty gallery. The guests were at supper. 
 
 "All alone in the dark? Supper is going on " 
 
 "It can wait." Bonaparte waved an impatient hand. 
 
 "Sit down, Joseph. I have wanted a word with you all 
 
 the evening." 
 
 M. Joseph shrugged his shoulders, and putting his hand 
 
116 LOVE 
 
 in his waistcoat pocket he found his tinder-box, struck a 
 light and with careful precision lit six candles set in the 
 little crystal chandelier. He could just manage it. 
 
 Then he turned and looked critically at the general, 
 
 "Can you afford it," he said, "or France?" 
 
 "Beggars can't be choosers." 
 
 "To-night we are all rich men." 
 
 "Think so?" 
 
 M. Joseph sat down on one of M. Barras' charming 
 gilt -fauteuils. He crossed his legs and studied his finger- 
 nails. "You have pretty far to go," he said. 
 
 "Have I started?" said the other bitterly. "It is the 
 hopeless delay of it all which maddens me. Aren't we 
 superlatively true to ourselves to-night? Not a man in 
 France knows his own mind." 
 
 "Barring yourself, general." 
 
 "Think so?" Again that whipcord of a voice. 
 
 Silence fell between them. The six candles were burn- 
 ing quite steadily. M. Joseph glanced towards the piano 
 and frowned. "I am disappointed in M. Barras," he said 
 presently. 
 
 "I am not," said Bonaparte. "You can see through 
 the man. He is made of glass." 
 
 "She is one of those hopelessly selfish creatures who 
 only trade on their beauty. She'll ruin him. Now, the 
 other lady " 
 
 Bonaparte laughed a little shrilly. "Let us leave women 
 out of it. They never interest me." 
 
 "Touch wood, general. Frankly, I am in a bad temper. 
 Barras is not clever enough to hide that he is a born fool." 
 
 "Does it matter? He is the most influential man in 
 France." 
 
 "So you believe in empty titles?" 
 
 "It is a fact. Tallien is played out. Menou is not the 
 master of a crisis " 
 
 "It will be here before we can turn round." 
 
 The general scowled sardonically. "In the meanwhile 
 let us dance and amuse ourselves " 
 
 
LOVE 117 
 
 "And trust the people," supplemented the other, looking 
 towards the window. 
 
 "Exactly. They'll help us." 
 
 "I wonder. Nice little room, this," said M. Joseph, 
 irrelevantly. "It is full of ghosts, well-mannered ghosts. 
 Amusing sometimes to hear them talk. They are always 
 whispering, you know." 
 
 Bonaparte shivered. He'd been thinking just the same 
 thing. 
 
 "I'll take whatever offers," he said. 
 
 "Don't. It is a mistake." 
 
 "Listen!" 
 
 "I've done nothing else all my life, sir. Frankly, I'm 
 none the wiser." 
 
 "I've learnt a deal by keeping quiet." 
 
 "And trusting to luck." 
 
 "I'm a very lucky man." The general laughed bitterly. 
 "At Toulon I had the benefit of Barras' wisdom." The 
 general coiled himself up as if he were a corkscrew. "He's 
 letting the secret out now it is common property, sir 
 I only act under orders devil an idea of my own! 
 Ha-ha!" 
 
 "If it amuses him " began Joseph, mildly reproach- 
 ful. "The men who count " 
 
 "Not one not one !" screamed Bonaparte. "A blunder- 
 ing set of idiots, and I've got to lick their boots hear? 
 I, Bonaparte!" 
 
 "A passing phase which no one will remember. When 
 you come to think of it, we have uncommonly short 
 memories." Joseph nodded pleasantly towards the recep- 
 tion-rooms. "They are wise to forget," he said. 
 
 "A turning-point in our history." 
 
 "At a usurious cost, sir." 
 
 "It had to be." 
 
 "Maybe. Yet for the life of me I can't conceive the 
 necessity of a Tallien." 
 
 "He swept away delusion. A few months ago we wor- 
 shipped Robespierre and Reason." 
 
118 LOVE 
 
 "To-day it is rather the fashion to cry him down." 
 
 "He had his good points." 
 
 M. Joseph stroked the arm of his gilt chair. "He was 
 your friend," he remarked. 
 
 "I had no reason to dislike him." 
 
 "He failed." 
 
 "I have studied history." Like a searchlight a smile lit 
 the general's face. He looked extraordinarily attractive. 
 
 "Glad it amused you." 
 
 "Like a little girl " He slipped his hand within his 
 
 pocket, fingering a broken fan. 
 
 "There, you see," said Joseph still smoothing the arm 
 of his gilt chair. "I was right and you were wrong." 
 
 "You are too clever, M. le due, by far." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, general." 
 
 Bonaparte rose and came across the room and laid his 
 hand affectionately on M. Joseph's shoulder. He stood 
 a while looking at him. Joseph bore the scrutiny without 
 flinching. His hand (a fine, tapering hand) lay quite 
 still on the ledge of the chair. 
 
 "Your brother: served under me at Toulon. We were 
 at close quarters. I never pick my friends I find them." 
 
 "I thank you." 
 
 "Sooner or later you will have to drop your mask 
 
 "No," said Joseph tranquilly, "never." 
 
 "I don't see the reason " 
 
 "Reason is dead, and M. Robespierre." 
 
 Bonaparte strode up and down the little room. He 
 crossed his arms behind his back. "Keep your secret," 
 he said savagely. 
 
 "It is not my secret." 
 
 "Your brother " 
 
 "He was of the same mind as myself. A curious case 
 of hereditary obstinacy." Joseph spoke with a flash of 
 family pride. "Even extinction has its privileges." 
 
 "It is not a matter of death," said Bonaparte, coming 
 to a halt. 
 
 "No?" 
 
LOVE 119 
 
 "But of life!" 
 
 Suddenly, like a peal of castanets through the curtained 
 doorway came Madame Tallien's staccato accents, accom- 
 panied by Madame Tallien's unmistakable laugh, carried 
 on the sound of many voices; the intimacy of the little 
 room was broken by the rustle of petticoats, the creak of 
 shoe-leather, the patter of feet, the clatter of swords and 
 above all the band refreshed. Noise had returned in 
 full force. 
 
 "Citoyen Joseph, where are you, Citoyen Joseph?" 
 screamed Terezia. 
 
 "Stay," said Bonaparte. "One moment. Is it worth 
 it?" 
 
 "Entirely," said M. Joseph, lifting the curtain. 
 
 "You are mistaken." 
 
 "Au revoir, general. In the meanwhile, attend to 
 supper." 
 
 Bonaparte watched M. Barras' secretary disappear, and 
 listened to his polite accents, speaking to Madame Tallien. 
 "You are quite splendid to-night," he was saying. 
 
 The general couldn't see the lady. But he heard her 
 laugh and could quite well fancy her expressive eyes in 
 full play. "Dear M. Joseph, please tell them to put out 
 all the lights in the ballroom," she pleaded. 
 
 "Certainly, madam. Anything further?" 
 
 "Ha! ha!" (How she laughed!) "Old lamps for new. 
 Any fusty old things you have, covered up in red stuff. 
 You know " 
 
 "I know." 
 
 "You are so clever, Joseph. Oh, it will be divine ! Tell 
 the band to follow their instructions minutely. Every- 
 thing depends on the music. . . ." 
 
 Their voices trailed away in the distance. 
 
 Bonaparte stood still. Only his eyes moved. He 
 glanced around him, as if inviting ghostly confidence. . . . 
 Had the Revolution spun its deadly course simply to cover 
 Madame Tallien's pleasure? . . . The ghosts reserved 
 their opinion. 
 
120 LOVE 
 
 He took a rapid step to the window, and flung open the 
 casement. The cold night air streamed into the heated 
 room like a sharp electric current. Far down below he 
 saw shadowy figures move across the snow. And up in 
 the clear sky a few stars shone. 
 
 He stood there a moment utterly unguarded. He stood 
 alone between the world where one is amused and the world 
 where one suffers and to both he was oblivious. 
 
 Very carefully he shut the window. He had asked for 
 a sign and it had been given him. He almost thanked 
 God, but God was only a relative value in his scheme of 
 existence. And yet is- not all superstition based on 
 religion? 
 
 It was three or four in the morning and the last remnant 
 of restraint had vanished between M. Barras' enchanted 
 guests. A few had gone home. 
 
 M. Joseph himself conducted Madame de St. Innocent 
 and Madame de Beauharnais into the roomy depths of 
 M. Barras' rather splendid private coach. 
 
 At first the ladies had very distinctly refused to accept 
 the proffered courtesy. It was taking an unfair advantage, 
 they said, of their host's kindness. The weather was fine 
 and, attended by their man-servant, the ladies could very 
 well walk until they found a hackney cab. The hackney 
 cab being in this case a prohibited luxury and merely 
 used as an elegant figure of speech, as it were, to counter- 
 balance M. Barras' extremely comfortable carriage. 
 
 It was drawn up under the portico. The horses stood 
 like "lambs" and the aristocratic coachman looked as if 
 he had been carved in stone and cemented on to his high 
 box-seat, like all well-trained servants, not entering into 
 the discussion as much as by a flutter of his eyelid. 
 
 Madame de St. Innocent gave an involuntary shiver as 
 she drew her blue fox tippet closer round her delicate 
 throat, and looked across the great courtyard, over the 
 head of her respectful lackey, who was waiting with .1 
 
LOVE 121 
 
 lantern in his hand the little candle gleaming as a glow- 
 worm on the snow. 
 
 Immediately behind her stood Mrs. Fanny clutching her 
 reticule (very well filled) beneath her immense cloak 
 an heirloom, by the way, and made by a dead and gone 
 tailor, purveyor to Louis XIV. (He, the sensitive artist, 
 would doubtless have turned in his grave if he had known 
 that one day in the direct line his carriage-cloak con- 
 templated walking the back streets of Paris, at an 
 unearthly hour 'twixt night and dawn.) 
 
 "I assure you, citoyenne, the carriage has been waiting 
 here some time." 
 
 "For someone else," said Mrs. Fanny archly. "You 
 can never deceive me, citoyen." Her ancient furred mantle 
 gave her thin face the look of a tired clown. Around her 
 white wig floated a black lace scarf. The night air had 
 nipped her nose. 
 
 M. Joseph regarded her with profound respect. "I 
 assure you, ladies, Madame Josephine de Beauharnais 
 would be only too enchanted if you would exercise the 
 horses " 
 
 "Josephine !" Her aunt's voice rang very sharply. She 
 turned and whispered to her friend. "In that case we can 
 very well do as M. Joseph suggests. She won't be ready 
 for hours. Though she seemed tired. When a woman 
 looks tired at a ball you can depend upon it that she is 
 having a disappointin' time. You can't deceive me. On 
 the whole I am very glad. Get in, my dear." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Madame de St. Innocent. 
 
 "At your service, madam." 
 
 "Good-night, sir," called Madame <ie Beauharnais, as 
 the carriage, galvanized into action swung across the great 
 courtyard, out through the massive gates and down the 
 dark, steep street to the right. 
 
 Madame de St. Innocent's footman, standing behind on 
 the carriage footboard, blew out his lantern. They were 
 evil times, you see and even farthing dips had their 
 value. 
 
122 LOVE 
 
 Through the lighted vestibule and the brilliantly 
 illuminated gallery M. Joseph unobserved returned to 
 the ballroom. He slipped like an eel through the crowd 
 of dancers and disappeared through a tiny door, hidden 
 beneath the musicians' balcony. 
 
 The little door opened into an equally small room, its 
 principal space being occupied by a square table. The 
 table was laid out for supper. One cover at the upper 
 end. There was a large flagon of Burgundy, a generous 
 dish of fried steak and onions, garnished with boiled 
 spinach and potatoes; also two poached eggs. A good 
 square loaf and a slab of butter completed the homely 
 repast. 
 
 M. Joseph just glanced at the table. "It is all right, 
 Jacques. You can go." 
 
 The white-aproned kitchen-boy with a huge grin on 
 his face touched his cap and promptly disappeared. M. 
 Joseph followed his example. 
 
 Once again he glided through the ballroom this time 
 with his eyes wide open. He soon discovered his man. 
 He was standing by himself by one of the doorways not 
 enjoying himself in the least. A gloomy little man, a pale- 
 faced, hungry little man. 
 
 M. Joseph tapped him on the arm. 
 
 He woke up and scowled, and then recognizing a friend 
 he smiled. 
 
 "Follow me." 
 
 "What is up?" 
 
 Joseph looked mysterious. The music was beating one 
 discordant bar. The huge ballroom was practically in 
 darkness. The meagre illumination had a very eerie effect. 
 The veiled lamps were grouped in each corner of the vast 
 room, and, in their immediate vicinity, an observant eye 
 caught a glimpse of unknown faces. There is nothing so 
 strange as unguarded expression. In the semi-darkness 
 it was quite possible that some of M. Barras' enchanted 
 guests forgot that they were not dancing in splendid isola- 
 tion. Surely if they had remembered . . .? 
 
LOVE 123 
 
 Through this fantastic world of sound and touch 
 where the senses played an important part M. Joseph, 
 very ably, conducted his friend. 
 
 By the modest little doorway under the music-gallery 
 he paused. He bent forward and whispered, "In half an 
 hour I'll let you out, on condition no, I won't impose any 
 conditions. Bon appetit, M. le general." 
 
 Bonaparte's eyes twinkled. He was only a boy, after all. 
 
 "I had forgotten your advice," he began. 
 
 "You always do." 
 
 M. Joseph opened the door and stepped aside to let 
 the other pass through. Out of formality, or as a mere 
 precautionary measure, he locked the door and pocketed 
 the key. "Just as well," he mused. "Something may leap 
 into his mind and he will run out and leave his supper 
 untasted, for the satisfaction of noting an idea. He who 
 wastes good food is an extravagant fool." 
 
 Joseph shook his head. General Bonaparte was not a 
 fool ... no ... by no means. Fragments of his con- 
 versation that evening came back to him. A person who 
 has suffered in one form or another is seldom easily 
 impressed. In this respect Joseph was a* pretty hardened 
 individual. But there are exceptions to every rule. Gen- 
 eral Bonaparte interested him in an enormous degree. He 
 was a rare good speaker. Not perhaps good in the 
 ordinary sense of the term, which is not actually a term 
 of praise, but extraordinarily graphic in his statements. 
 The subject was wholly immaterial; as long as he touched 
 upon it, it lived. He was either a charlatan, a consum- 
 mate actor or a super-man. In any case he pleased. 
 
 "Isn't it lovely?" called out one of his acquaintances, 
 kissing her fingers to M. Barras* private secretary. "The 
 music is too weird for words. . . . You are a genius, 
 M. Joseph." 
 
 M. Joseph bowed profoundly. "I am delighted, 
 madam," he murmured. 
 
 But the couple were already out of earshot. They 
 clanced well. His eyes fell on the little lady's white satin 
 
124 LOVE 
 
 sandals laced with blue ribbons. She was looking up into 
 her partner's face with flattering attention. He was a 
 mere Nobody. 
 
 Under a group of red and yellow lamps M. Barras 
 paused an appreciable second. He had quite forgotten 
 time, circumstance and place. His whole heart and mind 
 were wrapped up in Woman. He held her also in his warm- 
 est embrace. He was looking at her with almost brutal 
 simplicity. His fine face had lost its chief characteristic, 
 that of careless, good-tempered courage. He was evi- 
 dently a man of one idea, and the idea just at present 
 left nothing to the imagination. 
 
 As to the lady who had thus completely conquered, she 
 had not changed by so much as a dishevelled curl. She 
 was complete mistress of the situation, and herself. You 
 see, she was accustomed to these exotic sensations. She 
 lived on them. They curved her lips in happy smiles and 
 brought into her eyes intimate pictures of peculiarly unreal 
 value. The man knew nothing of that. He only felt her 
 warm body, her perfumed breath, only heard her honeyed 
 whispers. She spoke yery little, Madame Tallien. She 
 had so little need of words. There are occasions when 
 words have no significance whatsoever. She knew this. 
 After all, why should she not excel in her own particular 
 calling? 
 
 Madame Tallien set the fashion. After her came an 
 endless chain of men and women given over to pleasure 
 which in this case covered rather an ugly name. 
 
 In and out of the great ballroom they passed, moving 
 slowly as shadows move, these phantoms of liberty. 
 
 No two couples danced alike as they floated down the 
 ballroom. Some clung to each other in desperation, wild- 
 eyed and haggard. Others took it in a lighter vein ; they 
 whirled past, smiling into each other's eyes with frank 
 amusement. Such couples were scarce and invigorating. 
 There lay nothing beneath their gaiety and infectious 
 mirth nothing but youth and folly . . . 
 
 On the whole it was not an edifying spectacle, but rather 
 
LOVE 125 
 
 an exhibition of animal force ; there was something sinister 
 and degrading in the atmosphere. It called for no explana- 
 tion. There is nothing so terrible as restriction. From 
 one extreme to another is only a step . . . 
 
 Above, in the music-gallery, came the eternal beat of a 
 bar or two, discordant, harsh, almost irritatingly monoto- 
 nous. It was not music, any more than this bear-feast 
 was dancing. It all belonged to extraordinary circum- 
 stances. The Revolution still hung in the air, as a 
 menacing, thunderous cloud. Life tottered and stood 
 unbalanced. Reason had died, and M. Robespierre. 
 
 M. Joseph clenched his fists a solitary figure beneath 
 the music-gallery. He was no longer passive. He was 
 furious! His nerves tingled. The whole world cried 
 shame shame! And just over his head two or three 
 ridiculous instruments twanged their eternal note. They 
 seemed to him to cry and whimper as frightened children. 
 Suddenly he realized that France stood on the brink of 
 a new development. This was the prelude. These naked, 
 dishevelled women ; these men who did not trouble to hide 
 their lust. . . . And here and there scattered as daisies 
 on the field, white and innocent those who danced as 
 children romp, when the sun plays on green meadows. 
 . . . Joseph strained his ears to listen to their gladness. 
 
 Presently he was joined by General Napoleon Bona- 
 parte. 
 
 They stood together, watching. 
 
 "What is the meaning of it all?" asked Joseph, glanc- 
 ing full at the other man's face. 
 
 And the answer came as a certain shout of triumph. 
 Bonaparte did not hesitate for one single instant. 
 
 "War !" he said. One word and nothing else. Nothing 
 else signified. 
 
 He was cloaked, ready to go. There he stood seeing, 
 as it were, wide spaces in the congested ballroom his 
 cocked hat under his arm, an illuminative smile on his 
 face. He knew. 
 
 In the poignant pause which followed, M. Tallien swept 
 
126 LOVE 
 
 past in his glory. In that fantastic light his great red 
 mouth hung open, glistening and moist as warm sealing- 
 wax. His long nose appeared longer than ever. His 
 eyes were scarcely human. They were the eyes of a 
 drunkard. (Yet he was sober.) And as to his clothes! 
 Every one of his forty-five lapels fluttered and danced 
 individually; and every ray of light seemed to pick out 
 his yellow coat for special distinction. He entirely dom- 
 inated his partner a remarkable woman with dark, 
 imploring eyes. He held her at arm's length. Every 
 time she drew nearer he pushed her off. It was delightful 
 sport. . . . Every now and then he laughed. And his 
 laugh carried to the uttermost corners of the room the 
 laugh of a maniac ! It seemed to float up and form part 
 of the discordant band . . . 
 
 Looking on, Joseph could no longer distinguish the 
 face of the crowd. The dancers seemed to leap on each 
 other and mingle together as shadows mingle when the 
 sun dies; they were grotesque and enormous; they repre- 
 sented untold power, misspent and hideous. They were 
 abominable. 
 
 By and by in the great palace Silence returned 
 unchecked. She wandered through the empty rooms in 
 search of Noise. She found Stupor. 
 
 She stayed, observing her sister spirit. She sat motion- 
 less, her head bowed in her hands. 
 
 "Whence comest thou, sister?" 
 
 "Oh, well-beloved ! I follow in the wake of excitement," 
 she answered. "I give rest to all living creatures." 
 
 Silence inclined her head. 
 
 "Let us fly together to the fount of dreams," said 
 Stupor, "and return laden with promise." 
 
 Silence sat down opposite Stupor. 
 
 "Sister," she said, "we live in the hearts of all men. 
 Together we have rejoiced in our narrow house " 
 
 "Hand in hand, sister, through a world of clouds 
 
 " And suffering " 
 
 66 As flames to pass beyond " 
 
LOVE 127 
 
 " In honor of human suffering " 
 
 __ By God's grace " 
 
 "And hope " 
 
 "And love " 
 
 "And charity." 
 
 Their voices melted together harmoniously and died 
 away like the last vibration of a sensitive instrument. 
 There they sat, one on either side of the music-gallery, 
 clothed in light. 
 
 Through the unshuttered windows came the first hint 
 of dawn. And the light deepened and spread until every 
 object became clear. And Silence appeared to breathe 
 and live and move. She was a very real presence. 
 
 Stupor looked at her with comfort. She would bring 
 her into the street of mean houses, and she would teach 
 those restless, aching, untutored hearts the dignity of 
 pain. They could not understand, these poor people. 
 They saw suffering at close quarters. And in their 
 ignorance they rebelled. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 'T'EREZIA TALLIEN lay in her big, golden bed 
 * surrounded by sunshine and roses (it was a perfect 
 June morning) tranquilly looking towards the light. 
 
 Up in the north she had heard people held that day 
 in peculiar reverence. On Midsummer Eve the fairies all 
 came to life and big bonfires are lit close to the water's 
 edge in commemoration of the triumph of Christianity 
 or to the dim glory of Paganism she was not sure which. 
 In any case it did not matter. Terezia always approved 
 of festivity in any form, and did not care in the least for 
 old customs or new traditions. Sufficient unto the day 
 was the sun thereof. 
 
 She had good reason for looking satisfied, as she glanced 
 towards the open windows. The birds were singing; the 
 roses were blooming, and she was feeling miraculously 
 well. She had also heard the best of news from M. Biro- 
 teau. Dr. Biroteau was the family practitioner, a gentle- 
 man of very sound learning. As an accoucheur he was 
 really splendid (and very fashionable). No one in Paris 
 understood babies better than this gruff, bearded man 
 with his uncouth "bedside" manner; nor, for the matter 
 of that, young mothers. He had just handed her back 
 as it were her beauty enhanced (precious possession!), 
 plus a baby daughter, whom he declared a remarkably 
 healthy infant, with all her mother's good looks. 
 
 This last clause had slightly interested Terezia. She 
 had turned her head round on her downy pillows, covered 
 with fine lace and linen, and languidly asked to see the 
 baby. (Though really and truly she ought to feel very 
 annoyed with her. Babies were only a nuisance at her 
 time of life. Later on they might form an addition to 
 
 existence, but as it happened .) The baby had been 
 
 128 
 
LOVE 129 
 
 brought to her, and had raised her long dark lashes and 
 revealed a pair of extraordinarily deep-blue eyes, radiant 
 with young smiles which were reflected in her tiny mouth. 
 She had also insisted on clutching hold of her mother's 
 finger. (Terezia had quite a difficulty in withdrawing it.) 
 
 "Yes," she said ; "she is rather pretty . . . and strong. 
 Take her away, doctor. I am not going to nurse her, 
 and she might cry. Tears always hurt me. Tears are 
 so unnecessary." 
 
 The old doctor hummed and hawed and looked angrily 
 at his lovely patient. His scornful glance swept the whole 
 length of Madame Tallien's long-limbed body, stretched 
 at ease beneath the thin pink silk coverlet. The shape 
 of her foot was very visible as she arched it upwards 
 as if in faint protest against woman's questionable fate. 
 
 "I'll call her Rose-Marie Thermidor. Don't you think 
 it is a pretty name? and so suitable. Rose because she 
 was born in June. Marie because the Virgin sent her (she 
 is often giving us unnecessary presents). And Thermidor 
 to remind her of her mother and a great revival." 
 
 Dr. Biroteau ceased frowning and politely agreed. 
 After all, it was not his affair to teach Madame Tallien the 
 duty of womanhood and the grace of motherhood (if such 
 instincts are teachable). His business was to set her 
 going in as brief a time as possible, without risking the 
 perfect lines of her figure. She would have to stay in 
 bed for a fortnight. She had a fine constitution and not 
 a touch of fever. The unchristened Rose-Marie Thermi- 
 dor poor little mite was exactly two and a half weeks 
 old. Her wet-nurse, a very worthy woman, was waiting 
 in the next room to carry her off into the country. 
 
 "Good-bye, baby dear," cooed Terezia. "She won't 
 catch cold, will she?" 
 
 "No, madam." 
 
 "You'll see that she is carefully wrapped up?" 
 
 "It is midsummer, madam." 
 
 "Aren't the horse-chestnuts lovely? I am quite happy 
 lying here and watching Paris from a distance. I always 
 
130 LOVE 
 
 told M. Tallien that this little house would be a gem in 
 summer it is so countrified. I could almost fancy I was 
 back again at Chateau de Fontenay. . . ." (She shud- 
 dered.) "Ah, me! Doctor, doctor, why are we burdened 
 with memory?" 
 
 "Don't ask absurd questions, ma'am." 
 
 "It is a very sensible question," she pouted. 
 
 The unchristened Rose-Marie laughed or gave some 
 such sound. She gurgled in the doctor's arms, and would 
 no doubt have kicked her little legs if they had not been 
 as tightly swathed as a mummy's. 
 
 "The wretch! She is glad to leave me. That is all 
 the thanks we get for our agonies. Though I had a pretty 
 good time, doctor." 
 
 "Splendid." 
 
 "You say that to everyone." 
 
 "I vary it occasionally. Really, madam, I won't 
 answer for the consequences if you insist on talking." 
 
 "Thank you. It is no exertion to recall pleasant 
 things. Considering all I have gone through I might have 
 suffered horribly." 
 
 "You are a splendidly healthy woman." 
 
 "Is that a compliment?" laughed Terezia, giving him 
 a languishing glance. (She could not resist fascinating 
 even this old "Grey Beard" and was far too indifferent to 
 results to notice that she had failed.) 
 
 "Do you want to kiss her?" he asked roughly, holding 
 Rose-Marie (very gently) towards her mother. 
 
 "No yes. Take her away, doctor. I wish she had 
 been as hideous as Georges. He was too funny for words 
 a little red-headed monkey of a baby, and solemn as an 
 owl. But not a bit blind. Oh, dear! . . ." (She laughed, 
 caught at Rose-Marie who kept a very brave counte- 
 nance and covered her face with kisses ) . "I adore thee ! 
 Thou art the prettiest little morsel imaginable." (She 
 clapped her hand on her forehead.) "Tallien is her father. 
 Explain the mystery. His child ought to be a monster! 
 I tell you, I swear " 
 
LOVE 131 
 
 The doctor pealed the bell. 
 
 "Look after your patient," he said to the nurse. "Pull 
 down the blinds and see that she goes to sleep. When she 
 wakes give her beef-tea. I'll call in later." He bowed 
 stiffly in the doorway. "Au revoir, madam." 
 
 "I thank you, sir," said the attendant. "We'll be very 
 good." 
 
 "Nurse, when am I to see the baby again?" Terezia's 
 voice was a study in emotion. 
 
 "Presently, presently, madam. We have got to obey 
 doctor's orders, you know." And the young woman 
 briskly bestirred herself. 
 
 So little Rose-Marie, in charge of her kind foster- 
 parent, set out for the country. She managed very well, 
 thank you. She grew into a graceful, pretty child 
 rather self-willed and very strong. If it interests you 
 we can mention that she had to wait five years before she 
 saw her beautiful mother again (and then only the merest 
 glimpse). No doubt she found consolation in, the bi- 
 annual additions to her nursery. Madame Tallien, it 
 seemed, in spite of lier busy life could not evade the 
 trials of maternity. From the church registry we gather 
 that she with praiseworthy regularity added to the nation. 
 Her children bore the name of Tallien. As soon as they 
 entered the world they were drafted into the country and 
 ceased to trouble their mother. Before each interesting 
 event took place she endured agonies of mind. Would she 
 live? Would her beauty suffer? Would she cease to 
 attract? Without admiration physical or mental she 
 would die or go mad stark, staring, raving mad! So 
 she said in very open council. Everyone (including her- 
 self) ridiculed such eventualities. And each baby left 
 her secure. She rose from her temporary indisposition 
 ten times more beautiful, ten times more dangerous. So 
 they said. So she said. And everyone was pleased, pos- 
 sibly including the neglected little family. After all, the 
 children led a healthy, pleasant life under the supervision 
 of a capable foster-mother. Once or twice a year M. 
 
132 LOVE 
 
 Tallien journeyed down on a visit of inspection. He 
 was very respectfully received by the honest farmer's 
 wife, and with varying attention by the children. He 
 (according to their nurse) only "took" to one his eldest 
 daughter, christened Rose-Marie Thermidor. You see, 
 he did not doubt her parentage. She was his Ms! It 
 does make such a world of difference to a man's feel- 
 ings. A man does not care for a baby unless it is his 
 own. As to Terezia's other children healthy, lovely, 
 lively to the day of his death he had his "doubts." Out 
 of malice Terezia rather encouraged them, or perhaps 
 she loved Truth better than Right? 
 
 A week later Madame Tallien was able to receive her 
 friends. She sat up in bed, propped up by pillows two 
 massive though short plaits on either side of her head, a 
 sleek parting in the middle. (Her hair had been cut in 
 prison.) She looked like a radiant young person of fif- 
 teen, with an uncommonly good complexion, and a pair 
 of eyes washed in innocence dewy-bright, sparkling with 
 health and happiness. Furthermore, her maid had dressed 
 her in a soft negligee- all lace and ribbons and tuckings 
 a miracle of fine stitchery. By her bedside stood a single 
 rose almost as beautiful as herself. Everyone remarked 
 on the resemblance, with the proper qualifications. . . . 
 Terezia smiled. She was all smiles. The weather was 
 magnificent, almost as glorious as her own fine pros- 
 pects. 
 
 M. Tallien had recently left for the south sent on an 
 affair of state. He had been given great, though not un- 
 limited, authority. General Hoche (whom he cordially 
 disliked) remained in command of the army sent to quell 
 that long-drawn-out farce tragic enough called the 
 Wars of La Vendee. The enemy consisted of a handful 
 of peasants, rustic rebels insufficiently clothed and ludi- 
 crously armed. They tried to knock you down with 
 bludgeons, short staves, wolfish rapacity, fierce, mad 
 words, and fiercer and madder glances. They were very 
 
LOVE 133 
 
 easily pennc'd. A few good round shots why, the beggars 
 had hardly a bullet between them! would settle their 
 hash. 
 
 And then when the affair was practically over news 
 leaked through that the Royalists backed by the crafty 
 English, who never can be beaten had landed some one 
 thousand five hundred strong at Quiberon very deter- 
 mined and fully armed. The Convention trembled. The 
 safety of France was at stake! One thousand five hun- 
 dred. . . . (When one compares warfare of an odd hun- 
 dred years ago and our present-day system of millions 
 in action one gasps at the difference. One thousand five 
 hundred. . . . "What a contemptible little army!") 
 
 In feverish haste M. Tallien was sent to quell the in- 
 surrection. In his august person he represented law and 
 order. As far as that went, he was given a free hand to 
 act according to his vast knowledge and wisdom. He 
 could not interfere with the army (thanks to M. Barras' 
 foresight), but he could regulate justice in all other direc- 
 tions. Unfortunately, in spite of his "wisdom and experi- 
 ence" he was a man of one idea, and, on the whole, a nar- 
 row-minded optimist. His color was red. At Quiberon he 
 had recourse to his old methods, though the times were 
 vividly new. He killed off the prisoners in cold blood. 
 Massacre, massacre! A howl went through France, a 
 howl of execration, fury and contempt. Willingly, oh, 
 so willingly would he have retrieved his folly. If it had 
 been possible he would with his own large hands have 
 dug out of the new-turned earth some hundred dead 
 "traitors" and set them on their feet again as live men, 
 good and true. It was beyond him. He was no miracle 
 worker, M. Tallien, but a man so engrossed with his own 
 vanity that his natural cowardice sheltered behind make- 
 shift courage. He had not observed the nature of the 
 howls until the catastrophe had occurred. He had been 
 so sure of acclamations that at first he could not credit his 
 ears, or his eyes, as he scanned the flimsy news-sheets. 
 Were they angry with him for doing his duty ? He rubbed 
 
134 LOVE 
 
 his large hands in an ecstasy of terror and contrition. He 
 was ready, individually and collectively, to lick the feet 
 of the Convention, if they would only overlook his zeal. 
 A man can do no more than his best. 
 
 At Quiberon Tallien irrevocably sealed his fate. He 
 was not one of the signally blessed who leave their debts to 
 the third generation. At Quiberon he definitely took the 
 downward course. (At the extreme bottom of the hill 
 there lay an old diseased beggar, tattered, forlorn, whin- 
 ing for alms as he crouched against the parapet of a well- 
 known Paris bridge, staring with purblind eyes into strange 
 faces. . . .) The affair of Quiberon sent him spinning. 
 He lost his balance, as it were, and before he realized it 
 he was neck-deep in September. September? September! 
 Look back, and the whole bloody word will leap to your 
 mind like a broad sheet of lightning. Tallien was a 
 doomed man because of his dealings at the beginning of 
 the Revolution. Men recalled the fate of the lovely Prin- 
 cesse de Lamballe others again remembered the calm 
 courage of a few black-robed priests, veritable servants of 
 God all cruelly done to death. Some saw naught dis- 
 tinctly, but a gloomy little back street, literally running 
 in gore. The street divided two prison-houses. An un- 
 earthly piece of strategy or shall we call it butchery, M. 
 Tallien? 
 
 "Do come in! How sweet you look!" 
 
 This from Madame Tallien in bed, with two exquisite 
 arms outstretched, and a pair of eyes, guileless as a dove's, 
 turned towards the open door. 
 
 "I have been wanting to come for ages, only Dr. Biro- 
 teau is so frightfully strict, he wouldn't hear of it! I've 
 such heaps of things to tell you. Where is the baby? Is 
 she pretty?" 
 
 This from a charming woman, standing on the thresh- 
 old, with a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley in her gloved 
 hand. She was all in white, white shoes, white gloves, 
 white hat a deal of pink on her cheeks and her beautiful 
 
LOVE 135 
 
 russet-brown hair coiffed (Mi coup de vent that's to say, 
 with artistic simplicity. M. Duplon had exceeded him- 
 self, and maybe happiness had aided him? Don't they say 
 that a happy woman looks her best? Josephine de Beau- 
 harnais loved a beautiful day. She had been profiting by 
 it, too. She had escaped to the forest of Fontainebleau, 
 where she'd gathered her lilies, and eaten a rare good 
 lunch, all in the society of ah, well a man. Whatever 
 she does herself, we won't give her away. And why 
 shouldn't she lunch with anyone she pleased? Is there 
 any status so free-and-easy as that of a widow? No 
 grumpy husband in the background no watchful mamma 
 to the fore no jealous sister in the light. It really is 
 an excellent condition for a woman, in addition to being 
 young, lovely and attractive. Josephine, smiling in the 
 doorway, felt very well pleased with her lot. . . . Still, 
 she might do better. Her little conscience smote her. 
 Those blessed children! M. Barras always had a knack 
 of making her forget them and they were growing so 
 enormous, too but the general revived them. In the gen- 
 eral's company she always remembered Eugene and Hor- 
 tense. Then she'd sigh. After all, a mother's duties aren't 
 the lightest in the world . . . and she'd smile kindly at the 
 general's voiceless courtship. So far he hadn't "spoken." 
 Not with his tongue-tied lips. But his eyes! Good 
 heavens! his eyes told her everytlnmg. (No necessity to 
 emphasize the point; we are prepared to believe in his 
 "intentions" without it. They were plain as the moon 
 with a round, round face in a northern sky.) 
 
 "I'm quite well, darling. Sit down here. I want to 
 look at you." 
 
 Josephine seated herself by the open window framed 
 in roses. "What a charming view," she said. "I had no 
 idea a baby was so becoming." 
 
 Which latter compliment must have been addressed to 
 Madame Tallien and not to the Bois. 
 
 "I'm so glad it is over. The baby has gone." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
136 LOVE 
 
 "Goose! Look at me. Josephine, what have you been 
 doing?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "I've heard about you." 
 
 Josephine laughed. "He's such a silly young man," 
 she said, half deprecatingly. 
 
 "Why encourage him?" 
 
 "He doesn't want encouragement. When is the christen- 
 ing to be?" 
 
 "The Gigots will see to it Rose-Marie Thermidor's 
 foster-parents quite worthy people. And healthy. I 
 always do my duty." 
 
 "You've done me out of a party. Fie, Terezia, I've 
 already bought her a mug, and I intended to hold her 
 myself at the font. It is too bad of you. I'll never do 
 you a kindness again." 
 
 "Sorry, darling. Who gave you those lilies?" 
 
 "I gathered them myself." 
 
 "My favorite flowers. It is wonderful how Barras can 
 find time for excursions." 
 
 "Wrong!" 
 
 "Darling, you can never deceive me." 
 
 "M. Barras has a great respect for you." 
 
 "I know he has. Don't mention it to him, but I admire 
 him enormously." 
 
 "I won't." 
 
 They smiled at each other as women smile under the 
 circumstances. For one horrible second Terezia almost 
 failed in her implicit self-belief. What if Josephine had 
 taken an unfair advantage of her poor condition? Her 
 heart hardened towards Rose-Marie Thermidor. 
 
 Terezia sighed. "I wish life wasn't so complicated," 
 she said. 
 
 "It isn't. It is beautifully simple. Live to enjoy your- 
 self, that's all." 
 
 "You haven't been ill and worried. I'm in a fever of 
 anxiety, Josephine." 
 
LOVE 137 
 
 Josephine looked at her anxiously. "What has hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 "That brute Tallien " 
 
 "I am so sorry." 
 
 "I never trust him out of my sight. He was sent to 
 Quiberon to get into mischief. And won't he succeed, 
 that's all!" 
 
 "Perhaps he'll behave himself. General Bonaparte was 
 only telling me the other day that it was a very trifling 
 affair." 
 
 "General Bonaparte!" 
 
 Terezia sat up in bed, looking the very picture of scorn. 
 
 "Do you believe everything that silly young man tells 
 you? Marry him, do marry him. It may turn out 
 brilliantly." 
 
 "I don't want to seriously, I'd rather not." 
 
 "You are such a simpleton " 
 
 "In the hands of the most obstinate man in the world. 
 I'm almost afraid of him." 
 
 "A penniless nobody!" 
 
 "He may get on. M. Barras believes in him." 
 
 Terezia lay back on her pillows smiling. "It is very 
 romantic," she said gently. "I shouldn't wonder if M. 
 Barras was right. I've only seen him twice the general, 
 I mean and on each occasion he has impressed me " 
 
 "Favorably?" 
 
 "Favorably." 
 
 "He's so jumpy, darling. That's the exact word. You 
 never know what he is going to do next. There is no 
 method in his madness " 
 
 "Love," corrected Terezia, still smiling. (If Barras was 
 working the matter he clearly wanted to get rid of the 
 widow to leave the field clear ... a great splash of sun- 
 shine floated over her world. . . .) "Give me the lilies, 
 darling. I want to smell them." 
 
 Josephine brought them to her. Terezia buried her 
 face in them. Her very transparent nightdress had no 
 sleeves at all. Her arms were magnificent warm, living 
 
138 LOVE 
 
 marble, if there is such a thing. . . . "What am I to do, 
 darling?" said Josephine. 
 
 "Marry him, marry him, by all means," said Terezia. 
 "A happy marriage is the greatest bliss on earth." She 
 sighed. By what confounded fate had she escaped the 
 felicity? Shock-headed Devin and mouthing Tallien 
 was there ever such a pair? "What is he saying?" she 
 asked feverishly, flinging the lilies on the counterpane 
 a great piece of needlework, executed at the Convent 
 of the Sacre Coeur. 
 
 "He never talks," said Josephine. "He only stares." 
 
 "Tallien!" 
 
 "I thought you meant the general." 
 
 "You are monotonous, darling. And Tallien is the 
 biggest fool on earth. He is so elementary. Can't you 
 realize, the more civilized we are the more complicated we 
 become? He won't see anything but his own insufferable 
 person, decked out like a bird of paradise." 
 
 "Yes," said Josephine (stepping on firm ground) ; "his 
 clothes are wonderful." 
 
 "I can't look after his dress and his actions at the 
 same time, can I?" said the injured Terezia. "As it is, life 
 isn't worth living." 
 
 "Perhaps he'll stay away." 
 
 "From me?" 
 
 Terezia held out her hand. "Kiss me, darling. We've 
 talked enough. And thank you ever so much for coming." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 QUAI LA REINE was a favorite promenade in the 
 days of Henri IV. Fashion had flown elsewhere 
 since then, and now it lay practically deserted, patro- 
 nized by occasional pedestrians who wanted a walk without 
 hazarding an encounter with friends. 
 
 On this particular June evening Madame Fanny de 
 Beauharnais was walking slowly up and down the broad 
 embankment, exercising, on a blue worsted lead, her some- 
 what wheezy poodle. They had the place practically to 
 themselves; except for a nursery-maid or two, a woman 
 of the people resting on a bench her big basket beside 
 her and a pair of lovers, arm-in-arm, watching the eve- 
 ning light in another hour the sun would set reflected 
 in the river and beautifying the congested city behind, 
 the promenade was empty. June at her best must be 
 lovely. 
 
 The warmth of the day had given place to an indescrib- 
 able sense of freshness. The sun, all amber, rose and 
 wonderful, spread out before her like the fan of Pharaoh's 
 daughter. Madame Fanny stood still, the better to ap- 
 preciate the view. Not a ripple stirred the waters of the 
 Seine. The green trees, planted at regular intervals close 
 to the river's edge, were reflected in its glassy surface 
 with extraordinary fidelity. The gables of the old man- 
 sions standing back from the roadway were cut sharp 
 and clean against the sky-line. From the garden en- 
 closures came the fragrance of blossoming jessamine and 
 clove carnations. 
 
 Mrs. Fanny was feeling rather depressed. The times 
 ,were still bleeding. Starvation still stalked down mean 
 ( streets. Starving people hatch plots. Mercifully they 
 
 139 
 
140 LOVE 
 
 often lack the vitality to explode. In the meanwhile 
 their instigators die die, maybe, hideously. And over 
 the starvation and misery in Paris the leaders of resusci- 
 tated society dancing, feasting, making merry. Indeed 
 it's an odd world. It'll never grow prosaic, friends, as 
 long as personal ambition flourishes, and callous indif- 
 ference. Madame Tallien coveting popularity had 
 nobly stepped into the breach. Her charity (so the 
 papers said) was boundless. Her entertainments bril- 
 liant (and costly). In the name of the poor she went 
 to great lengths. In her flaming chariot she'd even been 
 seen personally inspecting condemned quarters, protected 
 by detectives, and in the company of M. Paul Barras. 
 The people, at the approach of her carriage, had crept 
 under cover, not deigning to give "Our Lady of Charity" 
 a contemptuous glance. It was their way of paying her 
 out. Madame Tallien had been quite disappointed at the 
 empty streets . . . only evil smells to make it "true." 
 Was there unrest in Paris? M. Barras said there was. 
 They only wanted a match to set the whole straw hive 
 blazing. . . . They had expected great things, the poor. 
 The Revolution had been to them as a star out of Bethle- 
 hem. "Ah," said Madame Tallien, putting her lace hand- 
 kerchief to her nose, "hide the matches, sir, and let's go 
 back. It isn't amusing." M. Barras had laughed rather 
 on the wrong side of his mouth. In truth, times were raw 
 and of gigantic significance. 
 
 Madame Fanny was wearing her magenta brocade gown 
 trimmed with maize silk fringes, very long and handsome. 
 She wore white cotton gloves, washed and mended. The 
 dress was ancient and the gloves were a recent purchase 
 she couldn't afford kid put on in honor of Madame Tal- 
 lien. Madame Fanny proposed to pay La Chaumiere an 
 evening call for the dual purpose of inquiring how the 
 invalid progressed the birth of Rose-Marie Thermidor 
 had been duly notified in the Moniteur and on the chance 
 of being asked to supper. Mrs. Fanny had not been in- 
 vited to so many parties of late Madame Tallien's charity 
 
LOVE 141 
 
 balls were quite beyond her purse and in consequence her 
 neighbor's little boy had suffered. Mrs. Fanny's bag - 
 as often as not went out for an airing thin as two pieces 
 of gathered silk face to face and returned in the same 
 dejected condition. 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais sighed as she pulled at her 
 lap-dog, panting on his long blue string ; even he had fallen 
 away in the figure. When did he see a cutlet bone? 
 
 Her enormous hat shaded her face it was of yellow 
 straw surmounted by a veritable mound of shaded plumes 
 and artificial flowers, all very much the worse for wear. 
 
 What a lonely spot it was, she thought, and how beauti- 
 ful. The tender green trees, the tranquil river, the gauzy 
 light appealed to her. Here was a setting for romance. 
 Thinking of romance, she remembered General Bonaparte, 
 his meteor-like career and now his downfall. Last week 
 the general's name had been struck off the rolls. He hadn't 
 obeyed his orders. Promoted to the command of a division, 
 sent to quell the insurrection at Quiberon, he had refused 
 point-blank to have anything to do with the business, and 
 played into the hands of his enemies. M. Tallien had been 
 delighted. The insurgents weren't worthy of his powers 
 eh ? Hear him hear him ! Ten thousand devils no ! 
 He had dared to say as much to laughing Tallien and 
 silent, supercilious Barras. "Kick the fool out of the 
 army," said Tallien, still laughing. And the Convention 
 kicked. 
 
 In spite of his insubordinate behavior General Bona- 
 parte was too valuable an officer to lose sight of. In con- 
 sideration of his services at Toulon, he was placed on the 
 Reserve List. He might, as M. Barras suggested, still be 
 useful to France. During the debate dealing with his im- 
 mediate position, the youngest and sulkiest general in the 
 forces hadn't as much as raised his eyes from the floor, 
 far less said a word in his own defence. Some of the 
 legislators had regarded him curiously. . . . They had 
 (evidently) been mistaken in him ... at the first knot 
 he cut the cord instead of unravelling it ... he'd shown 
 
142 LOVE 
 
 a deplorable want of energy. They turned him out of 
 the House without employment. You know what that 
 means? you hard-working man, with an object in view, 
 say a cosy little house in Suburbia. 
 
 General Bonaparte took to tramping the streets again 
 he'd done it before and biting his nails and eating, at 
 haphazard pothouses, anything which offered. Out of the 
 goodness of his heart M. Barras put him into the Topo- 
 graphical Office. He showed an aptitude for the work. 
 Really, as M. Barras pointed out to his colleagues, the 
 youthful general's maps were quite good and his plans 
 lucid, even if mad ha! ha! One of his efforts, dealing 
 with the proposed Italian invasion, M. Barras had had 
 the goodness to forward to General Augereau, in com- 
 mand of the French army at Nice. He the improvident 
 general, who hadn't an eye to his own advancement cler- 
 ical work is a three-legged horse had in less than half 
 an hour evolved a plausible scheme of campaign, bringing 
 his troops into Milan without the loss of a single gun. 
 The paper had angered General Augereau. "Let the 
 madman," he wrote scathingly, "conduct his own opera- 
 tions." Bonaparte lean little clerk, with a goose-quill 
 behind his ear had chuckled over the answer. He took 
 it as a compliment eh? a compliment to his military 
 skill. Ah, well, as M. Barras said, fools have their own 
 ideas. . . . All the same, with due deference to General 
 Augereau little Bonaparte's paper had been uncom- 
 monly good. Was he jealous, Augereau? 
 
 He was seated by himself, not looking at the prospect. 
 Something dejected about his attitude. His figure was 
 relaxed, his head bowed. Madame Fanny passed him twice 
 before he observed her, rising to return her curtsey with 
 an awkward bow. 
 
 "A fine evening, sir." 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "Such a pretty spot. We have the same taste, gen- 
 eral." She was thinking of Ossian, and how deplorably 
 
LOVE 143 
 
 thin and ill his admirer looked. There were black shad- 
 ows under his eyes. Never had his uniform looked rustier 
 or his hair more unkempt. When a man forgets appear- 
 ances, she thought then God help him! 
 
 "I have heard all about it," she said briskly. "Sit 
 down. You've acted quixotically. Yet I don't blame 
 you." 
 
 She seated herself beside him, spreading out her flow- 
 ing skirts. The poodle curled himself at her feet and went 
 to sleep. The general stared moodily in front of him. He 
 didn't like interference. Yet he was starving for sym- 
 pathy. The blindness and cruelty of mankind was (ac- 
 cording to him) beyond belief. An odd old woman was 
 better than nothing. He had had his own company for 
 two weeks, that and chattering monkeys. (How the gen- 
 teel gentlemen at the Topographical Office would have 
 mouthed at his insolence!) He turned to her greedily. 
 
 "I couldn't have done otherwise," he said. "There are 
 no two courses in this life. There is the straight road and 
 nothing else." 
 
 "Yes," she agreed. 
 
 "They have wanted me down ever since Toulon." His 
 fierce eyes all the fiercer for their contemptuous agony. 
 He flicked his boots with his cane. "No doubt, ma'am, 
 I've been presumptuous and ambitious." 
 
 She nodded her head violently under her grotesque hat. 
 "I admire you," she said. 
 
 He whistled. "In future, ma'am, I'll lock the stable 
 door." He flung back his head. "They're a set of thiev- 
 ish rascals. Part of their policy. Might is right. Never 
 fear, madam. I'm up to my enemies. I'll be even with 
 them. In fact" he smiled "it is my intention to go 
 ahead of 'em, at a brisk trot, ma'am. See if I don't !" 
 He looked at her cunningly. "It is all in a piece with my 
 game. They are playing into my hands." He stretched 
 them out, looking at them with pride. "I'll work out my 
 own salvation." 
 
 "A nice way of setting about it. I am ashamed of you, 
 
144 LOVE 
 
 general. My father was an army man. My husband died 
 for his country. Up and wort sir." 
 
 "I never leave off " 
 
 "You know what I mean. 
 
 "No, ma'am." His voice hald grown cold. Again he 
 flicked at his boots viciously. "If I only had my op- 
 portunity !" 
 
 "It'll come," said Madame Fanny soothingly. "There 
 isn't a creature alive who isn't offered something." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Her words were honey to him. From rather a ridicu- 
 lous old lady she had suddenly developed into a prophetess, 
 a goddess, a seer. 
 
 He hung upon her painted lips, worshipping her with 
 his body and his soul. Even she, conscious of tremendous 
 issues, trembled. He was quaking all over. 
 
 "I won't be beaten," he said triumphantly. "Is it 
 likely? I, Bonaparte! Listen, ma'am." He went into 
 a rhapsody over his past and his future. The setting 
 sun was a pale reflection of his elation. She didn't inter- 
 rupt him. Once she put out her foot and touched her 
 sleeping dog. His labored breathing seemed inappropriate 
 to the occasion. The general folded his arms across his 
 chest a favorite gesture of his. 
 
 "At six years old," he said, "I foamed at the mouth, 
 rolling on the ground at some imaginary insult true 
 enough, I daresay. If my mother heard of it, she'd beat 
 me. No one else dared touch me. Joseph did once, and 
 I bit his hand." He laughed with impish pleasure. 
 "Joseph and such as he bah! Madam, I am not in the 
 least afraid." 
 
 "We must all curb ourselves," she began, feeling it her 
 duty to check this impetuous young man, who had her 
 sympathy. 
 
 "There was a teacher I respected. An old mathe- 
 matician, ma'am, with silver hair. . . . He believed in 
 me." (The caressing wonder of his voice!) "He coun- 
 selled me to stand firm. 'Bonaparte,' he said I can see 
 
LOVE 145 
 
 him in our bleak play-alley we had it to ourselves and a 
 piping wind 'be true to yourself . . . another turn down 
 the road, and you will know.' I kissed the hem of his 
 robe. 'Whatever you do, do well.' . . . There is nothing 
 really small in life, madam. I could hate and I could love 
 before most of us have done lapping milk." 
 
 She held her peace. 
 
 The shadows were lengthening. The last nursemaid 
 had gone home. The old woman and her huge basket 
 had moved on. The lovers were out of sight. The gen- 
 eral practically had the world to himself. A faint crescent 
 moon showed above the horizon. The night was breath- 
 lessly still, humid, expectant. The very houses, surround- 
 ing them, appeared unreal, as castles floating in the 
 clouds. On a still night you can see their reflections in 
 the deep waters beneath trace each buttress, each castel- 
 lated tower. Sometimes shadows are portentous. 
 
 He sprang to his feet and laughed, laughed for sheer 
 joy of living. The world was shouting at him . . . his 
 world! The silence was filled with ten thousand voices, 
 all in his favor. Not one dissentient note ; not one. He 
 stood there, a slender figure against the fading light, 
 strongly knit, inexorable. 
 
 "I'll go on," he said. "From this day forward. Amen." 
 
 She clasped and unclasped her thin hands. Her cotton 
 gloves shone white. 
 
 "I have, alas, no influence at Court. I mean with these 
 terrible people. I'd do anything to help you, sir." 
 
 "You have," he said. He raised one of her hands to 
 his lips. "I thank you, madam. I won't forget you. 
 You can rely upon my gratitude." 
 
 "Dear general!" 
 
 She rose, quite embarrassed. "I must be going, sir. I 
 am calling at La Chaumiere. It is late as it is." 
 
 "Good-bye, madam." 
 
 He spoke humbly, bending down to caress her dog. 
 "You have a pretty dog there, ma'am." There was a 
 catch in his voice. You might say he was choking down a 
 
146 LOVE 
 
 sob, ashamed to be seen crying in the twilight. . . . June 
 around them, tender June. And infinite possibility. 
 
 "My niece, Josephine, might speak to M. Barras. He's 
 a particular friend of hers." 
 
 "Josephine!" he repeated. He recollected himself; 
 blushed furiously. Aunt Fanny's poodle was pulling at his 
 lead. "I have met the lady," he said. "I admire her 
 very much." 
 
 Aunt Fanny sighed. "Yes, sir, she is a very attractive 
 woman. She ought to marry." 
 
 He took a deep breath. He leaned towards her al- 
 most menacingly. "Tell me," he said tragically, "is there 
 anyone in particular " 
 
 "No, sir, not that I know of. Josephine isn't easily 
 pleased." 
 
 "What does she like hem?" 
 
 He peered beneath her hat, rudely. "What does she 
 want, eh?'* 
 
 "In her future husband, do you mean, sir?" 
 
 He laughed shrilly. "Josephine's husband! Exactly. 
 Describe him, and I'll search the earth to find him. Ha ! 
 ha!" 
 
 "She wants courage," said Aunt*Fanny slowly, empha- 
 sizing her words with nods. "Courage, sir; ambition and 
 love." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "All the world, sir." 
 
 "I'll satisfy her, madam, if I die for it." 
 
 Aunt Fanny tapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be better to live for her?" she suggested. 
 "Au revoir, general. And may you succeed." 
 
 He wanted to run after her and embrace her. What 
 an angel of mercy ! How she had grasped his situation ! 
 What kindness! What common-sense! 
 
 "Madam," he called triumphantly. "She is the most 
 beautiful woman in existence, and I love her, I, a dis- 
 graced soldier without a penny in the world." He walked 
 home in brilliant spirits. He was all audacity. For three 
 
LOVE 147 
 
 hours, wrapped in his grey cloak, he stood outside her 
 Josephine's darkened windows. Not a glimmer of light 
 from within. He was rewarded for his patience by the 
 sight of M. Barras' heavy chariot stopping at her door, 
 and Josephine herself, wrapped in a filmy cloak all lace 
 and chiffon. He didn't dare breathe far less accost 
 her. She touched the bell, or rather the footman did it 
 for her. . . "Good-night; thank you so much." (Wasn't 
 her voice like the voice of Eden?) He caught a glimpse 
 of her little ankles as she ran up the steps and the hall 
 door shut behind her. . . . How merciful was Providence ! 
 A repentant young man walked to his home attic, very 
 miserably furnished, in the Rue St. Denis full of golden 
 resolves. 
 
 She Josephine slept. He Bonaparte lay awake, 
 too happy to sleep. At three o'clock he rose, refreshed 
 for the day's business . . . work work work. He put 
 her in front of him his goddess, his dream, his woman. 
 It all works out the same the star of human delusion, 
 achievement, destiny call it what you will. He called 
 it glory. And a very fine name it is. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 /CLEMENTINE held the bedroom candlestick, the 
 
 ^ better to guide her mistress. 
 "There, ma'am; mind that step." 
 
 Clementine was always in a good temper, even if you 
 called her up at night after a hard day's work. She had 
 stood at the tub since five in the morning, getting the bi- 
 monthly washing done. Not so many clothes as you'd 
 imagine. Madame Josephine de Beauharnais considered 
 herself a widow in impecunious circumstances. It was 
 her clear duty to marry a rich man. As difficult to find 
 as a needle in a haystack in those days in France, if you 
 barred the "creatures" who had enriched themselves dur- 
 ing the Revolution: Fieron, Fouche, Tallien, and such 
 as they, filled Josephine with lively disgust. She couldn't 
 marry a butcher could she? Or a thief? She consid- 
 ered General Hoche's suit . . . and General Augereau, 
 both gentlemen of unimpeachable honor . . . dull, you 
 know. Anyhow, she didn't fancy them. Surely a woman 
 ought to consider her own feelings even in a second mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Gentle Josephine had a shade of obstinacy in her char- 
 acter. At first the homage, strange and silent, of General 
 Bonaparte only amused her. A ridiculous idea! Marry 
 him! Marry General Puss-in-Boots, saddled with impos- 
 sible relations, and half a savage what are Corsicans but 
 out-and-out savages? Besides, he hadn't a penny. M. 
 Barras (her adviser and her lover) agreed. Counted in 
 pennies, his fortune the fortune of General Napoleon 
 Bonaparte wasn't great. In other respects he stood for 
 a round figure. Had madame considered the fiery ambi- 
 tion of her young admirer? His conceit colossal! His 
 
 148 
 
LOVE 149 
 
 merits truly, his merits were not to be despised. He, 
 Barras, was ready to wager his right hand that General 
 Napoleon Bonaparte would achieve whatever he desired. 
 M. Barras' wisdom wasn't lost on Madame Beauharnais. 
 She'd rather like to marry a man who was sure of getting 
 his own way in the world. What she disliked (intensely) 
 was the feeling that M. Barras recommended the Corsican 
 to her kind consideration, not to please her Josephine 
 not to please himself, but to gain favor with Notre 
 Dame de Charite in other words, that hateful Terezia 
 Tallien. She encouraged the match, to get rid of "darling 
 Josephine" in an awkward place. Darling Josephine was 
 too intimate at the Luxembourg to fit in with Madame 
 Tallien's immediate plans. She wanted undisputed rule. 
 That or nothing. Infatuated M. Barras would have 
 agreed to anything as long as it assured him of her devo- 
 tion. We take it Terezia could be charming when she 
 wanted to. We can see her leading pompous, rather 
 foolish, M. Barras by her little finger into the seventh 
 earth of delight. 
 
 Clementine removed her mistress's cloak, unlaced her 
 shoes, and listened with interest to madame's talk. 
 
 "I've had a lovely time. Lamartine's new rooms are 
 magnificent. M. Ouvrad is a good host. Think now, 
 Clementine ! we started supper with oysters brought all 
 the way from the Black Sea. I don't know where it is. 
 Do you? The general wasn't there. Nor Madame Tal- 
 lien. They had both been invited. We were twenty. 
 Eight courses. I love creme au nougat. I hope I shan't 
 be ill. Has anyone called?" 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 Clementine pattered round the room in her bare feet. 
 She wore a short cotton petticoat and a striped bed- 
 jacket. Her brown hair was tightly plaited in two plaits. 
 She had got out of bed to let madame in. She was a 
 light sleeper, Clementine. Never had she kept madame 
 waiting on the doorstep. 
 
 "Madame de Stael was there, very peevish about some- 
 
150 LOVE 
 
 thing or other. And quite ridiculous in her admiration 
 for the general. As if he'd look at her. Clementine, do 
 you think pink suits me?" 
 
 The widow sighed as she slipped her nightdress over her 
 head and got into bed. Fortune grunted. You remem- 
 ber her little dog, who had behaved as a hero at Les 
 Cannes, and who always slept on the foot of her bed? 
 Poor darling, she said, why shouldn't he if he liked to? 
 
 "I don't know what to do, Clementine, for the best. 
 Such a lover! He is so awkward, he puts my teeth on 
 edge. Yet he is rather fascinating." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "You are half asleep, girl. What's the time?" 
 
 "Close on three, ma'am." 
 
 "Wake me at eleven. If the general calls, I'll see him. 
 And I'll wear my new pink muslin. Fortune, if you are 
 a brave dog, I'm a brave woman. It is a terrible risk to 
 marry a man you know nothing about. If he'd only 
 brush his hair! What do they say in Paris?" 
 
 Clementine had put out the candle. 
 
 "He's a hero, ma'am. There is nobody a patch on 
 General Napoleon Bonaparte." 
 
 In the darkness her maid's voice sounded very con- 
 vincing. 
 
 "That's nice," murmured Josephine. 
 
 He didn't come to lunch. Only Aunt Fanny had the 
 benefit of the new pink muslin. She, Aunt Fanny, was 
 bristling with gossip. Had Josephine heard that M. 
 Charles Maurice de Talleyrand hadn't only arrived in 
 Paris but had immediately been offered the portfolio of 
 Foreign Affairs, which post he had been pleased to accept ? 
 He was staying at the Hotel Gallifet in the Rue du Bac. 
 He had arrived with an enormous quantity of luggage. 
 And a lady. A Madame Catherine Grand. "A disrepu- 
 table person, you may be sure," said Madame de Beau- 
 harnais the elder. "M. de Talleyrand allows himself un- 
 limited freedom both in his actions and in his speech. As 
 
LOVE 151 
 
 the Bishop of Autun he was celebrated for his sharpness. 
 To think how that man has changed!" 
 
 "How?" said Josephine, with no interest at all. She 
 was thinking of her own plans. 
 
 "They say he is grown so humble. America and ad- 
 versity have taught him a lesson. I wonder if it's true? 
 His mother was a most distinguished lady." 
 
 "Aunt Fanny, do advise me. Shall I marry the little 
 general? Not that he has proposed. He's too shy for 
 words. But if I want him I know I can have him." 
 
 "You could not do better, Josephine. He's splendid." 
 
 Aunt Fanny laid down her knitting-needles. "Don't 
 treat him badly," she said severely. "He has got a sensi- 
 tive, loving heart. A heart which is easily wounded. He 
 is proud as a Beauharnais." 
 
 "Auntie darling, he's not of our class." 
 
 "What of that? Quarterings won't give a man 
 brains " 
 
 "Alexandre was quite clever " 
 
 "I wasn't alluding to my dear defunct nephew. Barras, 
 for instance " 
 
 "Isn't Terezia lucky?" 
 
 "Don't speak of her." 
 
 "She's very fortunate." (Josephine sighed.) "And 
 very beautiful. Spiteful cat !" She took out her handker- 
 chief and dabbed her eyes. "Life's miserable. Poor dar- 
 ling M. Barras! Don't scold me, Aunt Fanny. . . . I'll 
 . . . I'll do my duty." 
 
 "There's nothing to cry over, child. God bless my 
 heart I'd marry him myself if he asked me !" 
 
 Josephine had to laugh. The idea of General Puss-in- 
 Boots and Aunt Fanny as a couple was too funny for 
 words. 
 
 "I've got to train him first," said Josephine. "No more 
 hanging about back doors. What's he afraid of? No 
 one would want to eat him, I'm sure. What puts on 
 flesh?" 
 
 "Happiness," said Aunt Fanny promptly. "Make him 
 
152 LOVE 
 
 happy, Josephine, and he'll forget to be shy. And he'll 
 grow quite handsome." 
 
 "The idea! He's got to make me happy. You don't 
 think people will laugh at me, do you?" 
 
 Madame Fanny never mentioned to her niece the talk 
 she had had with the disgraced general on the embank- 
 ment. She was too wise. Instinctively she knew the 
 general wouldn't have liked it. 
 
 "I'm positive he'll get on in the world," she said. 
 
 "Maybe," said Josephine dryly. "But you must admit 
 at the present moment he has behaved sillily. If he is not 
 reinstated in the army I won't marry him. I am only 
 sacrificing myself for the sake of the children. Their 
 step-father must have a solid position." 
 
 "I quite understand," said Aunt Fanny, engrossed with 
 her heel. "One two three Don't talk, Josephine." 
 
 We take Josephine's part. Terezia was too greedy for 
 words. She had practically pocketed M. Paul Barras, 
 and now she was anxious to annex the "little" general. 
 Not that she would have given him a glance if he hadn't 
 been rude. She had actually sent him an invitation for her 
 Wednesdays, and he'd taken no more notice of her card 
 than if it had been a bill. 
 
 Madame Tallien's Wednesdays leaped into high fashion 
 at once. Her rooms were thronged to suffocation. In 
 their own interests her friends agreed it would be all the 
 better when she moved into the Luxembourg as M. Barras' 
 official mistress and hostess. 
 
 Such a queer crowd she entertained : politicians ; finan- 
 ciers ; poets ; artists ; aristocrats. They were coming back 
 again. Every week the influx was greater. Terezia re- 
 ceived everyone with the same radiant welcome. Her cook 
 was second to none: her suppers famous. In those days 
 you would have run a long way for a cutlet. The meat at 
 La Chaumiere was exquisitely tender, and always ample 
 for everybody. No stint anywhere, neither in food, flowers 
 nor liberty. And every Wednesday the hostess had a sur- 
 
 
LOVE 153 
 
 prise for her friends. One Wednesday it was M. de Tal- 
 leyrand not altered an hour, just as charming and ele- 
 gant as ever. Another Wednesday she brought forward 
 ji musician, in corduroy, who played "divinely." His name 
 was Souci Sans-Souci. He was brought by Tallien. He 
 belonged to The Cow. The Cow? A disreputable and 
 fascinating tavern in the Rue des Quatre Vents. 
 
 Madame Tallien put down General Bonaparte as her 
 chief attraction for her next party. "Do come, dear 
 friend," she wrote. "A great man has no right to hide 
 himself. I promise to be kind to you." 
 
 It didn't fetch him, not him! The more you touch a 
 snail the more he retreats into his shell. Reptile ! 
 
 Reptile or not, he was an excessively busy man. He 
 wasn't popular at the Topographical Office. On the con- 
 trary, his zeal offended his fellow-clerks. They bit their 
 jealous tongues at the very sight of him. How could a 
 man exist without food, without pleasure, without sleep? 
 Except he's in the pay of the devil. No one had his 
 doubts where the general got his superhuman energy and 
 his superhuman nastiness. A devil of a fellow for giving 
 himself airs! He worked for twenty, and treated every- 
 one as dirt beneath his feet. 
 
 They his fellow-clerks got hold of the story of his 
 courtship. The general, it seemed, was in love in love 
 with a great lady. Damn his impudence! Like him, 
 wasn't it? to disobey his commanding officers. He had 
 deliberately refused Quiberon. M. Tallien had been sent 
 in his place. 
 
 The general said nothing to his tormentors (fools!). 
 But he was known to write love-letters to the Widow 
 Beauharnais. His writing was very illegible and pain- 
 fully nervous. However, the matter was plain enough, we 
 fancy ... he adored her he adored her. Wherever he 
 went and whatever he did, he looked up to her as to his 
 star his guiding-star. 
 
 As you can realize for yourself in a winking, Terezia 
 Tallien was spilling her breath in whistling for him . . . 
 
154 LOVE 
 
 he loved Josephine he loved her. Very often at this try- 
 ing period he wasn't certain of her he'd never touch 
 food for days on end. What kept him alive? Love? 
 No; imagination. He could see through a brick wall, 
 sirs, and what he saw was altogether after his own heart. 
 No wonder he could afford to insult his fellow-clerks. 
 They didn't matter. All his life the general had a vast 
 contempt for humanity. 
 
 One June morning he met Mademoiselle Madeleine's 
 sister just outside his tall tenement house. The sun was on 
 their side of the street. She recognized the little general 
 and returned his deferential salute with a cordial smile. 
 
 "Thank you sir," she said, "for the beautiful fan you 
 sent me." 
 
 "I am so glad you liked it," he said. He had spent 
 the best part of an afternoon in finding something to 
 please her no, to please himself. He had fastidious taste, 
 the general. And he had scowled terrifically at the polite 
 shopman when he'd asked a heavy sum for his purchase. 
 As it happened, General Bonaparte had three soils in his 
 pocket. "Put it down to my account," he'd said in his 
 overbearing manner. In fact, much against the pro- 
 prietor's conscience he'd obliged him. When the general's 
 eyes flashed there was no disobeying him or venturing an 
 opinion against his. It was rank lunacy to trust a half- 
 pay officer. . . . 
 
 That encounter pleased the general. They talked to- 
 gether for a little while, with mademoiselle's servant in 
 the background. He felicitated her on her coming mar- 
 riage. "Mademoiselle," he'd said, "your sole purpose in 
 life is to be a good wife. A good woman is God's best 
 creation." 
 
 Whereupon he'd raised his hat and torn down the 
 street as a whirlwind. Mademoiselle Madeleine's sister 
 had looked after him with some astonishment. M. le cousin, 
 her fiance, was such a very stolid young man. "Dear, 
 dear!" she said; "he's very remarkable." 
 
LOVE 155 
 
 That evening General Bonaparte found another note 
 from La Chaumiere on his crowded table. (He wasn't a 
 tidy man, or his papers had a way of accumulating.) 
 
 He tore it open with a sardonic expression. 
 
 "DEAR GENERAL" (she wrote), "If you have nothing 
 better to do, Saturday next, this day week, do come and 
 have supper with me. Eight o'clock. I'll be quite alone. 
 Your sincere friend, 
 
 "TEREZIA TALLIEN." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 TVyTADAME TALLIEN stood drumming her fingers on 
 **> a window-pane in her sitting-room. She had come 
 downstairs an hour or two ago, exquisitely dressed; her 
 hair done in a new style which might best be called elab- 
 orate simplicity it was smoothly parted on each side 
 of her temples, waved and gathered in a great knot at the 
 back of her neck. Only the tips of her ears were visible, 
 each scintillating with a diamond solitaire. Her bare neck 
 was covered in an old Mechlin scarf; her dress shimmered 
 in faintest rose, deepening at the waist to a more de- 
 cided pink. 
 
 She had gone leisurely about her pretty room until she 
 had adjusted it to her taste. From her flower-garden 
 she had ordered an armful of white and pink roses. These 
 she had herself arranged with considerable effect. One 
 bunch stood on a bracket relieving the grey satin wall; 
 another on the table, by the great sofa piled with delicate- 
 colored cushions; and she placed a big bowl on the little 
 supper-table (laid for two) standing by the corner win- 
 dow. The evening sun struck the table until the crystal, 
 the china and the silver glittered and sparkled as in a 
 wave of fire. Outside in the garden, the June birds were 
 warbling good-night to each other. . . . 
 
 As Terezia stood by the window her golden head bent 
 in contemplation, her left hand tapping the shining win- 
 dow-pane she smiled. 
 
 Very gently she moved across the room and touched 
 the bell. 
 
 "Pierre," she said to the man-servant, "When I ring, 
 bring in the supper; not before. And I am not at home 
 to anyone else. You understand?" 
 
 156 
 
LOVE 157 
 
 She stood upright, modestly looking at the tips of her 
 satin shoes the setting sun shining on her lovely hair 
 and on her matchless shoulders. 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 When she looked up, Pierre had gone out to answer the 
 bell. It pealed through the house with terrific energy. 
 
 Terezia didn't move, but she laughed good-temperedly. 
 "How silly of me," she mused, "ever to have had two 
 opinions on his behavior ! It is like Bonaparte to be rude, 
 and it is like a man to come." 
 
 As it happened, in the full-length mirror she saw her 
 own reflection, and behind her head she caught a 
 glimpse of the evening sky, and in a crystal bowl a bunch 
 of freshly-gathered roses. . . . 
 
 She moved softly across the room and sat down on the 
 sofa, her back to the little supper-table, her face towards 
 the principal entrance door. She bent forward and took 
 up from the kidney-shaped satin-wood table a little wax 
 taper which lay beside the tinder-box. . . . No, it was too 
 early for candles. The sunset was all the light she needed. 
 It gave an air of intimacy to herself and to the little 
 room arranged in a very characteristic manner. It was 
 a charming sitting-room and rather luxurious in its ap- 
 pointments. . . . After a white- washed attic, with a single 
 uncurtained dormer window, it would certainly please the 
 eye. General Bonaparte was an excessively difficult man 
 to catch by purely outside effects. . . . Well, she would 
 strike deeper. ... A flush dyed her face she looked 
 very tender, very young and rather sorrowful as the 
 double doors were flung wide open and Pierre announced 
 her visitor: 
 
 "General Bonaparte." 
 
 "How good of you to come," she said, half rising, and 
 then sinking back again against her cushions. 
 
 Pierre shut the door behind him very carefully. 
 
 General Bonaparte lifted his eyes and looked at her. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 OUSPICION, once awake, isn't easily sent to sleep again. 
 ^ The best nursemaid is Love. There wasn't any love 
 lost between them. As we know, he instinctively disliked 
 her. She was an overpowering 1 woman or say Beauty 
 (with a capital). She made capital out of her face and 
 put a great price on her figure for sale. At the present 
 moment all Paris knew Paul Barras was speculating in 
 that quarter. He wanted something showy for his money, 
 so they said. At the Luxembourg she'd do the honors 
 magnificently. You couldn't put her in too big a frame. 
 She was lost at La Chaumiere, much as a brilliant jewel 
 would be lost on a child's head. The same people, who 
 thronged the humble "cottage," would tread on each other's 
 toes in the palace. In both places Terezia would smile. 
 Give her success and she would always smile. Behold, 
 even now she was displaying her pearly teeth to Bona- 
 parte. 
 
 "Take a seat, general. How are you? I haven't had 
 the pleasure of seeing you for ever so long." 
 
 Her smile was quite conventional, but her gesture was 
 intimate. 
 
 She motioned him to a little chair by the great sofa 
 (presumably, if he was a "good" boy, she'd presently give 
 him a place by her side). He didn't look a good boy, but 
 a remarkably stubborn one. He sat down gingerly at the 
 extreme edge of his seat, bolt upright, staring above her 
 head at a certain point on the wall. Enough to annoy 
 anyone. Terezia's white wings ruffled. She had been in 
 an "angelic" mood. (We give her own version.) It is 
 far better to let people speak for themselves. A third 
 person never gets the right touch. We'll either paint her 
 too thinly or colour her over-much. Justice, brothers, be- 
 
 158 
 
LOVE 159 
 
 fore everything. Justice to the general and justice to 
 the lady ; both rather extraordinarily in their respective 
 classes. 
 
 She eyed him under her veiled lashes, making some polite 
 remark which he answered formally. Uphill work wasn't 
 in it ! It was, as she said, like pulling teeth out of a 
 serpent's head. She was sure he had something up his 
 mind. He wasn't half as dense as he looked. He was 
 merely behaving like a ploughman to annoy her. Well, 
 she wouldn't be annoyed. She wouldn't let him have that 
 satisfaction. He shouldn't go back to Josephine and tell 
 her all kinds of things. Josephine would question him. 
 
 "Sir," she said, "needless to say, our interview is en- 
 tirely of a private character. You mustn't mention to 
 anyone that you have been here. One can't be too care- 
 ful. Paris is full of eyes and voices." She shook her 
 golden curls at him and rearranged her lace scarf (dis- 
 closing rather more bos6m than before). 
 
 He lowered his eyes. "Yes, madam," he said. 
 
 "I want to help you," she continued, condescendingly. 
 "Can't you see you are fumbling in the dark? Strike at 
 them! One sharp blow ' 
 
 "In what direction?" 
 
 "Hush ! General, I'm your friend. If I help you, you 
 must help me." 
 
 "In what direction?" 
 
 "Push Tallien." 
 
 "In what direction?" 
 
 She lay back amongst her cushions. "Up up up," 
 she said, pointing her right hand towards the ceiling. 
 "You can't place him too high to please me." 
 
 "He'll fall and hurt himself." 
 
 "If he's a fool he's a fool. I've married him and I want 
 to do the best I can " 
 
 "For yourself?" 
 
 "Why not? Do you think I care about him? I'm 
 married to the greatest coward in France." 
 
 "What matter? He is played out." 
 
160 LOVE 
 
 Terezia felt interested. The very look he gave her 
 stimulated her fancy not for politics, but for the man. 
 Perhaps Josephine wouldn't do so badly? There was a 
 certain reserve of strength in him which struck her favor- 
 ably ... his hair was ridiculous; his thinness almost 
 laughable, and his clothes wretchedly shabby. . . . 
 
 "Everyone is so poor," she said. "Money would help 
 us." 
 
 "I am rich," he said. 
 
 "Indeed?" she replied, trying to look grave. "Fie, 
 general! you are telling me a story." 
 
 He smiled. "A very true one. I believe in it." 
 
 "In other words, you believe in yourself? That's right. 
 I always do. Not that there is the least comparison be- 
 tween us. I am merely a beautiful woman." 
 
 "A very beautiful woman," he amended. 
 
 She closed her eyes . . . la-la! who'd have thought it! 
 "If, sir, you had to choose, what would you be? Give me 
 the whole of your confidence and I'll give you the whole 
 of my heart." 
 
 "Above all, your lover, ma'am." 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "I wouldn't treat you well." 
 
 "I know that." 
 
 "You'd be afraid of me " 
 
 "Afraid? Oh, no; you are wrong. I'm not afraid of 
 men." 
 
 "I'm neither a Barras nor a Tallien." 
 
 She opened her eyes. Was he making fun of her? Did 
 he dare? He hadn't changed his position. He hadn't 
 changed his expression; it was icy-cold. In fact, he put 
 her on her mettle. She'd win through she'd force him to 
 his knees; she'd play upon him for all she was worth! 
 And, as we have already told you, Madame Tallien put 
 her own value above the price of rubies. ... It is 
 strange how little we know ourselves. Though we have 
 only stumbled across her picked her out o* history, as 
 you would a gleaming and rather meretricious jewel out 
 
LOVE 161 
 
 of a jeweller's tray, caught by its size or coloring or 
 something we have already gauged her place amongst 
 women undeniably a bad one. Mr. Dickens wouldn't 
 have looked at her. Mr.TThackeray wouldn't have cared 
 to play her to his West End audiences, excessively sensi- 
 tive as to morals. Dear, kind, generous, romantic Sir 
 Walter to go back a generation wouldn't have intro- 
 duced her to Waverley even at peril of his own incog- 
 nito. It requires a woman to face a difficult situation 
 and cover it with a jump. Once having caught our 
 breath we have no difficulty in going on. We take no 
 responsibility for Terezia. It is merely our duty (2Vo/ 
 duty, ma'am? Well, pleasure) to present her to the 
 public with as little deception as possible. She is here 
 large as life and "very beautiful." We'll rub in her 
 beauty to counterbalance her want of virtue. She was 
 splendidly healthy, too; always an attraction. Her vice 
 if vice it was was as plain as daylight. In other 
 words, she wasn't ashamed of herself. In those days 
 were they so very different to our own? Names change, 
 not offences. 
 
 Looking at General Bonaparte (she was so sure of her- 
 self that she was confident of him), she didn't exonerate 
 him. No man has the right to be rude to a woman. From 
 the very first he had treated her with scant respect. Look 
 at her Wednesdays ! Very well to say he was up to his 
 neck in work. No one works at night. Night is the 
 season of love and joy. He could always have spared her 
 the time if he had wished to see her. It was no excuse 
 at all. He hadn't made any. Now when she came to 
 think about it, he hadn't even apologized for his behavior. 
 How like him ! 
 
 He wasn't looking at her, but out of the window, with 
 a garden view. It was a pretty bit of garden, with a 
 trim little lawn, raked paths, roses and laurel bushes 
 the laurels gleamed in the half-light, black as ink. They 
 formed a good background to the white roses and the 
 brilliant geraniums . . . she liked color in a garden, 
 
162 LOVE 
 
 but she preferred it in her life. . . . Oh, wouldn't she 
 have a fine time! There was something Eastern in her 
 self-worship. She would like to lay her white body on 
 a moonlit path to be stared at by the angels . . . any- 
 thing for a new sensation. She'd suffer his "insolence" 
 solely for this. A man to sit opposite her alone in her 
 company, the intimacy of twilight around them as a 
 "stuck pig" was rather a novelty. She swallowed her 
 indignation with difficulty. She wouldn't have been more 
 surprised if the populace who "adored" her had, at her 
 last public appearance on the Champs de Mars, bespat- 
 tered her with mud. 
 
 She had behaved "wickedly" on his account. For ever 
 so long ago she had promised young Gustave Merlin (or 
 was it Philippe Lefebre?) to give him the very first even- 
 ing she had at her disposal. It was before the arrival 
 of Rose-Marie-Thermidor. "You shall have supper with 
 me and we'll talk it over," she had said. He'd been in 
 ecstasies ! he'd thanked her with a thousand 
 
 "General!" 
 
 "Madam?" 
 
 "Light the candles, will you? Or do you prefer the 
 dark?" 
 
 "Whichever you please, ma'am." 
 
 "Then we will have the light. All the light we can get. 
 I want to know you, sir. To recognize you when we 
 meet again." 
 
 She handed him the tinder-box. 
 
 "Thank you, citoyewne" 
 
 "I was shut up at Les Carmes with Josephine de Beau- 
 harnais for five months. You know her, don't you?" 
 
 "I have that privilege." 
 
 "Do you like her?" 
 
 He was silent. He went about the room and carefully 
 and rather awkwardly he lit the candles. 
 
 "Pull down the blinds." 
 
 He did so. 
 
 "Put that cushion behind my back." 
 
LOVE 163 
 
 He bent over her. She held up her arms above her 
 head. "Where are you? I can't see you. Are you going 
 to be a savant all your life, general?" 
 
 He looked into her eyes and he kissed her mouth. 
 
 "Ring the bell, please," said Terezia. "I'm ready for 
 supper." 
 
 The discreet Pierre brought in the dishes, arranged the 
 table, uncorked the champagne and withdrew. 
 
 "Are you hungry?" said Terezia, rising. 
 
 "I'm always hungry." 
 
 He followed her to the table and sat down at her right 
 hand. There was a bowl of roses on the little round table, 
 and plenty of things to eat. But he didn't display any 
 appetite. She rallied him. 
 
 "Afraid of your figure, general? You'll be punished, 
 sir. One day you'll get fat." (She was eating hot pastry 
 nothing interfered with her skin.) "Oh, I can see you 
 with quite an important little stomach!" She laughed. 
 "Your health, general. And all the success in the world." 
 
 "Thank you, madam." 
 
 "Are you angry, sir?" 
 
 "Angry? Angry with you? No." 
 
 Yet in each measured syllable lay her death-warrant as 
 far as her future success went. She had irretrievably 
 "done" for herself. He never forgot, and he never for- 
 gave her her jest never! 
 
 She drank off her wine and asked him to refill her glass. 
 "Life is our own affair," she said softly. "We have only 
 to please ourselves, if we are clever. You are clever, gen- 
 eral. Oh, I'm positive you are. Clever people are always 
 sulky. I'm always good-tempered. No one wants a pretty 
 woman to be talented. It is rather a pity. I wonder 
 why?" 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 She sighed. "Have you nothing to talk about, general ? 
 Try this mayonnaise. Lamer-tine's new rooms are lovely. 
 They have a subscription-ball every Monday. Come!" 
 
 "One day." 
 
164 LOVE 
 
 "I hate putting off a thing. Next Monday. Do you 
 
 hear? Next Monday, the " She mentioned the 
 
 date. "Don't forget." 
 
 His radiance bewildered her. "I won't forget," he said 
 in a low, passionate voice. 
 
 She didn't know, no more than she had realized her 
 enormity at venturing to joke over his person, that she 
 had mentioned his lucky number. He loved her for it. 
 He got up and kissed her again with all a little corporal's 
 violence. She enjoyed it. She wiped her mouth with her 
 serviette. "Sir," she said, "I'm surprised at you." (She 
 wasn't at all.) "Sit down and behave yourself. You are 
 muddling me up with " 
 
 "No names, my beautiful lady; no names." 
 
 "General, listen. Send in your petition at once to the 
 Convention. I know as a fact they are only waiting for 
 an opportunity to reinstate you." 
 
 "I want more than that." 
 
 "More?" 
 
 "Another step and rather a considerable rise." 
 
 "You'll get it. They can't afford to lose you. I know 
 it." 
 
 "Bosh !" His face went dusky-red, paling to ashy-white. 
 His eyes were as fireballs. She stopped in the act of 
 eating a truffle, the better to stare at him. 
 
 "You are not strong," she said pityingly. "Take care 
 of yourself." She nodded her head. "Think of Josephine. 
 Poor Josephine! She's such a dear. I love her. And 
 I'm ready to love you, too. You don't mind, do you? 
 I know a great many things, general. I could tell you 
 but I won't. You are not grateful enough. If you go 
 abroad we'll all be disconsolate. Poor Josephine!" 
 
 She wrapped her lace shawl round her shoulders. The 
 memory of his hot lips oppressed her. Why, the man was 
 an undeveloped crater. One day he'd explode. And 
 wouldn't people howl! 
 
 "You make me uncomfortable," she said. "Don't look 
 at me, sir." 
 
LOVE 165 
 
 "You are so beautiful," he said. His voice had a caress- 
 ing note. "And you are so kind. I have had very little 
 kindness in my life, Terezia." 
 
 "Poor general! Never mind. Fate is sure to make it 
 up to you. You are too obstinate not to succeed. There's 
 only one thing you want." 
 
 "What is it, precious?" 
 
 "Are you making love to me, sir? Opportunity. Given 
 opportunity and you'll take all there is to take. Josephine 
 or the world it doesn't matter which. Don't leave me 
 out in the cold." 
 
 The blood flooded her neck and bosom. She breathed 
 rather unevenly. How she'd done it she couldn't conceive, 
 but surely as she was a woman (a beautiful one) she had 
 fascinated him. She had never yet been mistaken in a 
 man's glance. 
 
 "I'll give you the key t6 your inheritance," she mur- 
 mured. "Presently you'll unlock the door and enter into 
 possession. I envy you, general. It is a splendid castle, 
 full of riches and honor " 
 
 "And love?" 
 
 "And love." 
 
 "The future of a penniless officer, under a cloud !" 
 
 "Isn't it good enough?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "Everything. I've the biggest appetite in the world, 
 madam." He laughed exultantly. 
 
 "You haven't shown it," she faltered. 
 
 "Wait," he said. "Wait." 
 
 Neither of them suffered from their evening's entertain- 
 ment. Bonaparte walked home at first half contemptu- 
 ously recalling the lady's kindness, and after a while 
 he was in the heart of Paris by then not giving the deli- 
 cate subject another thought (so much for gratitude!). 
 Terezia retired to her own room, undressed quickly and 
 was soon fast asleep, a healthy, dreamless slumber which 
 lasted until morning. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 T> Y formal notice General Napoleon Bonaparte was 
 *~^ granted the favor for a certain stipulated period 
 to journey to Constantinople as French instructor to the 
 Turkish troops. In his humble petition he had notified 
 his wish to improve their artillery. There is always room 
 for improvement in this world. Even the Convention had 
 to allow such a simple fact. It was also a convenient 
 manner of getting rid of a young officer who, by merits 
 of his own, had risen to be something of a mote in the 
 eyes of his fellow-officers. There is a great deal in age, 
 after all. And it is not pleasant owin^ to the vagaries 
 of fortune for an older man to serve under a younger 
 man ; it cuts into his most sacred feelings. "It is not fair," 
 as children say. 
 
 (France is a land of children for the most part good- 
 tempered, very brave children, but quite capable of fight- 
 ing over the shadow of a shadow.) 
 
 Napoleon had foreseen this eventuality in fact it had 
 lulled him serenely to sleep, the day he had sent in his 
 memorial. 
 
 Two weeks later the Administrative Council received 
 yet another humbly-worded document from this trouble- 
 some young man. In it he stated that the exigencies of 
 the situation compelled him to ask for at least three or 
 four capable assistants. He made it very plain in legal 
 language that he could not all alone plug learning into 
 the wily Turks. It would be beyond one man's strength. 
 
 The Convention frowned at this fresh demand. They 
 would have to consider the matter. Each officer was a 
 valuable asset to France they said. They could not 
 very well afford to grant his request. He was asking too 
 much. On the whole, France had very little interest in 
 
 166 
 
LOVE 167 
 
 Turkey. They might teach her to be wise and another 
 nation might profit by their lesson. The Convention 
 argued and pondered and quarrelled and argued again (at 
 great length). Time, the coolest spirit who ever circled 
 around our passions, beat her regular hours. And the 
 weeks slipped past (to General Bonaparte's deep content) 
 without any appreciable change in his fortunes. 
 
 In the meanwhile Tallien had returned to Paris very 
 crestfallen. Terezia had been the loudest in her re- 
 proaches. He had done for himself, she said. He was 
 a pig, and she hated pigs. She had not married a pig. 
 He tried to brazen it out, meeting shriek for shriek. She 
 always went one better. She was physically strong a 
 really superb woman and he was weak, bodily and men- 
 tally. At last he was left gaping. His big loose lips 
 were continually hanging open a very ugly sight. 
 
 He still had his nominal post in the Convention. Poor 
 wretch, he knew he was only there on sufferance. As soon 
 as they could conveniently spare him, they (the strong 
 men) would kick him out into outer darkness. Even his 
 riches were sensibly diminishing. Terezia did not spare 
 them and he did not dare refuse her. He was at heart 
 a coward. He did not dare this and he did not dare that. 
 Contemptible ! 
 
 He made one or two public speeches in his own defence 
 (always poor policy). He was met with ribald laughter. 
 Not even ^Terezia, in her very best frock, standing on the 
 platform, could save him from the ignominy of public 
 derision. The sweat poured down his livid face. He ges- 
 ticulated as a windmill in a full gale. His brilliant coat 
 with all its mass of detail flapped to and fro. He was 
 a spectacle and nothing more. . . . When the smiling 
 Terezia realized this, she whispered in his ear, and, with 
 one last "Boo," hero Tallien disappeared behind the scenes. 
 And stood there awhile, with almost childish curiosity, 
 listening to the hisses which followed his exit. . . . Terezia 
 in the committee-room was trembling with rage. . . . Here 
 again she was faced with the unpleasant necessity of 
 
168 LOVE 
 
 divorce so unfortunate. . . . No, she wouldn't divorce 
 him! She'd keep his name (which was in a way famous) 
 and simply turn him out of doors. He would have to go. 
 Where? (She shrugged her trembling shoulders.) He 
 could please himself, as long as she never saw his damnable 
 face again. . . . Standing there, cringing behind a shut 
 door, listening to his sure defeat, she despised him beyond 
 words. . . . Without a further glance Terezia left her 
 husband to his consternation. 
 
 The gods intervened in his favor. Public differences 
 and high politics for the moment swept the Tallien ques- 
 tion on one side. Tallien's mouth resumed its normal lines 
 he even contrived a laugh or two, and he plucked up 
 spirit sufficient to abuse Terezia and to speak largely of 
 the immediate future. She was willing to listen to reason. 
 Once again the couple were seen at the theatres and other 
 places of public entertainment, to all appearances recon- 
 ciled to each other. 
 
 Those were grave times in Paris. The Convention saw 
 itself drifting towards dissolution. They were prepared 
 to cut themselves in half, as it were, and reappear in two 
 separate bodies (greatly enlarged), under the control of 
 five Directors, M. Barras keeping his old place under a 
 new title. (Except for the name of the thing a very little 
 advance.) The "Ancients" had practical control of the 
 "Young Party," represented by five hundred members, the 
 election being left to the country. Popular prejudice 
 backed by the Royalists would have none of it. Such 
 a government was derogatory to the national dignity, they 
 said. The masses were the mouthpiece of the nobles. A 
 topsy-turvy attitude, considering how matters had stood 
 little more than a year ago. There is nothing so strange 
 as evolution. In very truth the people had a righteous 
 cause. They had come through the Revolution sobered 
 in some respects angered in others and destitute in 
 both. 
 
 We can imagine how anxiously the general watched 
 events. How he must have wished to have actively assisted 
 
LOVE 169 
 
 either party. It must have been intolerable for him to 
 have ample leisure at his disposal. To be at liberty to 
 roam the streets of Paris and speculate in house property, 
 in marriages (made in heaven) and any other little likely 
 affair which happened to come his way. Nothing hindered 
 him, we tell you. True, he had nominally been reinstated 
 and given a fresh commission in the Republican forces. 
 Merely a formality. His services were not required. Gall 
 and wormwood bitterness and shock an awful shock 
 to our ambitious hero. Not if he had been tied to earth 
 by a thousand ropes could he have pulled more desperately 
 at the chain of circumstance. How he must have tramped 
 the streets in the teeth of the autumnal gales or in sleety 
 squalls how he must have lingered at street corners, 
 impervious to the elements, listening to the Voice of the 
 People! He almost loved the people. He took a warm- 
 hearted interest in the nobles, rounding up finely to popu- 
 larity. He was ready, as we have said, to fall down and 
 worship any sect, body or spirit, who'd give him 
 deliverance. 
 
 The actor Talma took an interest in him. Now and 
 again he'd look him up, and he always sent him a compli- 
 mentary ticket for any performance when he himself 
 appeared in the cast. Bonaparte would avail himself 
 occasionally of these attentions and follow the play from 
 a humble seat in the house with evident interest. He 
 never failed to give the actor his opinion on his perform- 
 ance. Talma took the general's criticism in good part. 
 It was both just and distinctive. He'd abuse him roundly 
 and praise him just as soundly. He had the greatest con- 
 tempt for what he called theatrical emotion. "And yet 
 you made me cry," he said wonderingly, on one occasion. 
 Talma was gratified. He had glanced around the general's 
 bare little room, and spied its poverty with some natural 
 indignation it wasn't the first time he had climbed Bona- 
 parte's interminable stairs, but on each occasion he had 
 felt that the Convention had treated his young friend 
 shabbily. He deserved something better ... he deserved 
 
170 LOVE 
 
 a good dinner at once. Whereupon Talma would invite 
 the general to partake of his hospitality. Often as not 
 it was politely refused. The general had either just dined 
 or he had, as he expressed it, no time to loiter in a tavern. 
 His table was piled with documents, and Talma took his 
 leave not quite at his ease ... his young friend was 
 evidently in very poor circumstances. He had heard of 
 his widowed mother and his younger brothers and sisters. 
 He was practically the head of the family, this penniless, 
 brilliant officer, born under a cloud. The remembrance 
 of Bonaparte's pinched features and the extraordinary 
 brilliancy of his eyes would very probably interfere with 
 the kindly artist's proper appreciation of Lamertine's cele- 
 brated cookery. Lamertine's was a restaurant with a 
 reputation, and was frequented by all sorts and conditions 
 of men. You were never disappointed in hearing some- 
 thing at Lamertine's, if only of la beUe Tallien's latest 
 case, or last gown. Sometimes you went home in the 
 early morning with your head reeling, top-heavy with 
 champagne and rumors. Once again a swarm of political 
 suggestions hung thick as bees in an apple-tree over Paris. 
 Everyone talked. Everyone had his pet scheme. And no 
 one seemed to have the least notion how to obtain it. 
 Pretty deplorable. 
 
 The general sat at home almost every night. Every 
 week he sent his mother a letter a pattern of a dutiful 
 son's correspondence. Out of his meagre pay he contrived 
 to forward his sisters each some longed-for gift, to pay his 
 brother Louis' schooling, and to help his mother with her 
 rent. He very seldom alluded to his own doing, and less 
 seldom to his expectations. However, in October Letitia 
 had the gratifying intelligence that Napoleon was prom- 
 ised a new post of some consequence. "Do not be uneasy 
 on my account," he wrote. "I am confident of the future." 
 She was greatly relieved. She had been worried over her 
 second son. She couldn't help comparing his hard life to 
 his elder brother Joseph's easy circumstances. Joseph had 
 done very well for himself. He'd married money and a 
 
LOVE 171 
 
 dear, good girl, too. Letitia had never heard of the 
 Widow Beauharnais. As we have said, the general didn't 
 write of his own affairs. If she had had an inkling of 
 the general's imminent danger in that quarter, no doubt 
 she would have braved the discomfort of the Marseilles 
 diligence to come up to Paris, and forbidden him to have 
 any further intercourse with the lady. Would he have 
 obeyed her? Very probably. His character was exces- 
 sively complicated, and he'd been brought up to fear his 
 mother. As yet except for a tentative trial he hadn't 
 proven his wings. The eagle was still penned in his cage 
 (not gilded). It was opening. The first bar was down, 
 the second, the third. Oh, those breathless days of great 
 expectations! If Menou had behaved with confidence; if 
 Tallien hadn't deceived; if Barras hadn't yawned, would 
 the last bars have held for a time forward, at least? And 
 pretty Josephine married somebody else; and the Italian 
 command split into factions (covered with disaster) ; and 
 all the rest of our fairy-tale, "true as true can be," one 
 hopeless, unromantic failure? Why worry? Barras lost 
 his head and Bonaparte (in an emergency) kept his, and 
 with his few rounds of shot cleared the congested traffic 
 in a jiffy. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 r I" 1 HE worried Convention saw no means of controlling 
 * the growing flood of dissatisfaction. Was France 
 again on the eve of a civil war? It looked like it. So 
 said Tallien, broadly smiling. (He took a cheerful view 
 of the affair in a way it had been his salvation.) So 
 said Barras, on the whole indifferently. (He was heartily 
 weary of every aspect of the case.) So said FrSron, the 
 future lover of Bonaparte's pretty sister Pauline, and by 
 no means a pessimist. As to General Menou, he reserved 
 his opinion. 
 
 By the beginning of October, things looked very dark 
 indeed. In plain language, an open rebellion was imminent. 
 At the Filles St. Thomas Convent the revolutionary party 
 had set up a field-piece or two. Seventy thousand insur- 
 gents flocked to the Royalist colors all conditions of men. 
 
 On Tuesday morning October the fourth General 
 Menou marched at the head of his troops to quell the dis- 
 order. The Convention, gathered to a man in their own 
 hall, awaited the issue with burning impatience. It was 
 past noon before the facts were laid before the House. 
 And a fine hubbub arose. It was a disgraceful affair, 
 they said. It had no parallel in history! 
 
 The enemy somewhere in the Rue Vivienne district 
 had to that extent intimidated the valiant Menou that he 
 and his "picked men" had marched back to quarters with- 
 out as much as firing a volley of oaths into the faces of 
 the ring-leaders; black fellows, they butchers and tan- 
 ners, or some such small traders, grinning from ear to ear 
 at their success. The people behind them, at the sight 
 of the soldiers' backs, lifted their voices and yelled. A 
 howl, either of joy or execration, expresses infinitely more 
 than the polite man's cheer. Trudging back along the 
 
 172 
 
LOVE 173 
 
 Rue St. Honore, the discomfited Menou felt his ears burn 
 and tingle. He delivered his report at the Tuileries in 
 a very crestfallen condition. 
 
 His statement was received with chilling silence. He 
 had failed in his duty. Thunder of God ! had they asked 
 him to fire on the people? The Convention shivered. 
 Every member in the House shivered at such a preposter- 
 ous measure. They blinked at the heated general (who 
 suffered from a kind heart). Then they blinked at each 
 other, seeking some definite opinion. Finding none, they 
 burst simultaneously into rage. General Menou was put 
 under arrest. That relieved their overcharged feelings 
 immensely. It was an Act to counterbalance oceans of 
 talk. 
 
 Barras smiled and jocularly put the question to a 
 bewildered colleague: "Which do you prefer, underdone 
 meat or a joint burnt to a cinder? Personally I prefer a 
 happy medium. Where is our master-cook, eh?" 
 
 The harassed colleague rubbed his head in vain to find 
 the answer to the riddle. He supposed it was a riddle. 
 Getting no answer, Barras drifted across the chamber 
 and buttonholed Tallien. They conversed together in 
 whispers. It wasn't in good taste, but it whetted curiosity. 
 Then Barras strode across the floor of the House and 
 faced the members. "I know of a little man," he said, 
 "who will stand on no ceremony." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 N his attic General Bonaparte had taken the precaution 
 
 of locking his door, to ensure his privacy. When in 
 
 the midst of his correspondence he disliked interruption. 
 
 He was addressing a letter to Citizen Joseph Bonaparte, 
 Marseilles, when a loud knock at the door made him clench 
 his teeth. "What is it?" (His voice rasped as a rusty 
 bolt.) 
 
 "M'sieu' le general a note " 
 
 "From whom?" 
 
 "M. Bourrienne." 
 
 Swearing beneath his breath he blotted his envelope, 
 stuck a wafer or two methodically on the back of it, 
 weighed it in his hand. Whereupon he rose, turned the 
 key and flung open the door. 
 
 "Bonsoir, M. le general." 
 
 "Why, Peter!" (What a face he had he'd have made 
 his fortune on the cinema, the little corporal!) His eyes 
 melted with genuine affection. By some curious system 
 of subtraction and addition old Peter represented good 
 fortune. And when good fortune knocks at your own 
 door there must be something in it. 
 
 He took the old man familiarly under the arm. "I have 
 had a bad day, Peter. Heard any news?" 
 
 "I have heard nothing else, sir." 
 
 "A more vacillating, despicable set o' cowards I've never 
 struck." 
 
 Peter stood at attention. "I presume M. le general 
 is alluding to the insurgents?" 
 
 "No" (the general spoke slowly, as if weighing his 
 words), "I was aiming at the Convention. If I had a 
 cannon or two I'd soon settle their hash. They are in 
 desperate straits." 
 
 174 
 
LOVE 175 
 
 "Not in comparison with the other side, sir." 
 
 "Is that so? Are you an oracle, Peter?" 
 
 "I've a shred or two of common sense, sir." 
 
 "A millionaire! Can't I borrow? Sit down, old friend, 
 and make yourself comfortable." 
 
 Bonaparte waved towards the chair. He seated him- 
 self on the bed, far up, so that his legs swung off the floor. 
 It amused him for a time to watch his rocking feet. His 
 face was wreathed in smiles. 
 
 "It is coming, Peter. It is coming!" 
 
 "With a vengeance, sir." 
 
 "Some of us have our heads filled with wool soft, sticky 
 wool; some have sawdust, packed in tight it makes 'em 
 deaf as posts. The woolly ones are light-headed. Lord! 
 the combustion ! Life is great ! Life is tremendous ! . . ." 
 (And all the time, as he talked in a loud key, he swung 
 his feet, in their clumsy field-boots, to and fro with quick 
 precision.) 
 
 The old soldier gave him a reproving glance. "It isn't 
 the time for gimcracks, sir." 
 
 "For or against? . . . You are my living conscience, 
 Peter. Between ourselves, both sides are equally rotten. 
 I'll throw in my lot with him who pays best. . . ." (He 
 was silent. His face grew hard as a face carved in wood.) 
 When he lifted his eyes he had taken his resolution. He 
 slipped off the bed, and came forward, holding out his 
 hand. "Give me the note," he said. 
 
 He took it, broke the seal and read as follows: 
 
 "I have a spare ticket to-night for Talma. Madame 
 Bourrienne hopes you will join us at the Odeon, six sharp. 
 
 BOUERIENNE." 
 
 "What is the date, Peter?" 
 "October the fourth, M. le general, old time." 
 "Yes, we'll go back a step or two." He drew a deep 
 breath. "There are seventy thousand rebels in Paris.'* 
 "At the very least, sir." 
 "Menou has failed." 
 
176 LOVE 
 
 "His hands were tied." 
 
 "No general worthy his name takes the field with his 
 hands tied." Bonaparte looked out of the window. 
 
 Peter nodded. 
 
 "What are you waiting for?" The general turned 
 round impatiently. 
 
 "For your answer, sir." 
 
 "My answer." His voice vibrated as a sensitive instru- 
 ment. There was a note of wonder and tender respect 
 in it. (Did not all things point upwards?) 
 
 "My compliments to M. Bourrienne, and tell him I will 
 be very pleased to accept his kind invitation." 
 
 The old soldier saluted. "Very good, sir." 
 
 Bonaparte never noticed that he was alone until a 
 neighboring clock (a dear friend of his) struck five. And 
 then he did not move. He still stood by his writing-table, 
 fingering a sheet of note-paper. Once he flung the window 
 open and leaned far out. A body, a close, compact body 
 of people were marching along the embankment. A sound, 
 like the muffled whimper of a distressed she-bear, rose from 
 the narrow streets below. He heard the sharp click of 
 sabots hurrying as if for dear life. Then again that dis- 
 tressed murmur only louder. The he-bear had joined 
 in the chorus. 
 
 Napoleon gave a faint whistle. He shut the window; 
 stepped across the room, poured out a basinful of cold 
 water and bathed his face carefully. In front of his modest 
 mirror he smoothed his tumbled hair. He adjusted his 
 collar and he selected from his rickety chest of drawers a 
 clean handkerchief. He carefully brushed his uniform 
 and his cocked hat. Whereupon he took his sword out 
 of its scabbard, kissed it as a lover kisses the mouth of 
 his mistress ; sheathed it and buckled it on to his belt, and 
 tramped downstairs. 
 
 He dined luxuriously at a little cafe, three doors off, on 
 a cut off the joint and roast potatoes. He drank two 
 cups of coffee and, contrary to his custom, he indulged in 
 
LOVE 177 
 
 a small cognac. Then he walked very leisurely through 
 the crowded streets to the playhouse. The Odeon theatre 
 was situated in the immediate vicinity of the Tuileries, 
 where the Convention was assembled. The palace was in 
 ckrkness, with the exception of the Chamber, which was 
 lighted up, though night had not yet set in. The air 
 electric. The citizens of Paris were loud-tongued 
 and the streets rang with human voices at full play. Curi- 
 osity was rife. The main theme was Menou's retreat. A 
 highly embroidered version of the affair was common cur- 
 rency. The public, those bent on the same errand as 
 General Bonaparte going towards some place of amuse- 
 ment scoffed at the whole affair. . . . There was no 
 danger in it, they said. As a matter of precaution they 
 might just as well stay indoors for a day or two. . . . 
 Cut-throats were unpleasant gentry. . . . 
 
 Napoleon smiled at the spirit of the crowd. It was 
 like a crowd. A crowd is made up of insignificant units. 
 
 All through the first act he sat as a thundercloud 
 between the amiable Bourriennes. Even little Madame 
 Bourrienne, the soul of good-nature, felt uncomfortable. 
 She glanced at the general's profile with some apprehension. 
 She did not dare address him. He sat carelessly, low down 
 in his seat, with his knees hunched up an ungraceful atti- 
 tude white- faced and implacable. The play was quite 
 an innocent little drama, saved from mediocrity by Talma, 
 who shone in a new part. Madame Bourrienne tried to 
 concentrate her attention on the piece. She was intensely 
 conscious of her guest. Once she shivered. She wished 
 Talma would give her occasion to weep. . . . Tears would 
 relieve her nervous tension. She looked round the crowded 
 house, dimly visible. She realized a peculiar excitement 
 in the audience. Everyone seemed on the alert. The 
 laughter was boisterous. 
 
 At the fall of the curtain a remarkable change for the 
 better occurred in her guest. Quite suddenly for no 
 earthly reason, as far as she could see he woke up as 
 it were to his social obligations. Just before Talma's 
 
178 LOVE 
 
 final peroration, a minor character had mentioned a cer- 
 tain house in a certain street by number, and the sign 
 came, as it were, by special request. . . . Which great 
 matter completely reformed the general. He pulled him- 
 self together physically and mentally. Sitting alert in 
 his stall he exercised his well-known powers of entertain- 
 ment. He convulsed Madame Bourrienne by his apt allu- 
 sions to the audience now visible and to the play. In 
 short, he was audacious, gay and witty. And he laughed 
 louder than anyone else in the house. M. Bourrienne once 
 or twice, without success, tried to call his attention. At 
 last he tapped his wife's arm. "My dear," he said, "excuse 
 me interrupting you, but there is a gentleman over there 
 who has long been trying to attract General Bonaparte's 
 attention." 
 
 The general turned a smiling, indifferent face on the 
 new-comer. 
 
 " 'Evening, Joseph," he said. "I am having far too 
 good a time to move. What is it?" 
 
 "Excuse me, madam." Joseph bowed deferentially to 
 Madame Bourrienne. "Will you allow me to carry off the 
 general for a moment or two?" 
 
 Madame Bourrienne returned the bow. "Yes, of 
 course," she said. "Come back soon, general." 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure," he said, and he got up 
 and lounged after M. Joseph, who led the way towards 
 the vestibule. "Wait a moment," came his voice with a 
 slightly querulous note in it. "Or rather, go on. I've got 
 to say a word to a friend. Won't keep you a second." 
 
 Joseph went on. Napoleon, still querulous, looked up 
 at a tall young officer, Murat by name. He backed him 
 into a corner and spoke sharply. "You have my instruc- 
 tions?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Leave the theatre on some pretence. Mount your horse 
 at once and keep moving up and down the palace square. 
 When I come to the window and wave my handkerchief, 
 ride for your life." 
 
LOVE 179 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "If you don't see me at the window within half an hour, 
 you are at liberty to continue your flirtation." A stranger 
 pushed rudely against the officers. He passed through the 
 swing-doors as if in a great hurry. 
 
 The general looked back. The curtain was just rising 
 on the second act. He noticed that the decorations were 
 the same, but that Mademoiselle George (a debutante of 
 Juno-like proportions) had changed her dress. 
 
 Then he too passed through the swing-door and joined 
 M. Joseph in the empty, poorly lit vestibule. 
 
 "It is a pity to miss the play," he said, smoothing his 
 very smooth upper lip. 
 
 A ghost of a smile flickered over Joseph's face. "Yes, 
 sir," he said handing the general his hat and cloak "I 
 quite agree with you." 
 
 The general flung his coat over his shoulders, leaving 
 the sleeves empty. 
 
 He seemed to know as if by instinct the right direction. 
 It was he who preceded M. Joseph, as the gentlemen 
 stepped across the dark square and entered the Tuileries. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 way," said Joseph. 
 
 They passed down tortuous passage-ways those 
 secret connecting-links where palace history begins ; they 
 climbed a narrow staircase, they passed through a door- 
 way, discneetly covered in arras cloth it shut without a 
 sound. They found themselves on a balcony, high up 
 under the roof of the debating chamber. A fine hubbub 
 below; a gesticulating mass of frightened men with eyes 
 playing as wildfire looking here and looking there as if 
 they expected the Unexpected to happen at any moment. 
 The windows were now curtained. The conclave was secret 
 and fully attended. 
 
 At the top of the room stood M. Barras very heated 
 in the face. The burden of office pressed on him with 
 unusual heaviness. Once or twice he peered into the dis- 
 tance. On one side of the hall lined in serried ranks 
 stood a body of Republican soldiers, and, behind them, 
 representatives of the Patriots of '89; Robespierre's 
 old Guard called up for service in this unparalleled 
 emergency. 
 
 The hours were flocking as clouds driving before a gale. 
 The velocity was terrific. Except for the old Guard 
 men seasoned in bitter experience, and who probably would 
 not flinch the Convention had a very poor roll-call. They 
 were not prepared for this sudden onslaught. They were 
 not prepared for a hundred thousand two hundred 
 five hundred thousand (nothing mounts as rapidly as 
 panic figures) armed insurgents marching on Paris! 
 ready to beat down the doors of their ancient palace of 
 discord. . . . They, the insurgents, would stop at nothing. 
 . . . They must be stopped. How? When? Where? 
 
 The battle of words surged fiercer than ever as General 
 Bonaparte, from his hidden corner, observed the scene with 
 
 180 
 
LOVE 181 
 
 a stolidly indifferent countenance. M. Joseph observed 
 him. He had all day been looking at the menagerie below 
 and it did not interest him; the general did. It was 
 interesting watching his entirely expressionless face. He 
 might have been the cynosure of a million eyes. . . . per- 
 haps he was rehearsing? 
 
 Presently a lull occurred in the torrent of words below 
 sharp and clear rang a voice it belonged to the Mem- 
 ber for Nantes. "Can no one get hold of his address?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "He lodges in the Rue St. Denis." 
 
 "He is over-young " 
 
 "Good Lord! Under the circumstance " 
 
 "Citizens, silence! Where is General Napoleon Bona- 
 parte to be found?" (It was the first speaker who spoke.) 
 
 Barras glanced his way. "Citizen representative," he 
 said, "I have sent for him." 
 
 And the Leader of the House looked up towards the 
 ornate ceiling with a glance expressive of much weariness. 
 He did not see the two men in the gallery the great 
 ormolu clock and some fine detail of wrought-iron-work 
 hid them from view. 
 
 Joseph plucked Bonaparte's sleeve. 
 
 "Come," he whispered. 
 
 Bonaparte did not answer. He still looked stolidly 
 indifferent as he followed his companion. Coming down 
 the steep staircase he stopped at a window at the extreme 
 end of a narrow corridor. It looked out on the square. 
 He passed his hand over his brow. "The atmosphere is 
 intolerable," he said. He gave an angry push at the pane. 
 By some misadventure he smashed it. The glass rained 
 musically on the gravel-path below. 
 
 "A bad omen," said Joseph. 
 
 Bonaparte dropped his mask. "What have I done?" 
 he said, his face white as a sheet of paper. 
 
 "Trifling mischief, sir. This way." Joseph pointed 
 to a great door built of mahogany a royal door, sur- 
 mounted by a royal crown. It practically faced the 
 
182 LOVE 
 
 broken window ; the corridor led into a vast ante-chamber, 
 hung with pictures and much gilding. Palaces indulge 
 in caprices, especially in their architecture. 
 
 He was met with flattering attention. The noise ceased 
 entirely on his entrance. Every eye was turned on him, 
 and he he took them all in without flinching. 
 
 He bowed to Tallien and Barras. Barras faced him 
 gravely. 
 
 "I have to inform you, general, that in the crisis in 
 which we stand, I have the honor of being selected as 
 commander. By the consent of this House" he bowed 
 to right and left "I have chosen you as ahem my 
 deputy." 
 
 Bonaparte bowed. 
 
 "I regret, sir, I cannot accept the honor." 
 
 A murmur rose as the wind plays amidst the barley. 
 It came and it died. In the silence which followed you 
 might have heard the proverbial pin drop. 
 
 Then Barras spoke again, leaning forward with ex- 
 aggerated politeness. "Name your conditions, citizen 
 general." 
 
 "Free hands, sir." 
 
 Tallien nodded. 
 
 "It might be advisable " he began. His voice was 
 
 drowned in a storm of hisses. 
 
 "Gentlemen, silence !" Barras held up his hand. "Gen- 
 eral Bonaparte is at liberty to deal with the situation 
 as he thinks best." 
 
 Bonaparte bounded up on the platform. Unconsciously, 
 or with grave intent, he stood in front of M. Barras. 
 "On those conditions I accept the charge offered me." 
 He swept the room with his eagle eyes. "Officers of the 
 guard, advance ! We must arm the palace and the palace 
 precincts." 
 
 He gave out his orders rapidly. 
 
 Then he leapt off the dais and almost ran out of the 
 room, followed by incredulous anger. "Catch hold of 
 him!" they cried. "We have no one else!" "But he is 
 
 
LOVE 183 
 
 too bold!" "For God's sake, no bloodshed!" "Spare 
 the people of Paris!" "The people!" "The people!" 
 All these sentences were fired off together or immediately 
 following each other. (Napoleon was out of the room 
 and disorder had returned, nagging, fretful, uncertain, 
 suspicious.) The young soldiers swore beneath their 
 breath, and the patriots of '89 grinned in their beards. 
 Blood was a warm red color let blood flow. And they 
 wetted their lips, anticipating action. 
 
 At sight of a white handkerchief fluttering through the 
 broken gap of a window-pane, a mounted officer patrolling 
 the palace square set spurs to his horse and galloped 
 towards Sablons. He was a keen soldier and proud of 
 the confidence bestowed on him. He also worshipped his 
 general. He also trusted him more than he trusted his 
 God. 
 
 By morning the defense was complete. The heavy can- 
 non, over-night, had been marshalled into place; at each 
 point of vantage a gun's black muzzle stuck out an 
 impudent tongue. One cannon faced the church of St. 
 Roche in the Rue St. Honore; another was mounted on 
 the Pont Neuf. And every quaking, tired legislator 
 still penned at the Tuileries was armed with a piece of 
 ancient musketry, to give him importance. 
 
 Yet the Convention wagged sorrowful heads and told 
 each other grievous tales. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Bonaparte with bitter sarcasm, "the 
 gentlemen would prefer if, in the first instance, I sought 
 the permission of the rabble to shoot at them? It might 
 placate the honorable members' feelings." 
 
 The honorable members looked a shade more weary than 
 before at the general's suggestion. It was their second 
 sleepless night. . . . God knew what the coming day 
 would bring forth! Not only the disaster of France, 
 but probably their own personal ruin. The insurgents 
 one million strong were fully armed with first-class 
 weapons. . . . 
 
184 LOVE 
 
 Napoleon kept on writing. Neither he nor his soldiers 
 paid the least attention to this gross exaggeration of facts. 
 The exhausted legislators grew a shade cheerier, feeling 
 the weight of their muskets ; and at least three shades 
 happier when the general assured them that their arms 
 were only to be used under very exceptional circumstances. 
 
 In the nick of time Captain Murat had brought the 
 artillery into Paris and placed it at General Bonaparte's 
 disposition. Scarcely had his long train been set in 
 motion warily moving over straw-covered roadways a 
 circuitous route had been chosen, under cover of a dead- 
 black night before the rioters crept into Sablons bent 
 on the very same errand. Their astonishment was genu- 
 ine. Not a piece could they find the guns had been 
 spirited away ! They toasted each other and made merry 
 over the matter. "Brothers," they said (they were all 
 brothers by nightfall), "brothers who cares a damned 
 red herring! To-morrow we march on Paris. The day 
 after we eat 'fat.' " A hungry set of poor devils they. 
 
 All that night when Napoleon was busy they sang 
 and they howled and kept up their roaring good spirits 
 by the light of immense bonfires provisionally lit in the 
 street corners which fires warmed them better than coats 
 of black sables. They blew on their red fingers and they 
 spat on the ground, and they vowed to perform great 
 deeds as glibly as a parrot screams. 
 
 One or two of their officers, in connection with the 
 missing guns, didn't credit the blue devils with unwonted 
 energy. A Man lay behind the affair. The Convention 
 did not hold a man. An outsider? . . . An outsider! 
 
 And the people howled all through the night. In the 
 morning they formed into line in the best of good spirits. 
 Then they set to marching. And their massed feet echoed 
 on the cobbled streets. Their tongues were silent. . . . 
 
 At four in the afternoon the first gun spoke. At five 
 the last. At six Paris was quiet. 
 
BOOK II 
 
CHAPTER XXm 
 
 "T OOK thou carefully which direction thou takest. God 
 * ' and Devil fight over the perfect man. Each desires 
 him for his own." 
 
 The general, while superintending the removal of his 
 modest possessions, turned over the leaves of a little parch- 
 ment volume he had picked up that morning at a second- 
 hand bookstall. He had gone out with his pockets full 
 of money, alive to the beauty of life and the satisfaction 
 of wealth. 
 
 "Is that all, citizen general?" 
 
 Constant, who was cording a very humble wooden box, 
 looked up deferentially at his master. He had very 
 recently entered his service. He was an alert, capable 
 young man, with excellent references. 
 
 Bonaparte nodded. He was standing by the curtainless 
 window of his poor attic the attic he was vacating for 
 ever. That was the beauty of it ; a definite step in the 
 right direction. He wasn't going down to the cellars 
 below, but up ... up to the very seat of the stars. 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 "Go !" 
 
 Constant hoisted the box on his shoulders, placed a roll 
 of blankets under his arm, took up a small leather bag in 
 his left hand, and proceeding down the six flights of stairs 
 he placed the general's luggage on a wheelbarrow in the 
 courtyard. 
 
 "Next time we move we shall want a cab," he said to 
 old Thomas, the concierge. 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt," mumbled Thomas, who, like 
 everyone else in Paris, was impressed by his lodger's recent 
 achievements. It requires something more than a "whiff 
 
 187 
 
188 LOVE 
 
 of grapeshot" to stamp out a rebellion, a rebellion in 
 full swing, mind you. Seventy thousand hungry men 
 backed by at least seventy thousand hungry women, aren't 
 easily put down. He, the general, had extinguished them 
 as you'd extinguish a farthing dip. A week ago to-day 
 since the Bourriennes' theatre party, which the general 
 had accepted hoping that he would be called away. As 
 we know, for once expectations came up to the mark. 
 Once you get on good terms with Good Fortune your 
 fortune is as good as made. 
 
 Standing by his curtainless window, our youthful hero 
 laughed with whole-hearted happiness. Oh, it was good, 
 good to be alive and strong and young! He would make 
 the best of life. He'd never leave a stone unturned. 
 Willingly he'd never go to sleep again as long as he lived. 
 Life was too short for sleep. There was a power of things 
 to be done. Like wide splashing circles his future revealed 
 itself before his dazzled senses, in ever-increasing mag- 
 nitude. 
 
 His eyes lighted on a fresh sentence old as the hills. 
 "Count the cost, Brother. Every success hides some dis- 
 appointment. . . ." 
 
 He was young at that time, young and impatient, so 
 he whipped the little book into a chance pocket almost 
 contemptuously. Then, being Bonaparte, he took it out 
 again and took another lucky dip. 
 
 The cuckoo's note a little while, 
 A little while earth's dear smile; 
 The greenery, the blush of May 
 Then away 
 To cold eternity. 
 
 It was not what he had wanted; it rather chilled his 
 ecstatic vision of life in general and his own case in 
 particular. 
 
 The old ink-spattered deal table was still in its place by 
 the window. On it lay a fresh sheet of paper. It was the 
 
LOVE 189 
 
 warrant appointing General Napoleon Bonaparte, in 
 recognition of his recent services to the State, Commander- 
 in-Chief of the Home Forces. More or less an empty 
 title, but still it had a true ring. Also it led to better 
 things. 
 
 He read it again. Since its arrival, on Saturday, he'd 
 read it several times. He liked the look of his own name, 
 written large on the front page. One better than dreams? 
 At that very table he'd often existed on dreams, supported 
 on the thinnest soup imaginable; sometimes there'd been 
 no soup at all quite a miracle the dreams, or the young 
 man, hadn't died a natural death. He must have had a 
 strong constitution and quite an extraordinary spirit. 
 
 He sat down on the one rickety chair the place afforded 
 furnished lodgings, you understand. He'd paid his bill. 
 He wasn't in debt to anyone . . . except himself. He 
 owed himself all the glory going in this world and in 
 the next. 
 
 He shivered. His thoughts were a shade too heavy to 
 carry comfortably. Even the rat might have acted as a 
 safety-valve. There was a rat, an inquisitive, cold, hungry 
 rat who lived in the hole by the door. Many nights he'd 
 shared his supper with him and been quite pleased with 
 his company ... a living creature. That rat had his 
 secrets. Sometimes he'd seen tears, human tears of sheer 
 anguish pour down his host's pale cheeks. Between our- 
 selves and the post, tears of rage. He was held up, held 
 up by the gods! 
 
 The barriers were down. At a moment's notice they'd 
 give way. "Go," said the gods; "follow your destiny." 
 
 It was a great permission. He jumped at it eagerly. 
 We might say the Chief of the Topographical Office (also 
 an empty title) had at one bound cleared two counties. 
 Quite a magnificent jump. 
 
 With a pleasant smile on his face, his elbow resting on 
 his appointment, he thought over the last few days. 
 They'd been full. The agility of General Street had sur- 
 prised the Government. He was all over the place. They'd 
 
190 LOVE 
 
 put an old horse at his disposal, and that long-legged, long- 
 suffering nag was kept busy from morning to night, to 
 the amusement of the Parisians. They'd nicknamed him 
 General Street. He and his bony horse inseparable 
 were seen everywhere. He reeled out orders, and, more than 
 that, he saw that they were executed. No play about him. 
 What he said he meant. The government had already 
 regretted his promotion. They wanted to sleep on their 
 late exertions (fright) and Bonaparte would keep tickling 
 'em awake. Some scratched. Even Barras looked af- 
 fronted. What devil's luck that he'd remembered the name 
 of a young man who stood on no ceremony. 
 
 All this was clear as a pike-staff to Bonaparte. It came 
 also in a dreary way to the knowledge of the old horse. 
 That long-suffering animal was kept going from morning 
 to night. And when at length, he put out his knees straight 
 and refused to budge, Bonaparte merely clambered on the 
 back of his brother, that is to say, a fresh mount of equal 
 merit. The government did not get off, not a jot. 
 
 Prices fell. Sugar went down from three hundred to 
 two hundred and ninety-five francs the pound. That 
 impressed everyone. At once General Street advanced in 
 favor. "He is bringing back the good old times," they 
 said, no doubt remembering in veneration the line of the 
 Bourbons. "Great legislators and great kings," they said. 
 There is nothing so extraordinary as reaction. He knew 
 it, that little man, biting his nails on a rickety chair, wait- 
 ing to break up. 
 
 He was in a fever of impatience to be gone. Rat or 
 no rat, that little attic was a poisonous hole. How he'd 
 suffered there! He'd been held up, held up for years! 
 He frowned. Fancy, keeping him waiting! What a 
 preposterous notion, the work, no doubt, of some busy- 
 body in the world of fatality . . . he'd like to whip her. 
 He smiled at his fancy. After all, whoever she was, she'd 
 come round. The barriers were down. There was nothing 
 to prevent him going on. A very great concession. He'd 
 take advantage of every opportunity offered him. Where 
 
LOVE 191 
 
 not offered, he'd help himself. There ?ou have his prin- 
 ciples in a nutshell. 
 
 He heard his servant climbing the stairs. Presently he 
 stood before him, with his cap in his hand. 
 
 "Everything is in order, citoyen general." 
 
 The general slipped his right hand into a pocket of his 
 new coat and drew out a brand-new green netted silk purse, 
 and handed Constant a broad piece of silver. 
 
 "I'm dining at home," he said. "Five o'clock, sharp. 
 I want a good dinner for two. Soup, fish, meat and 
 pudding. I'll send round the wine and the fruit." (He 
 looked at his watch, a battered old thing which had served 
 his father and his grandfather before him.) "I want a 
 bunch of flowers on the dinner-table, and another one in 
 the sitting-room." 
 
 "Bien, M. le general." 
 
 The general had rented a furnished apartment in the 
 Rue Bigol, quite a gentleman's residence, you understand. 
 We are sure Constant would never have entered his service 
 if he had continued to live in his attic in the mean street 
 off Notre Dame. Besides, there would have been no place 
 for him. Besides, who has ever heard of a "beggar" in 
 an attic keeping his valet? He wasn't a beggar, not his 
 master; no, said Constant, with a triumphant expression. 
 If your valet believes in you, then indeed you are a 
 great man. 
 
 Constant briskly, with the help of an outside porter, 
 trundled his master's barrow to his princely lodgings, but 
 Bonaparte seemed in no hurry to move. 
 
 His empty garret held attractions. Through the dim 
 window-panes a ray of sunshine shy as a fledgling 
 peeped at him. A lucky enough omen, which escaped his 
 attention. We mention it as a very unique circumstance. 
 A tiny nerve in the general's left temple throbbed it 
 kept on throbbing. You could see it distinctly under the 
 clear pallor of his skin. It was a good profile clean-cut 
 and regular. The forehead was broad and powerful. The 
 lips sensitive as a woman's. Yet it was a hard face. 
 
192 LOVE 
 
 It is always more or less of a wrench to say good-bye. 
 To stand at the cross-roads of Life and look back at the 
 way we have come. In this room he had conquered phys- 
 ical weakness. He had starved here. He had worked here. 
 Once or twice he had prayed, prayed to the unknown God. 
 
 In the plenitude of his confidence he took another dip 
 into his treasure-trove. . . . "Look not back on that 
 which has been but look forward. Be not thou blind and 
 foolish. . . ." He did not read further. He couldn't 
 have read better. He studied the bare wall opposite him. 
 No mystic hand wrote upon it letters of fire. Neverthe- 
 less, he shivered. His forehead contracted. His mobile 
 lips quivered. Every sound was intensified. His forsaken 
 home was full of spirits. He could hear them chattering 
 and freely discussing his prospects. "Eh, eh !" they called, 
 "is it worth while? Is anything worth while? There is 
 no tiredness equal to that of a tired brain. Lie down 
 and rest, Napoleon." 
 
 He heard them wailing, these insane, envious imps. He 
 laughed them to scorn. He turned his back on them and 
 ran down the stairs like a boisterous schoolboy. He never 
 turned to look back. At a distance he heard the spirits 
 in procession wailing, chattering, fighting, tumbling, 
 shouting. . . . 
 
 In the street below a familiar voice accosted him. I 
 tell you, before its friendly human accents every ghost 
 in the place became dumb, scared out of existence, I 
 expect. It was such a triumph seeing her there, waiting 
 for him outside his street door. 
 
 "Good morning, general." 
 
 He beamed at her. She was his oldest friend in Paris, 
 the old chestnut-hawker. Once before she had met him 
 at the cross-roads, one winter morning when he had not 
 had the needful penny to buy food. To-day he was a 
 rich man. 
 
 He stood awhile in the sunshine the street was empty 
 at this noonday hour, this little, crooked, mean street, 
 where the poor housed. 
 
LOVE 193 
 
 "How is trade?" he asked. 
 
 "I'm doing famously, my son." 
 
 "Here is a piece of silver for luck." (How his young 
 eyes shone!) 
 
 "I thank you kindly, general. May the saints protect 
 you." 
 
 "They will! They will!" 
 
 "They tell me you are going away." 
 
 "Not from Paris." 
 
 "That's right." 
 
 "If I do, mother, I'll come back again." 
 
 She laughed good-humoredly. "I warrant you will. In 
 a gold coach drawn by twelve white horses." 
 
 He colored up with pleasure. 
 
 "Twelve white horses!" he repeated. "It will be 
 splendid." 
 
 And off he set excessively rapidly. 
 
 "Chestnuts hot chestnuts, four a penny!" yelled the 
 lady, tucking the piece of silver into the wide leg of her 
 stocking. 
 
 It is pleasanter going shopping with a full purse than 
 on limited credit. As the general swung along the streets, 
 he jingled his money in his pockets and he whistled (out 
 of tune). A few people recognized him. One or two 
 civilians took their hats off to him, which pleased him 
 enormously. He did love a little attention. It was as 
 novel a sensation to him as money in his pocket. He was 
 going home to a magnificent dinner; and not only that, 
 he was entertaining a very prominent member of the 
 government, who had accepted his invitation "with the 
 greatest pleasure." "The honor is on my side, citizen," 
 he had said, waving aside Bonaparte's implied compliment 
 to himself. In his heart of hearts Bonaparte knew that 
 unconsciously the prominent member of the government 
 had spoken the truth. ... he didn't know it. Paris 
 was full of ignoramuses that brilliant October morning, 
 Anno 1795. 
 
 In the congested Rue St. Honore the general got along 
 
194 LOVE 
 
 with greater freedom than politeness. Outside St. Roche's 
 riddled church door he paused, with a queer look in his 
 upturned eyes. There was something crafty in his expres- 
 sion, not altogether pleasant to watch. The old chestnut- 
 seller would have been horrified, believing that "her gen- 
 eral" had a heart to match his prospective coach. 
 
 It was at number twenty-seven the general paused, and 
 set the shrill shop-bell a-pealing as he very unceremoni- 
 ously entered M. Pierre's elegant outfitting warehouse. 
 Quite a palatial place the two departments measuring 
 at least twenty feet square, allowing for recesses. Not 
 even a tall man, without an effort or two, could have 
 reached the oak-beamed ceiling. The walls were lined 
 with show-cases, and without doubt M. Pierre junior 
 who now advanced towards an unknown customer was 
 a walking advertisement for the firm. 
 
 "What is your pleasure, sir?" he said with his most 
 superior bow, only kept for very particular patrons. 
 "General Street" had not previously dealt with them, but 
 the junior member of the firm recognized by instinct 
 an Important Person (nothing but capitals can give you 
 an idea of the situation). 
 
 "Six of your best dress-shirts " 
 
 "Yes, sir " 
 
 "A dozen linen collars " 
 
 Yes, sir " 
 
 "A dozen pairs of socks not too thick " 
 
 "Yes, sir." (Each bow was better than the last.) 
 
 "Do you keep slippers?" 
 
 "We have the best selection in Paris, sir. Red morocco 
 is very fashionable this season, and gives every satisfaction 
 in wear, sir." 
 
 Napoleon seated himself on the red velvet couch facing 
 the full-length gilt- framed mirror, fitted with a marble- 
 topped console table, on which stood a blue-and-white 
 striped Venetian water-bottle and tumbler on a round 
 tray to match. (As we have intimated, M. Pierre's prem- 
 ises were the last word in refined elegance.) Besides the 
 
LOVE 195 
 
 sofa, the shop contained four velvet-upholstered chairs and 
 a strip of Brussels carpet gorgeous as any swollen-headed 
 imitation rose need be a handsome design. You see it? 
 On a black ground, for all the world like a piece of lady's 
 cross-stitch needlework. 
 
 Napoleon kicked off his field-boot. The boot pained 
 M. Pierre junior's feelings immensely it was a common- 
 looking article. He coughed and passed a smooth finger 
 over a smooth lip. 
 
 "A hundred francs, sir." 
 
 "Devilish dear " 
 
 "Is that more comfortable, sir? I wouldn't advise a 
 larger size. It only spoils a gentleman's foot." 
 
 "That'll do. Send them home." 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure, sir. On account, sir?" 
 
 "No, I'll pay." 
 
 "Just as you please, sir." 
 
 "Make me out the bill receipted." 
 
 "I don't know if these might interest you?" He placed 
 some handkerchiefs on the counter. "Purest China silk 
 feel the quality, sir. Having a large stock on hand, we 
 are selling them at a sacrifice." 
 
 Napoleon turned his back on the handkerchiefs going 
 cheap, and looked into the tempting interior of a show- 
 case. On the centre shelf stood a pair of tiny shoes made 
 of ruby satin, with little rosettes to match, and furred 
 with white rabbit-skins. 
 
 "I'll take those. Do them up in a parcel," said the 
 general, pointing to the shoes in question. "Send the 
 other things round. General Bonaparte, Rue Bigol, 
 No. 22." 
 
 M. Pierre poised his pen in mid-air, in an ecstasy of 
 uncertainty. 
 
 "Exactly, sir," he murmured, handing the general his 
 receipted bill, which he carefully scanned. 
 
 "You have not charged for my last purchase," he said. 
 And he lifted his eyes suddenly, looking the junior full 
 in the face. 
 
196 LOVE 
 
 "A thousand pardons, sir. My mistake entirely, sir.'* 
 
 Young M. Pierre moved as a lily sways, across the 
 narrow shop (narrow what a slip of the pen!) and 
 opened the show-case and fetched out the little ruby 
 slippers. 
 
 "They are a very small size, sir. Rather sweet." The 
 junior gave a faint intimation that he could under very 
 great pressure laugh. "He-e! he-e!" 
 
 It was heartless of Napoleon to freeze that elegant 
 exhibition, but he certainly did so. The assistant drew 
 a face as long as if seen in a transformation mirror. His 
 gravity was really awe-inspiring. 
 
 He handed Napoleon in exchange for a bundle of notes 
 a diminutive parcel. 
 
 "Good morning, sir. A very fine morning, sir. Quite 
 seasonable weather, sir. Thank you very much, sir. I'm 
 exceedingly obliged, sir." 
 
 The bell jingled. The shop-door opened, and the 
 general bounded down the street, carrying his little parcel 
 by a looped string on his little finger. 
 
 We may as well state it here as elsewhere that Napoleon 
 never indulged a fancy unless based on fact. Which is 
 streets above a gamble. He had purchased those slippers 
 for his prospective bride. He had taken the measure of 
 her foot in a lover's enraptured glance. Truth to tell, 
 her feet were tiny, or else the slippers would have pinched 
 sorely. For all the accuracy of his eye in some things, 
 in others he swept wide of the mark. Take his lady's 
 character, for instance. For extravagance he read pru- 
 dence ; for flightiness, sobriety. Faith eternal he mistook, 
 reading it in the face of every light fancy; he saw good- 
 ness and sweetness where there were only grace and 
 charity. Who shall say which is the better part? . . . 
 So he went on his way rejoicing. Hope took the shape 
 of a two-headed eagle; one face was the face of love the 
 other bore the stamp of greed, ambition, pride. 
 
 And you, reader, if perchance you have more 
 
 of 
 
LOVE 197 
 
 prosaic than a romantic turn of mind, go to the Musee 
 Cluny the next time you are in Paris, and satisfy your 
 curiosity. There, in a glass case, you will see the identical 
 pair of shoes young Napoleon carried home that morning 
 long ago, to lay at the feet of his mistress. The little 
 slippers are labelled and ticketed in true museum style 
 (even museums can't kill romance). "Property of the 
 Empress Josephine. Gift of Mme. X. No. 28402." . . . 
 In the hollow of her shoe you can read her story. It 
 requires so very little to recall the past a scrap of silk 
 will do as much, the scent of a flower, a faded picture, 
 the inflection of a voice. Who dare to say that Life is 
 void of interest or proper gilding? Romance brightens 
 everything it touches. There is no glamour like to it, when 
 you come to writing books. It robs tediousness of dull- 
 ness. It creates a garden in a flower-pot. It sends the 
 color into a dead face. It is worth a king's ransom to 
 any sensible person. We'll hold on to it by hook and 
 by crook. Amen. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 VEUVE JOSEPHINE DE BEAUHARNAIS wiped her pretty 
 eyes with a morsel of cambric. She was standing on 
 the hearth-rug, leaning one rounded elbow on the marble 
 mantelpiece. There was a small wood fire in the grate, 
 emitting a gentle heat and a faint aromatic scent. The 
 light was also tempered. In October the days draw in 
 quickly. 
 
 Twilight is always a becoming hour, and at certain 
 seasons full of witchery and suggestion. The widow had 
 a basket of lilies in a corner of her charming sitting-room 
 greys and pinks are so restful, and tarnished gilding 
 and satinwood furniture always look well. Tears, some- 
 how or other, suited Josephine. She must have known 
 it, or she would not have cried so often. Coquetry has 
 a thousand subtle distinctions. Her very behavior to 
 M. Paul Barras was eloquent of this. 
 
 That harassed gentleman was sitting in a comfortable 
 winged chair by the fire, looking supremely unhappy. 
 
 "Don't cry, darling," he suggested, fingering his 
 gorgeous sword-knot. M. Barras always dressed with 
 ceremony. His uniforms were magnificent. He was a 
 fine, tall, well-set-up man with a foolish face. One of 
 those cocksure faces which sooner or later land their 
 owners in the basket, that is to say, into disgrace. You 
 remember but that is another story. 
 
 Even Barras felt he had acted precipitately. It is 
 always well to be off with the old love before taking on 
 with the new. We rather fancy that Josephine's tears 
 (mock) were of a jealous nature. She did not in the least 
 mind parting with Barras, but she hated Terezia getting 
 hold of him and such a grip, too. The man's head was 
 clearly turned. All Paris talked of his latest infatuation. 
 
 198 
 
LOVE 199 
 
 Terezia had no modesty, not a scrap of decency, really. 
 Look at her own case. Did ever anyone conduct their 
 love-affairs with greater reticence? No one had occasion 
 to breathe a word against her character. If poor dear 
 Alexandre had risen from the dead he would have had 
 reason to compliment her on her behavior. Josephine 
 sighed. 
 
 "Oh, dear," she said, "how sad life is! I am so alone, 
 so utterly alone." 
 
 A cut at him, you perceive. He winced. Cruel words 
 and a bad conscience stab as much as anything. At that 
 moment Barras disliked la belle Tallien. He wished to 
 heaven he had never met her and that Napoleon Bonaparte 
 was at the bottom of the sea. He was the real cause of 
 the mischief! Damn his impudence! How dare he come 
 courting in his province ! Still, it might be a good match 
 for her. If Josephine married Bonaparte, he, Barras, 
 would be free to pay his respects to Madame Tallien. 
 (Funny how sometimes we get hold of a wrong word.) 
 Barras' idea of respect towards females was excessively 
 personal, and not at all the usual acceptance of the term. 
 In fact, his reading had sent Madame Barras there 
 was a legitimate Madame Barras years ago into the 
 provinces, to indulge in religious and country pursuits 
 on a separation allowance. More than half the world 
 was ignorant of her existence. Yet weak-minded Barras 
 with the fine figure and the foolish face found her 
 useful. She kept him from blundering into a second 
 unhappy marriage. 
 
 "Sit down, Josephine, and let us talk things over. Look 
 upon me as your father-confessor." 
 
 He let his sword rattle to his side and looked up at her 
 adoringly. 
 
 "There isn't a woman a patch on you for looks." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," she said, mollified. 
 
 She came round and put her arm round his stiff gold- 
 laced collar. 
 
 "Paul, Paul," she said, "you big, bad boy. I'm ashamed 
 
200 LOVE 
 
 of you, sir. You'll be punished. Oh, won't you suffer, 
 that's all!" 
 
 "I don't mind, as long as you are happy." 
 
 He kissed her and held her against his breast. In the 
 complete silence which followed he felt her heart beating 
 against his own. A couple of tears trembled on the lashes 
 of her closed eyes. A little smile hovered round her lips. 
 A log sputtered and burst into flame. The lilies were 
 reminiscent of summer woods. For a moment they were 
 completely happy. 
 
 She turned to her seat on the little sofa and sat up 
 primly and smoothed her hair. "I ought not to spoil 
 you," she said. 
 
 "Under other circumstances, what a good husband I 
 would have made you!" 
 
 "I wonder," said Josephine demurely. 
 
 "It is true. Believe me, or believe me not, it is true." 
 
 She shook her nutbrown curls. "I believe you," she said. 
 
 "I'm an unhappy man." 
 
 "Your behavior is scandalous, sir." 
 
 She turned her head aside. He had struck the wrong 
 note. Talking of his unhappiness, to be sure! He had 
 only himself to blame. 
 
 "At least I have my children. They love their poor 
 little mother tenderly." 
 
 "Not so much as I do." 
 
 "You are telling the most wicked stories." 
 
 It was on the tip of her tongue to reproach him for 
 his unfaithfulness. To fling in his face Terezia Tallien's 
 potent name. She resisted because she knew it would 
 only make matters worse. If love fails, pride is twice as 
 valuable. No, Josephine wasn't at all such a fool as 
 you'd imagine at the first glance. 
 
 "Let us talk seriously, mon ami," she said, from her 
 place on the little sofa on the other side of the hearth, 
 the sofa on which her admirer, General Napoleon Bona- 
 parte, had sat tongue-tied for the better part of an hour 
 last evening. An "eternal" visit, you understand. In- 
 
 
LOVE 201 
 
 stinctively she knew the awkward, shy young soldier was 
 paying court to her, and she had had all the world of 
 a difficulty not to laugh in his solemn face. They had 
 talked of the drama. And house property. She had com- 
 plimented him on his victory. He had not listened. His 
 big hungry eyes had had a far-away look, which might 
 have meant anything. On leaving, he had pressed her 
 hand as in a vice. "I am coming again," he had whispered. 
 "Charmed," she had replied faintly. Really, he was rather 
 overpowering. She turned the conversation on the general. 
 
 "What do you think of him?" she asked. 
 
 "He did very well, madam, the other day." 
 
 "You were pleased?" 
 
 "My confidence was justified." 
 
 "I am afraid he is conceited." 
 
 "I know he is obstinate." 
 
 "That makes it worse." 
 
 Josephine twisted the rings round her fingers. "It is 
 my duty to marry again," she said. "Would he do as 
 a husband?" 
 
 The little ormolu clock over the fireplace was striking 
 the half-hour. 
 
 "Half-past four," said Barras not moving. "I must 
 be going." 
 
 "I've got hot ham and pancakes for dinner," said Jo- 
 sephine. A display of temper seldom keeps a man faith- 
 ful, but a good dinner as we all know has worked won- 
 ders. Madame de Beauharnais seized her opportunity. 
 
 "Don't tempt me," he said. "What has your young 
 man been doing?" 
 
 "He wrote to me yesterday. Like to see it?" 
 
 She stretched out her hand and took from the mantel- 
 shelf a little box covered in ivory satin a tiny thing 
 such as ladies keep their thimbles in and their most useless 
 pair of scissors. It was shaped like a heart and it con- 
 tained a note of two words: "Au destin"; also a violet 
 which once had been fresh and which now was dead 
 except for its meaning. 
 
202 LOVE 
 
 Josephine handed the general's communication to B ar- 
 ras, pressing the violet to her mouth. "A pretty idea," 
 she said. "What does it mean?" 
 
 "An offer of marriage, I fancy. An odd, crabbed hand 
 but there is character in it." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He acted admirably the other day. 'Pon my soul, I 
 couldn't have done better myself. He treated us as 
 ciphers." 
 
 "Is that clever?" 
 
 "When are you going to marry him?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "Don't be silly, precious. I tell you General Street will 
 soon command a town, very likely many towns 
 
 "I don't particularly like him." 
 
 "Does that matter?" 
 
 She sighed. "Stay to dinner." 
 
 "He is playing a deep game." 
 
 "/s he clever?" 
 
 "Clever!" Barras got up and strode to the window. 
 "He's a kite in a high wind. Presently he will sail over 
 all our heads." 
 
 "And you advise me to act as ballast?" 
 
 "That's it.' v 
 
 "I don't like him," she repeated. 
 
 "Youth, courage, talent what more do you want?" 
 
 "Position." 
 
 M. Barras laughed. 
 
 "That young rascal . Sorry, darling, I am dining 
 
 to-day at five sharp (his confounded italics) with General 
 Napoleon Bonaparte, Commander-in-Chief of the Home 
 Forces. Isn't that title long enough for you to curl your 
 little tongue over?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Ma'am!" 
 
 "I mean it. What is the good of an empty title? It 
 is a trumpery excuse for flattering incompetency." 
 
 "Phew! Who's been teaching you long words?" 
 
LOVE 203 
 
 "Napoleon Bonaparte." 
 
 She laughed as a young girl laughs a ripple of pure 
 enjoyment. "Cher, cher and! If ever a woman possessed 
 a man, soul, body and mind, I've got the little general 
 under my thumb! He loves me!" She spread out her 
 ten fingers and flung her arms wide apart. "It is foolish 
 to love a woman to distraction." 
 
 "Josephine," he said, coming forward and catching her 
 in his arms, "I honor you for your sentiments. The fact 
 is, I'm eaten up with jealousy." 
 
 "Yet you advise me to marry him. Men are cruel." 
 She smoothed out the general's billet doux. "Destiny," 
 she read; "destiny who can escape from destiny? If 
 fate wills it, before next spring I'll be Madame Bona- 
 parte." 
 
 He took up his hat. "And you'll have the laugh over 
 us." 
 
 There was real tragedy in her wide-opened eyes. 
 "Barras, I'm afraid." 
 
 "Nonsense! You are the pluckiest woman I know. 
 Terezia " 
 
 "Be quiet. Don't mention her name to me. I've just 
 calmed down." 
 
 She trailed after him in the firelight, on the soft 
 carpet, a study of femininity and carefully chosen chiffons. 
 She was graceful as a gazelle in her fawn-and-gold gown, 
 her brown hair clasped by a jewelled bandeau. Her little 
 breasts heaving with real or simulated passion who can 
 tell the difference? 
 
 "I expect you to make it worth my while." 
 
 He gave her an ironical bow. No man likes to be 
 brought up to the scratch against his will. She was 
 taking an unwarranted liberty! . . . what an unwhole- 
 some traffic there was in good-nature! These thoughts, 
 or something like them, slipped through his vacillating 
 mind as fish through water. She saw them. So she 
 smiled sweetly. 
 
 "You have the greatest authority in France," she said. 
 
204 LOVE 
 
 "A stroke of your pen would settle the question of my 
 marriage." 
 
 What man is impervious to flattery? not Barras. 
 
 He had his shapely hand on the door-handle and his 
 eyes on her face. 
 
 "He can but fail " 
 
 "There's something in that," said Barras. 
 
 " or win," she added. "If I married Bonaparte, I'd 
 naturally wish him to get on." 
 
 "Naturally." 
 
 "Take it or leave it, sir. Either I marry a man with 
 a future or I don't marry at all." 
 
 Barras forgot his manners. He let go of the door- 
 handle and strode across the grey pile carpet, a red flush 
 discoloring his forehead. 
 
 "He's put you up to it! I know him. He's capable 
 of anything to push his own interests!" 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais stepped back, proud and cool 
 as you please. 
 
 "You are wrong. General Bonaparte has never, to 
 me at least, breathed a word on the subject. He wouldn't 
 frighten a mouse. Far less begin a difficult subject." 
 
 "A remarkable " 
 
 "Hush, Paul. He is made to win. Only give him his 
 chance. Kiss me, and say you'll do it for my sake? You 
 have been so good to me." 
 
 Half-an-hour later M. Barras' smart chariot drove rap- 
 idly to No. 22 Rue Bigol. As it was, he was unconscion- 
 ably late for his appointment. He'd have to apologize to 
 his young host. Barras disliked appearing in the wrong. 
 On second thoughts he decided to say nothing. 
 
 He sat back in his comfortable carriage, wondering a 
 little at the turn of events. To please Madame de Beau- 
 harnais he'd do a great deal. The young man would find 
 his measure in Italy. Barras had no illusions on the 
 subject. For years everything in the army had been 
 going from bad to worse. There was open mutiny in the 
 
LOVE 205 
 
 ranks, pay in arrears, no food to mention, insufficient 
 clothing, and discipline nil. Augereau had told him the 
 truth with many a bitter jest. He, Augereau, had no 
 wish to take over the command himself, and suffer the 
 ignominy of certain defeat. Barras in the plenitude of 
 his mercy felt sorry for the little general. "Poor devil," 
 he thought, "they'll pluck him like a fowl, a poor speci- 
 men at that. He is altogether too ambitious and vision- 
 ary for this workaday world. . . . Supposing he comes 
 through?" Barras, with a yawn, left it in the hands of 
 providence. He smiled at the recollection of Josephine's 
 gratitude. How sweet her voice had sounded in his ear! 
 How soft the touch of her little clinging hands! She 
 had first caressed him and then turned to embrace For- 
 tune. Fortune was the dog of the house. The widow's 
 pet, with a romantic history of his own, proving him 
 the most sagacious and courageous mongrel that ever 
 lived. He was also universally disliked by Josephine's 
 friends on account of his villainous temper. He had a 
 fixed habit of snapping at everyone he came across. Jose- 
 phine said it was so dear of him. He meant ever so well. 
 Left alone, that lady sat down to her lonely dinner and 
 quite enjoyed her hot ham and pancakes. Afterwards she 
 wrote a little note and asked Clementine to take it round 
 that evening, if convenient to herself Josephine was very 
 considerate of her servants. Here it is. It is quite an 
 historic document. How little she realized it! 
 
 "6 BRUMAIRE IV. (27 October, 1795). 
 "Why don't you any longer come and see a friend who 
 is very sincerely attached to you? You are committing 
 a great mistake frankly, the lady is devoted to your 
 interests. Come and lunch with me to-morrow. I must 
 see you and talk over matters. Good-night, dear. I 
 embrace you tenderly." 
 
 Considering she had seen the young man no later than 
 yesterday, there is a slight unreasonableness in her re- 
 
206 LOVE 
 
 proach. What a delightful surprise for him! She had 
 got the date wrong, too. He would love her for it. Every- 
 thing she did and everything she said was perfect in his 
 eyes. 
 
 After Clementine the wonderful Clementine had gone 
 on her errand, Josephine sat back in her deep winged pink 
 velvet chair, musing over many things. . . . She did not 
 mind the awful prices now. He would get her things. 
 He would see to her comfort. . . . He was desperately 
 in love, poor dear Bonaparte. She wondered what his 
 people were like. He had never mentioned them. . . . 
 What a droll young man, who did not know how to talk ! 
 How will he propose? On his knees, or by letter? "Hon- 
 ored madam . . ." she could fancy his labored composi- 
 tion. His writing was vile and quite illegible. Not that 
 it mattered. . . . 
 
 Some one snored. It was not Josephine but Fortune. 
 Both are asleep. The clock ticks and the minutes march 
 those restless, ceaseless minutes who remorselessly carry 
 our lives away. "Sun, stand still!" But it never does: 
 never, never. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ON arriving at his new quarters the general found 
 everything in order, apple-pie order. A fire burned 
 on the sitting-room hearth; a table was laid for two in 
 the adjoining dining-room. Even the fruit the general 
 had chosen had been arranged in a charming china dish 
 and the wine had been decanted. 
 
 Proud as a peacock who, for the first time, spreads his 
 tail, Bonaparte inspected his premises. He found them 
 excellent. He did not say as much. In fact, he dis- 
 sembled his pride and pointed out a minor improvement 
 or two. "Pull that table round, there. And I'll want 
 a rug here. . . ." 
 
 In the ante-room his new clerk was busy with his 
 books. Like Constant, he was a very polite young man. 
 Bonaparte exchanged two or three word> with him. He 
 asked him his age and if he was married. The young man 
 replied that he was twenty-five years old and a bachelor. 
 "Hein!" said Bonaparte, as if he thought very badly of 
 him. The poor young man blushed deeply. Upon which 
 Bonaparte glanced at his figures ; made a rapid calculation 
 on his fingers and cleared up wonderfully. "I like neat 
 work," he said. "Start to-morrow at six." "Yes, sir." 
 There was no question of reluctance. The general him- 
 self, so they said, began work at a much earlier hour. 
 He was very keen about it, too. His new command had 
 placed on his shoulders the responsibility of restoring 
 order in Paris. One of his first measures was to disarm 
 the civil population. No doubt the secretary was enter- 
 ing a list of names of citizens who'd require persuasion 
 to give up their weapons. The majority, of course, 
 
 207 
 
208 LOVE 
 
 showed no fight at all. They seemed to have the greatest 
 pleasure in obeying the general. 
 
 "Go," he said. 
 
 The clock pointed five minutes to five. 
 
 The clerk bowed, shut his books, and went. 
 
 Bonaparte went back to the sitting-room. By one 
 window there were two of them stood his writing-table 
 rather a bare, plain table, with no garniture to speak of. 
 There was a pair of pewter candlesticks, one on each side 
 of a rubbishy glass inkstand ; a portfolio of papers, a few 
 books, one or two maps, and a miniature portrait of a 
 lady. The portrait was enclosed in a small green morocco 
 case. The general opened it and looked at it. 
 
 The clock struck five. 
 
 He put down the case, and walked over to the fire- 
 place which faced the entrance door. He listened. His 
 guest was unpunctual. 
 
 "He'll pay for it," he mumbled. "A little addition 
 to his score. To dare!" 
 
 Probably to calm his feelings, the general sat down 
 on a stiff walnut sofa covered with old green rep, placed 
 against the wall, facing the windows, and had another look 
 at the little book he'd happened on that morning. Children 
 like their latest possession best. He put his hand on a 
 leaf. He bent forward, the light was poor and the letter- 
 press poorer. The page was disfigured by mildew. It 
 was also illuminated by a charming wreath of flowers, the 
 colors as fresh as when they were painted. The flowers 
 enclosed some verses, called The Song of the Bee. 
 
 In my perfumed garden, 
 All life within and without, 
 East, West, North, South, 
 I, the Queen of my day. 
 
 I trace in the shadows 
 
 The light of all things; 
 
 To me each bird sings 
 
 And the sun at her zenith glows. 
 
LOVE 209 
 
 Pearls for the asking, 
 Dewdrops, an' you please. 
 No pain, sorrow, disease. 
 Oh, fair is my morning 
 Under God's wing. 
 
 He read it twice. 
 
 Then he got up and stretched himself. He forgot every- 
 thing else (for the moment) except his feeling of elation. 
 Was it not a message inspired by triumph! 
 
 As a slight concession to his feelings, and the insult 
 paid to his good dinner, when the hall bell rang the gen- 
 eral put back the sitting-room clock half-an-hour. As 
 M. B arras hurried into the room, his right hand extended 
 in cordial greeting, he was welcomed by five melodious 
 chimes. He looked up, perplexed. 
 
 "To the minute," said Bonaparte genially. His bright 
 eyes swept past his visitor's person to his man in the back- 
 ground. "Dinner," he said. 
 
 Constant vanished. Before the gentlemen had had time 
 to converse, the dining-room doors, to the left, were flung 
 open. 
 
 "Dinner is served, citizen general," announced Constant 
 in a clear voice. 
 
 "Let's go in. Hot soup is preferable to cold soup any 
 day, eh, M. Barras?" 
 
 The general linked his arm to his guest's in a boyish, 
 confidential fashion. His eyes twinkled. 
 
 The table made quite a show. White napery, bur- 
 nished silver and a centre pot of golden begonias quite 
 a new variety and the specialty of the Maison Henri, the 
 flower-shop patronized by Madame Josephine de Beau- 
 liar nais. 
 
 The general sat down, still smiling, and unfolded his 
 stiff napkin. Constant had lit all the available candles. 
 
 "Comfortable quarters, sir," said Barras. 
 
 "They'll do," said Bonaparte, with an indifferent glance 
 
210 LOVE 
 
 round the handsomely appointed room. The glance of a 
 prince-connoisseur, who has always lived in palaces and 
 who considerately puts up with inferior lodgings. A 
 gentleman creates his own surroundings. Barras, who 
 was perfectly aware that our hero had that day vacated 
 a miserable tenement in an intolerable street, laughed in 
 his sleeve at the general's airs. . . . By Bacchus, second 
 to none ! 
 
 The general raised his glass of burgundy. "A man in 
 my position can't afford to be particular," he said. 
 
 "Ah," drawled Barras, after returning his host's com- 
 pliment, giving him a keen glance. "What is your posi- 
 tion, citizen?" 
 
 "An officer on his trial." 
 
 "No doubt you'll give every Satisfaction." 
 
 "No doubt." 
 
 Bonaparte's voice was cool as a cucumber. Instead of 
 looking nervous, he sat back in his fine chair with a super- 
 cilious expression on his face. He succeeded in making 
 M. Barras regret his generosity. If it had not been for 
 his timely memory to-day would have found this young 
 man in precisely the same position he had occupied a fort- 
 night ago a position not exactly brilliant for an am- 
 bitious youth. 
 
 "I perceive your policy, general. You mean to con- 
 tinue as you have begun, and teach us a lesson in swift- 
 ness and determination." 
 
 "A waste of time, sir." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 Barras blinked his eyes. He was positive he did not like 
 this young man. 
 
 "Swiftness and determination are born in you. Lack- 
 ing them, it is best to take things quietly." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" 
 
 M. Barras laughed loudly. 
 
 " Ton my soul ! You are a funny one. Talk to them, 
 general. Give it 'em hot. I'll watch and never say a 
 word. Ha! ha!" He leaned back in his chair, admiring a 
 
LOVE 211 
 
 silver cup in front of him. "That's a nice piece of plate," 
 he said. "Fine lines to it." 
 
 "I am glad you like it, sir." 
 
 "I like everything that is good. I'll trouble you for 
 some more of that chicken." 
 
 In his heart M. Barras despised the silver cup. A 
 piece of ostentatious vulgarity, he told himself, on a par 
 with Bonaparte's whole behavior. No doubt he'd per- 
 formed his duty to the satisfaction of the government, 
 who'd paid him liberally for his services. He ought to go 
 down on his knees and thank them, instead of riding the 
 high horse on a cloud of smoke. True, it had been a 
 good shot, the rabble had scuttled like rabbits. If he, 
 Barras, had known how easy it would have been to dislodge 
 the people those damned people, always up a tree he 
 would have refrained from remembering the address of a 
 young man without ceremony. 
 
 The silence lasted quite a little while. It was broken 
 by Bonaparte. 
 
 "I believe in restitution," he said. 
 
 "No doubt a whole creed up your sleeve." 
 
 For the life of him he could not keep the irony out of 
 his voice. The young man was asking for it. Anyone with 
 half an eye could see he was presuming on his services 
 . . . he'd have to be put down. 
 
 "A strong man will always attract attention, general." 
 He said that to tone down his previous remark. 
 
 "People will gape. It means nothing." 
 
 "Absolutely nothing." 
 
 M. Barras drained his glass. "To the triumph of 
 France," he said. 
 
 "I thank you, sir," said Bonaparte gratefully. 
 
 The general refilled his guest's glass. For an awkward 
 man he did it very adroitly. Constant, his admirable man, 
 assisted him. By dessert M. Barras was the least sus- 
 picious person alive. His feelings towards his host had 
 undergone a radical change. He admired him and looked 
 up to him. He treated him to his confidence. He spoke 
 
212 LOVE 
 
 of his colleagues in office in terms of small respect; he 
 described his present position as untenable to a man of 
 honor. The country was going to the dogs, the army 
 along with it. The situation demanded a strong man to 
 cope with abuses second to none. 
 
 "Look at Tallien," he said. "He's a thief, sir, and a 
 desperate villain. He'd like to make me responsible for 
 the excesses at Quiberon. Murder, sheer, cold-blooded 
 murder! He never had an order from the government. 
 He acted on his own responsibility. Sometimes I wish 
 Robespierre was alive. He could crush. He could, sir! 
 God bless my soul ! If I saw Mirabeau swaggering into 
 the hall I'd embrace him. He fired the multitude. To-day 
 there's nothing doing. Where's the money coming from? 
 I am pretty nigh at the end of my patience." 
 
 Bonaparte peeled his pear carefully. 
 
 "God bless my soul!" continued Barras, "I've never 
 backed out of my opinions. Leave that kind of thing to 
 Tallien and others of his kidney. Creatures, sir, crea- 
 tures not worthy the consideration of gentlemen. What 
 I have to put up with passes human belief. Jealousy, dis- 
 putes, lies from morning to night. We are at a dangerous 
 corner. If nothing intervenes we are lost hideously 
 lost." 
 
 Bonaparte looked up. Then he looked down. 
 
 "We must do our duty," he said. "And convince the 
 people." 
 
 Barras tossed off his glass. "Only bread will do that." 
 
 The general's eyes were wonderful to behold. "If we 
 have not bread to offer them, we must give them imagina- 
 tion." 
 
 "Piff!" said Barras. "My very good sir, you are a 
 child or an ass." 
 
 The general sat bolt upright, immovable. The candles 
 glowed. The golden begonias were on fire. 
 
 "Lead the way, general." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, what did you say?" 
 
 
LOVE 213 
 
 Nothing of importance, sir." 
 
 "The army is split into factions. There'll be thistles 
 in Italy." 
 
 Bonaparte smiled. 
 
 "No one dares to move on his own. Every damned 
 finicky question is put to the national vote." 
 
 "It is a one man's job." 
 
 "In confidence, sir, they are all dead-set against you. 
 Wish you dead as mutton ha ! ha ! It is a queer world, 
 a deuced queer world." 
 
 "I'll light the candles, sir." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 Bonaparte's voice was almost inaudible. "Lamplighter 
 to the gods, that's something ... or everything. Give 
 me the command, sir, and I'll bless you." 
 
 "I'll give you a piece of advice." Barras blinked. His 
 right hand trembled slightly. He sprawled back in his 
 chair. "Learn to speak French," he said. 
 
 The other winced. The contempt and the insolence of 
 the speech were intolerable, except in a man pleasantly 
 drunk. 
 
 "I'll try," he said. His accent was more than usually 
 foreign. 
 
 Barras, still leaning back, mimicked him. "How old 
 are you, sir?" 
 
 "Old enough to learn French." 
 
 "That's good, very good. I like a sharp young man 
 who has not a spice of malice in his composition. Your 
 health, general, your very good health." 
 
 The general returned the toast in silence, merely put- 
 ting his lips to his glass. 
 
 "There's another little subject worthy your attention. 
 Women, God bless 'em ! I've always loved a pretty woman. 
 Take your lessons from a lady. I know of one who'd 
 suit you admirably. Who is quite fond of you. Won't 
 give her away. Go and find out. Don't be shy. A shy 
 man puts the women off . . . hie that would be a great 
 pity. She's a darling the sweetest " 
 
214 LOVE 
 
 "I am very much obliged." 
 
 "Gad, sir! You are the luckiest devil alive. Marry, 
 sir. A clever man wants looking after." 
 
 "Yet you are at liberty, sir." 
 
 "Ha! ha! Neatly put. Seriously, Bonaparte, go in 
 and win. I see nothing against the match. True, she 
 has got a couple of children. If that's an objection she 
 might say you have no family to mention. By the way, 
 have you got any relations?" 
 
 "A mother, sir. Four brothers, and three sisters." 
 
 "By Jove ! Any cousins ?" 
 
 "Not to keep, sir." 
 
 "It's impudence, sir, downright impudence, sir! Do 
 you expect me to drop sugar-plums into all their mouths ?" 
 
 "I'll drop them." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "I'll drop them." 
 
 "Young man, young man, you are courting danger. I 
 am not alluding to the lady. Fact is, I can personally 
 recommend her " 
 
 "I'll answer for the danger," said Bonaparte, sitting 
 up. B arras, pleasantly drunk, did not notice the evil 
 expression on his face. The general, without being a 
 gossip, had heard rumors of M. Barras' attentions towards 
 the woman he loved ... his future wife. He felt mur- 
 derously inclined, looking at his complacent expression. 
 He clenched his hands behind his back. His face was in 
 shadow. 
 
 "Thank you, general. Quite enjoyed myself. In good 
 company time flies." 
 
 "I am sensibly grateful for the honor you have paid 
 me." 
 
 "I won't dispute the matter, dear fellow. You have 
 tons of discretion. You are not the man to pull another 
 man by the nose. Speak of human kindness ! You would 
 not credit some things I could tell you. Bribery and 
 corruption " 
 
 "Beat the Jews hollow. We'll clear all that." 
 
LOVE 215 
 
 "Jews? Who is speaking of Jews? Christians, sir, 
 good, honest Christians not worthy to eat out of a pig's 
 trough. Look at Ouvrad waiting as a sly puss-in-the- 
 corner for anything going. He'll always fatten, mind 
 you. War or peace. Bonaparte or Tallien " 
 
 "For sagacity you can't beat a Jew ... or Corsican." 
 
 "Well said, general. Blow your own trumpet. I'll come 
 to the wedding." 
 
 Barras swayed like a ship at sea as he rose, gripping 
 the back of his chair. In a loud voice he sang the last 
 verse of a popular ballad: 
 
 Safe in my arms, my bride, 
 Up to the clouds we'll ride. 
 Race with the wind, 
 Search and find 
 All that we want, my love, 
 Below and above. 
 
 "Not a cheap bride. Believe me, you'll find the lady 
 expensive. You are wealthy, general. Say, you are not 
 going to fight me? Come now, I'll stand treat next time. 
 I admire you, Bonaparte. I am proud to know you, sir. 
 You shall introduce me to your mother and I'll tell her 
 my opinion of her son." 
 
 The general joyously patted his guest's broad shoulders. 
 He had to stretch up to do so. "Fight with my bread?" 
 he said incredulously. "Fight with my life, my very good 
 patron? 'Pon my oath I'm not such a fool. When we 
 can't walk alone it's prudent to seek assistance. I'm a 
 stranger in a strange land, dependent upon the great and 
 noble M. Barras." 
 
 M. Barras continued nodding. 
 
 "Don't mention it," he said. "As we were saying " 
 
 He paused. He couldn't for the life of him remember 
 what they were saying. He took hold of the general's 
 arm. 
 
 "I'm entirely of your opinion," he said. "It is an 
 extremely necessary measure." 
 
216 LOVE 
 
 "In their own interests I am disarming the civilian 
 population in Paris. Any citizen who hides a weapon will 
 be treated as a criminal." 
 
 "Excellent, my young friend ... hie ! Show the way. 
 A sweet little picture. Reminds me of Laura Desnouettes, 
 who was guillotined, you remember." 
 
 "This way, sir." 
 
 "That's all right. Stop. 'Pon my soul, if you dare to 
 lay a finger on my arms ! Family property, sir. Family 
 tradition " 
 
 "The members of the government are exempt." 
 
 "The members of the government are exempt." 
 
 "And soldiers." 
 
 "And soldiers. There is a pretty good story about 
 Menou. It seems the rascal " 
 
 In the sitting-room M. Barras sat down in an easy- 
 chair facing the fire, in front of which was drawn up an 
 inviting little table containing coffee, liqueurs and pipes. 
 Constant poured out the coffee into charming little green 
 Sevres cups. 
 
 The general walked up to the timepiece standing on the 
 mantel-shelf. Unobserved, he pushed on the clock half- 
 an-hour. 
 
 M. Barras stirred his coffee. "God bless my soul!" he 
 said, looking at the clock. "No idea it was so late." He 
 pulled out his own watch and compared the two. The}^ 
 tallied exactly. M. Barras was puzzled. 
 
 The strong coffee drew some of the cobwebs from the 
 great man's brain. He looked at the general as a scientist 
 might regard a new and unexpected variety of beetle, that 
 is to say with awakened interest. The general, no longer 
 fidgety, sat as if for his picture. (We wish we were 
 there to take it.) Climbing, a man is a greater study 
 than coming down the hill. Who of us remains poised on 
 the top, for ever premeditating a flight up or down? 
 
 "At Toulon, general, you amazed me. I took you on 
 in a spirit of obstinacy." 
 
 The general never moved. Yet flattery was dear to 
 
LOVE 217 
 
 him priceless. He was starved for it, mind you. He 
 had eaten a good dinner but, as far as that went, he had 
 got up hungry. All the incense in the world would not 
 have satisfied him. The extraordinary energy of that 
 man! It makes us all look tame jacks carved, silly 
 cocks made of wood, for ever perched on the same stick 
 colored or plain but equally immovable. It requires a 
 storm to unseat us and if we are painted gallons of 
 rain to wash away our color (conceit). The average 
 human being and Napoleon! They don't pair. Ladies 
 and gentlemen, we can't see him for the size of him. 
 Morally speaking, we have got to take him in patches. 
 And I tell you to make them fit isn't child's play. 
 
 In plain inches a small man. Pale to-day and thin. 
 You seldom come out of a garret plump. But he'd fatten. 
 Even the average man will fatten on good food, especially 
 if it is to his taste (and ordering). 
 
 Barras enlarged on the evils of the day, particularly 
 on his position as head of the state. 
 
 "I feel for you," said the general, concealing his envy 
 and his contempt. 
 
 "I'm overworked." 
 
 "I've too little to do." 
 
 "It comes to this, general. If the government, in con- 
 sideration of your services, invests you with the Italian 
 command, you won't object?" 
 
 The general fixed a little winged Mercury Talma had 
 given him for encouragement in what direction he hardly 
 knew himself. The great actor was one of the general's 
 few friends. 
 
 "I shan't object," he answered coldly. 
 
 After M. Barras had taken his departure he was 
 going to a dance; had an appointment; promised a fair 
 lady ha! ha! (How his laugh jarred on the general's 
 nerves!) Bonaparte took up his interrupted work 
 whatever it was and was soon absorbed in shall we say 
 himself, for lack of a better word? 
 
218 LOVE 
 
 Constant came in softly. Bonaparte glared, speech- 
 less. His right hand was eloquent of dismissal. 
 
 Constant carried a small silver salver; upon it lay a 
 tiny twisted note, sealed with a mauve wafer, scenting of 
 violets. It was addressed in a small female hand, very 
 precise, "To the citizen General N. Bonaparte." 
 
 "There is no answer, sir." 
 
 The general with his right hand raised in anger 
 took the note mechanically. He sat and stared at the 
 superscription a long while after Constant had left the 
 room. He knew her writing at once. For the first time 
 that day his head swam. Too great a joy is akin to pain. 
 He had gone through much, remember longing, expec- 
 tation, denial. He bowed his head on his folded arms and 
 wetted Josephine's facile note with his difficult tears. 
 
 Extraordinary. A man who had cheerfully trudged 
 a mere youth breakfastless to and fro some twelve Eng- 
 lish miles daily for the purpose of getting a lesson in 
 geometry to break down before a letter, which merely 
 contained an invitation to lunch. It is the human touch 
 we like. Takes inches from his stature. Reading Joseph- 
 ine's letter we can see his face. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 HAVING left the Rising Sun occupied after his own 
 heart, installed in his new apartment, playing the 
 host and what-not, it pleases us to shift the picture and 
 show you a man stumbling in outer darkness. 
 
 We'll wait upon Tallien in the privacy of his dressing- 
 room at his wife's residence, La Chaumiere, that pretty 
 little countrified house hiding itself in one of the best 
 positions in the Bois. Terezia was beginning to tire of 
 it. She preferred the Luxembourg district, she said. Her 
 friends smiled. The dear thing was so charmingly frank. 
 And as to her parties, t*hey were lovely. 
 
 Tallien was occupied in shaving his long upper lip, 
 very careful not to cut himself. It would never do to 
 appear at one of Madame Tallien's celebrated evening 
 routs decorated with sticking-plaster. His big nose quiv- 
 ered, his big mouth hung open, a feverish-looking, watery 
 mouth, matching to a nicety his bloodshot eyes. Between 
 ourselves and the glass, he was not looking his best. For 
 months he had been down on his luck. The dagger-trick 
 wouldn't have amused an infant, much less have impressed 
 him. People were whispering nay, shrieking like par- 
 rots. And Terezia didn't like it. 
 
 Tallien's big hand trembled; he laid down the razor, 
 and with an oath summoned his man. You remember 
 Pierre, that discreet and cat-like person who affected the 
 same scent as his master (carnation), and would, as a 
 privilege, accept his priceless clothes. Tallien was a fop. 
 His tailors must have made a fortune out of him, not to 
 mention his man. We don't know about his tailors, but 
 we know his man despised him. Even when he had laced-to 
 his silver brocade waistcoat, on the memorable occasion 
 
 219 
 
220 LOVE 
 
 of Robespierre's fall, and handed his master the omnipo- 
 tent dagger tied with a piece of pink ribbon he had 
 failed in respect. He had very much doubted the issue 
 and was consequently surprised when, later, he had had 
 the honor of assisting a hero into bed slightly groggy 
 but full of virtue. He had done the trick. We fancy, in 
 the exuberance of his feelings, that he embraced Pierre, 
 who bore it philosophically. That was more than a year 
 ago. At this epoch things moved rapidly. Going down- 
 hill it is difficult to check our descent. 
 
 Vanity is a godsend. All the wickedness and awful 
 ingratitude of mankind couldn't rob Tallien of his ex- 
 pectations. Not that they did not lie low at times. In a 
 joyful frame of mind, we tell you, he chopped off the 
 heads of all his acquaintances including Bonaparte 
 and strung them on a string such a string! He'd 
 chuckle over the pretty fancy, and tell his wife openly 
 that he wasn't a fool, not he. And he'd look at her fur- 
 tively like a rabbit out of his hutch at the kitchen-maid's 
 approach, not sure if she is going to give him salad or 
 wring his neck. Terezia was a terrible uncertainty. One 
 day she would regret her insolence. . . . 
 
 Pierre assisted him into a very splendid coat. It was 
 of powder-blue satin, elegantly touched with yellow silk 
 embroideries. The waistcoat was of shot-gold tissue,- 
 liberally supplied with silver buttons. Frills of lace at 
 neck and wrists long cuffs and cut-away tails. Not a 
 bad leg rather thick ankles, but what would you? Re- 
 member his descent. Silk stockings and shoes he affected, 
 or rather, low-cut boots of black satin, finished with a tie 
 across the instep, slipped into a silver buckle. 
 
 "Fantastic," said Tallien. 
 
 "Fantastic," said Pierre. 
 
 The same word, but not the same meaning. Pierre 
 was such a polite servant that no one observed his rude- 
 ness. He had a very observant eye. It was not the 
 costume of a gentleman (he thought) going downhill. He 
 had no illusions on Tallien's precarious foothold in polite 
 
LOVE 221 
 
 society. He had had the kick long ago. Even at La 
 Chaumiere he was not tolerated. He hadn't a word to 
 say in the establishment. 
 
 Terezia put it as nicely as she could. It was close on 
 nine o'clock. Her guests were always punctual. It was 
 such an amusing house, you understand. Liberty Hall. 
 Outrageous dances. Queer music. Queer gentlemen; 
 queerer ladies shrieks of mirth and lots to eat and such 
 wine ! Tallien's cellar was composed of the pick of several 
 aristocratic bins. 
 
 People used to bet upon whose wine they were drink- 
 ing. Sometimes they would toast a dead man. However, 
 several of the owners were still alive over the border. 
 Some were coming back, very quietly to their despoiled 
 houses, as if they were the thieves. There were wits at 
 Madame Tallien's evening parties who thrived on making 
 odious jests. The emigres came in for their full share. 
 But above all General Street was the favorite butt. His 
 person lent itself to ridicule. They said his people made 
 a living by selling fish in the Nice market. The girls 
 went about barefoot, boasting of their eldest brother's 
 marriage to a shopkeeper's daughter. The mother a 
 widow had had a pension given her. General Bonaparte 
 had bombarded the government until each member had 
 subscribed a franc. He wouldn't die for want of asking. 
 Some wits vowed with all the warmth they were capable 
 of that he'd come on. Others, again, said he'd fail on 
 account of his boots. "No sense of proportion," they 
 said. "No sense at all," said others. The last was pure 
 jealousy. All the same, Terezia was furious that she could 
 not get him to her parties. M. B arras was so obliging. 
 He even came to parties which included nobody but their 
 two selves. He'd stay until morning, and never once 
 complain of the dullness. . . . 
 
 "You have got to go." 
 
 She snapped-to her diamond bracelet. Tallien had 
 given it her in the prehistoric days of Bordeaux. 
 
222 LOVE 
 
 He mouthed at her. He was beyond words. Poor 
 wretch! If you are dressed in your best clothes, and 
 the party just coming on, how would you like to be 
 turned out into the back-yard like an empty sardine-tin? 
 After all, he had paid for everything Mauser's band, the 
 candles, the flowers, the supper, even for Terezia's won- 
 derful mermaid frock sea-green tulle most of it on the 
 floor traced in silver, with peach-pink linings mostly 
 feathers foam touched by the sun. That was what her 
 dressmakers called it, not for the sake of poetry but to 
 smooth down the bill. 
 
 She looked superb as only a perfectly healthy, beau- 
 tiful woman can look, especially when young. 
 
 "Last Thursday some of the people complained." 
 
 "I'm dressed, my dear." 
 
 "Are you?" She looked him up and down. "You like 
 airing clothes. You like a game of cards at The Cow. 
 When you are tired of that, Pierre will let you in the 
 back way." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, dear! I've explained so often. You can't show 
 your face at a respectable house. When people see you 
 they loathe you. When they don't, they forget you. 
 That's much more comfortable." 
 
 She moved across the shining parquet floor of the 
 empty ball-room. 
 
 He crept after her. He skipped past her and faced 
 
 her. He bellowed. "You d d bitch, I'm master in my 
 
 own house! I'll denounce you! I'll unmask your lovers 
 high and low " 
 
 "Be quiet," she said. 
 
 He cowered before her. He whimpered out an apology. 
 She took not the faintest notice of him, except for a 
 contemptuous glance. As an ornament he was best out 
 of sight ... he ought to live in the country. 
 
 That was an idea. "To-morrow you can inquire after 
 Rose-Marie. It is nothing of a drive, with good horses." 
 Terezia had paused at the buffet and was sampling a 
 
LOVE 223 
 
 sandwich. "I had meant to buy her a rattle but I forgot 
 it. They tell me she is quite a picture. Have one?" 
 
 He shook his head. There were tears in his eyes 
 tears of acute self-pity. The band was playing. In the 
 courtyard came the sound of the first arrivals. Terezia 
 smoothed her laces. She ran across the ball-room, the 
 incarnation of youth and love. 
 
 "Come, my pet," she said. "You are the King of the 
 Moment." 
 
 Out of a corner there crept an uncertain dwarf a 
 poor, miserable human toy. Terezia always had some 
 little surprise for her friends. This creature was quite a 
 find. How they'd laugh! His hunch was big enough 
 for the whole company to hang their wit upon. "Have 
 you seen la belle Tallien's latest?" "Do look at his eyes. 
 I swear that they are human!" 
 
 There was a commotion later in the evening. M. Barras 
 took the freak in bad part. One lady in an interesting 
 condition fainted at sight of him. M. Barras had him 
 permanently ejected. Terezia was prettily penitent. It 
 all passed off in a moment. The dwarf disappeared. The 
 delicate lady went home, and the delightful ball continued 
 to the small hours of the morning, to everyone's complete 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Tallien hurried away. He had had his orders. He 
 didn't dare disobey. 
 
 Outside the cool night air fanned his heated face. He 
 had hidden the glories of blue and gold satin under a 
 grey cloth coat a nondescript garment he used for 
 night-wear. He did not want to be recognized, as he went 
 along. He had an exaggerated opinion of his own im- 
 portance. Don't waste an ounce of pity on him he never 
 wasted a drachm on anyone a monster of a man. 
 
 The wind blew lustily down the embankment. He 
 wrapped his cloak closer around him and bent his head 
 to the blast. To avoid meeting his wife's guests car- 
 riage after, carriage passed him nondescript, humble 
 
224 LOVE 
 
 vehicles carrying the spice and flower of degenerate so- 
 ciety to La CHaumiere he cut into the Rue Chaux a 
 by-street leading into the Rue Brassiere, within easy dis- 
 tance of the Rue des Quatre Vents his destination. At 
 The Cow he was sure of his welcome. He had his special 
 table, his own set of friends, and the landlord's respect- 
 ful attention. He paid his way in hard cash. He was 
 a treat to his friends, compared to them he was in opulent 
 circumstances. Every night they waited for him, and 
 old Pluto that was the landlord as he went round with 
 the drinks cocked his ears, until he came. Sometimes the 
 swinging lamp in the bar smoked villainously; sometimes 
 it burned brightly, and the coppers on the great old chim- 
 ney-shelf winked. Always there was noise, and customers 
 coming and going under the ancient sign. 
 
 For centuries it had swung from the same place, watch- 
 ing generations of tipplers disappear. In a high wind it 
 creaked; you could hear it ever so far away down the 
 narrow street, with its tall, irregular houses, a motley 
 company not of a high class. In the days of the Terror 
 it had been the boast of the neighborhood that no aristo- 
 crat had ever housed there. In consequence it was con- 
 sidered a very pearl of a street. 
 
 The Cow was the oldest building of all. A picturesque 
 corner house, with two ancient gables and much old oak. 
 The low ceilings were supported with massive, worm- 
 eaten beams. Every floor sloped one way or another. 
 That was the reason why occasionally a guest in leaving 
 the premises stumbled and fell. An old joke. Yet always 
 met by ribald laughter. Sometimes a general fight fol- 
 lowed, and black eyes. From the high table Tallien would 
 laugh loudest of all. Here he was at his ease the prince 
 of good fellows. Here his money jingled and flowed. 
 There was a girl in blue and red feathers and a Madonna 
 face who loved him. She'd sit at his feet his big, 
 sprawling, vulgar feet and look up at his bleared eyes 
 adoringly. ... So much for taste and the miracle of 
 women. We tell you, this poor woman of the street looked 
 
LOVE 225 
 
 up to him and loved him. Sometimes he gave her a pat 
 sometimes a kick. Man-Tallien treated Lizette as a dog. 
 The doctor was amused. 
 
 While we are about it, let us introduce his set quickly. 
 Later, we will go into particulars. You will have heaps 
 of occasions to grow quite intimate, if you want to know 
 them. At your service, the doctor, the poet, the pawn- 
 broker, the musician, the landlord each an individual 
 each with his own interests close to his heart, buttoned 
 under his jacket. All balderdash that they gave Tallien 
 the preference. They humbugged him on account of his 
 wine. Tallien paid. He had that privilege. Also the 
 high seat at the dented table, of untold antiquity. Pluto 
 said ten generations of wits had kicked their feet against 
 the cross-bars to form a comfortable hollow for the silk 
 boots of the exquisite citizen Tallien. When he said it, 
 he invariably sniffed. The whole company sighed. And 
 the pawnbroker wagged his head. Souci fiddled divinely, 
 and as often as not the poet stretched out his terrifically 
 lean arm, preparatory to starting a recitation of his own, 
 dropping it in favor of the bottle. Tallien saw that it 
 was never empty. A full bottle breeds good feeling, even 
 in low company. The doctor might or might not pare 
 his bluish finger-nails we don't remember. The landlord 
 might have sat down on his tray or on his napkin, it is 
 all immaterial to the story. The great point is that 
 once safe at The Cow, Tallien blossomed as a rose in 
 sunshine. No canker in his mind an optimist of opti- 
 mists, a born raconteur and liar. 
 
 To-night he came in later than usual, perspiring like 
 a whale rising from the deep. He had had his moments 
 of acute physical distress. Down the Rue Brassiere his 
 heart had thumped to suffocation. He had felt certain 
 that he was being followed by assassins only waiting their 
 opportunity to murder him- The darkness was impene- 
 trable. The wretched oil lamps, swinging from dwarf posts, 
 or over the portal of occasional family mansions, served 
 but to intensify the gloom. He kept close to the wall, 
 
226 LOVE 
 
 now running, now walking slowly as an old man, his stick 
 tapping the uneven cobbles . . . "he was innocent . . . 
 innocent . . ." he kept on mumbling the same words as 
 some melancholy dirge, without the support of faith. He 
 had no faith in himself. When we despair of our own 
 actions we cease to exist. 
 
 At the street corner the wind tore open his coat. He 
 glanced down horrified at his grand clothes. In God's 
 name why hadn't he changed! He was a blinking il- 
 lumination. If he met anyone he was lost. With feverish 
 haste he buttoned the cloak all awry. His stick clattered 
 to the ground. At a distance some one shouted. . . . 
 The cry was taken up and repeated. ... A woman 
 screamed. The devil it was some one else they were 
 after ! He laughed aloud as at some excellent joke. Fancy 
 now, how remarkably stupid he had been! He wouldn't 
 tell anyone, not he. 
 
 Jauntily, swinging his cane, he entered the tavern. 
 
 In his little box, painted green and white, Maitre Souci 
 was playing the fifth number on the programme. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 "DEFORE we advance an inch further down the hill, we 
 will stop and point out to you a most rare and 
 wonderful gentleman. Personally we love him. That's 
 another matter. We know him, and you don't. To look 
 at well, there he is, large as life, framed in his ridiculous 
 musical-box, painted a premature dazzle effect of broad 
 green and white stripes. Originally it had been built for 
 a sentry-box on the Flemish coast. Heaven knows how 
 it had drifted into Pluto's, the landlord's possession, and 
 what put it into his head to put it to its present use. It 
 looked so starkly incongruous. It didn't stand level on 
 the sloping floor. It would have formed poor, if any, 
 protection against the winds and rains of heaven. By 
 order of the band who could be very severe at times 
 the sides had been knocked clean out, for greater freedom 
 of movement. There Souci stood seven nights a week 
 for hours, facing the seat of honor, and playing for the 
 love of music and two sous a night. That was his salary 
 two sous a night, plus board and lodging. Pluto as- 
 sured anyone who asked him that he had had Souci's ser- 
 vices a matter of twenty years. And that naturally he 
 would not relinquish such a lucrative post. The musician 
 was a sober fellow who seldom stirred from the house. He 
 was grateful for the least attention. We have seen his 
 eyes light up with pleasure at the gift of a sweetmeat, 
 handed to him by some poor drab of a female, and as to a 
 tear, a human tear, called forth by his heavenly melodies, 
 it filled his heart with naive wonder and thankfulness. 
 He had the biggest heart in Paris a great big honest 
 heart, with no room in it for sneers or suspicions, unkind- 
 ness or evil company. He made the best of everything. 
 He'd never willingly fling a stone at anyone. As far as 
 
 227 
 
228 LOVE 
 
 his income allowed him, he was the soul of generosity. 
 He was of medium height, stoutly built, with nondescript 
 features. His shabby grey coat was always carefully 
 brushed and his linen clean. His hands were the hands 
 of a gentleman. His soul was the soul of an artist. What 
 more do you want? Must we repeat that on his beloved 
 violin his execution was nothing less than marvellous ? He 
 played by ear and often as not his own compositions. 
 He never scored a note. That was his insanity. (We 
 are all mad on some point or other.) The doctor had 
 often told him there was lost money in it. "And fame," 
 said the poet. "The world pays for genius," said the 
 pawnbroker, shaking his head terribly. It was grotesque 
 to see Sans Souci's blank stare of annoyance. You might 
 as soon ask a baby to give up its rattle for nothing and 
 not expect tears. In time his friends left off wounding 
 his feelings. The landlord never did. Sometimes Souci, 
 dozing on his hard cane chair in his ridiculous musical- 
 box, would be ruthlessly roused from his dreams by the 
 landlord's harsh voice ringing in his ears. "Hem! you 
 lazy, good-for-nothing rascal, do I pay you a fortune 
 to sleep like a king on his throne?" . . . He'd come back 
 with a start from his own country particular to 
 every artist where the winds of heaven play freely in 
 great desolate places; where the stars shine in peculiar 
 radiance, and where the sun is never tired of doing good 
 even waiving her place to the clouds for the benefit of the 
 least of her little flowers. Rain or sun day or night 
 Souci never returned empty-handed. He'd get up and 
 bow to the company and continue his performance. The 
 dice would rattle as before the drinks go round the 
 ancient worm-eaten rafters disappear under the smoky 
 atmosphere; the hazy lamp, blear-eyed like a man partly 
 blind; Man-Tallien would continue his lie the doctor 
 attending to his blue thumb-nails he had prodigiously 
 large, opaque nails and red hair the poet, huddled on 
 his chair, looking the picture of misery; he wanted to 
 talk . . . the pawnbroker on account of his infirmity he 
 
LOVE 229 
 
 suffered from palsy for ever shaking his head. How 
 tired it must have got ! I wonder, when he went to bed, 
 if he didn't tie it up against the bed-post? In this com- 
 plicated atmosphere each man's interest, as it were, foul- 
 ing his neighbor'^ Souci's clear notes, for all their skill, 
 were simplicity itself. A natural talent is always easy of 
 achievement. That's the beauty of it. ... 
 
 "Dear friends," said Tallien, "trust me and love me." 
 
 He held his sixth bumper aloft. A moving spectacle 
 of great condescension in blue and gold. 
 
 The poet struggled to his feet and declared on the 
 security of his life that he had waited long enough to get 
 his reward. It would be, he said, apple tart, mutton 
 stew, and milk punch. 
 
 Pluto had not served Tallien for a matter of ten years 
 on and off without benefiting by his experience. He 
 knew his bowl to a pip. Now he placed it on the table, 
 reeking. Seven glasses or mugs ; one ladle, silver, with 
 an ebony handle. The doctor immediately pocketed his 
 knife and crossed his legs. 
 
 "Sit down," he said to the gaunt poet. But the gaunt 
 poet stood. It was like him. The most obstinate fellow 
 in Paris. He could write verse. 
 
 Lizette sat at the feet of her idol a tinpot fake if 
 ever there were one. Blessed, blessed are the pure in 
 heart her sin-stained life aside. At the very bottom of 
 the hill, when beggar-Tallien, stricken with disease, pur- 
 blind, hideous, earned a pittance by selling 1 matches and 
 bootlaces on the Pont Neuf (history), she found him out. 
 She took him home and she nursed him tenderly. Louis 
 XVIII, hearing of his destitution, "in recognition of his 
 public services" (there is no irony so great as the irony 
 of history), gave him a small pension. 
 
 We are hurrying on. Tallien is in great form to-night. 
 Lizette, young and handsome. The palsied pawnbroker 
 who eventually refused his, Tallien's, last shirt as past 
 business regards him with kindly flattery. In fact, they 
 all do. 
 
230 LOVE 
 
 It is hardly worth emphasizing how snug and pleasant 
 a place the crowded, stuffy bar struck Tallien. A coward 
 is always a coward, whatever his complexion spiritual or 
 physical. Surely there is no greater haven for him than 
 the tried and trusted companionship of friends? The 
 soothing influence of the bottle? Tallien drank in the 
 bracing atmosphere in great life-inspiring draughts. 
 Once or twice, to her delight, Tallien's damp hand swept 
 the painted cheek of the girl at his feet. Which benign 
 action proved his good-humor. As a rule he was too 
 great a man to notice her existence . . . they all loved 
 him ; they all hung on his words ; here he was a prophet, 
 a seer, a giant who had done great deeds, and who was 
 capable of greater . . . the black cat in the corner kept 
 her round green eyes fixed on the company she was 
 quite a character of the place; fed on cream when Souci 
 had only water. No his board was not ruinous. And 
 as to his lodging, when we have time we'll show it to you. 
 Under the steep staircase was a kind of wood-box, fur- 
 nished with a skylight giving on the street above. In a 
 certain position you had a splendid view of the foot- 
 passengers' shoe-leather, always supposing they skirted 
 the house. There was also a bed of sorts; a chair of 
 sorts ; a table but we are afraid if we tell you everything 
 you won't take any interest in it later on. And that is 
 fatal to a story. Story? I assure you, we never dabble 
 in lies. All we tell you is truth. The Cow's a fact. So 
 are the people inside it. And Souci's inspired music. 
 
 We know nothing of what came before. Where he 
 was born, educated, and so on. The features and social 
 station of his parents. If he was an only child or one 
 of ten. Even so, with the rest of the party; their very 
 names have escaped us. It is a great relief, because 
 names always trouble us. Henceforth let them be known 
 by their professions. The landlord was a widower of 
 some years' standing. The poet, the doctor, the musician, 
 the pawnbroker had never committed the crime of mat- 
 rimony. Tallien, we know, was probably married to the 
 
LOVE 231 
 
 most beautiful woman in France, and certainly the most 
 faithless. Though he cursed her frequently, in his heart 
 of hearts he felt proud of her fame. That shows you 
 the worm he was. 
 
 The poet at length obliged the doctor by sitting down. 
 He was busy sucking lozenges to deaden his racking 
 cough. Once started it was almost impossible to stop 
 him, which irritated everyone except Souci. His face was 
 very pink and his blue eyes very blue. You could count 
 the raised veins on his painfully emaciated hands. Oc- 
 casionally his hands would leap out and dance a fantastic 
 measure over the dented table. As the night wore on, the 
 palsied pawnbroker trembled exceedingly. Though very 
 tired he never gave in to sleep. The youngish doctor 
 who really had some semblance to gentility, and who was 
 far more careful of his person than his companions 
 always with the exception of the elegant gentleman in 
 blue and yellow under the influence of wine grew very 
 careful of his speech. In lieu of words he either raised or 
 lowered his bushy eyebrows he was quite an adept in 
 the business. What his eyebrows didn't express is not 
 worth mentioning. 
 
 Pluto, having in an admirable manner seen to the com- 
 fort of his guests, obligingly accepted a seat at the high 
 table, at the right hand of Tallien himself. He sat bolt 
 upright on the very edge of his chair, looking the very 
 picture of proud discomfort. 
 
 "Ah," said the landlord sententiously, "there is no 
 quality so beautiful as humility." 
 
 "It becomes an eagle and it does not disgrace a spar- 
 row," said the poet dreamily. "Hack-hack!" 
 
 His wretched cough was so loud that it practically 
 drowned the pawnbroker's no doubt estimable rejoinder. 
 . . . "Arrogance, sir" (we catch him up half-way), "is 
 the root of all evil and hardness of heart." 
 
 "My noble friends," said Tallien, greatly moved, "your 
 confidence inspires me to victory. Lead on, angel of 
 Faith! My achievements are small " 
 
232 LOVE 
 
 The doctor raised his left eyebrow. 
 
 The poet banged his fist on the table. The crockery 
 jumped. "Citizen," he said, "you have earned the grat- 
 itude of France. Long live the patriot Tallien!" 
 
 The toast was honored unanimously. 
 
 Tallien rose to his feet. 
 
 "Citizens," he said, "we have got to face radical 
 changes. The times are ripe for action. The best man 
 wins." 
 "Ah!" 
 "Ah!" 
 "Ah!" 
 
 His supporters looked at each other. They nudged 
 each other. They whispered to each other, "Isn't he 
 wonderful?" 
 
 For half an hour he spoke to no purpose at all, if it 
 wasn't to tear General Bonaparte's character to shreds. 
 It was not the general who had laid low the rebels (it 
 seemed) or spirited the guns to Paris. A mere cloak 
 a mere buffoon a mere nobody! 
 
 The doctor lowered his right eyebrow. 
 
 In the heat of his argument the great man took no 
 notice of this trumpery opposition. All the venom of 
 his nature oozed out at the name of Bonaparte. He was 
 a real menace to the glorious constitution, he said. He 
 must be removed. 
 
 "Powder or knife?" said the doctor briskly. "If you 
 call me in I'll want a consultation." 
 
 "He-he!" laughed the pawnbroker, who was rather im- 
 becile. "I remember that young man coming into my 
 shop not so long ago. As off-hand a customer as ever 
 I had. I treated him generously." 
 
 His trembling hand searched his pockets. "Look, citi- 
 zens; I gave him five francs for this. It is not worth 
 two." 
 
 Tallien took the little silver cross, set with turquoises, 
 in his big hand and looked at it contemptuously. "I'll 
 give you ten," he said. 
 
LOVE 233 
 
 "No, no, friend. It's not for sale. I keep it for senti- 
 ment." 
 
 "As you please,*' said Tallien, tossing the pawnbroker 
 his property. "When did you buy it?" 
 
 "On the eleventh of August, '92." 
 
 "That is interesting," said the poet. "As far back as 
 that our little general was making a bid for fortune." 
 
 "Through the doors of a pawn-shop," cackled the land- 
 lord. 
 
 "A solid business," said the owner, "built on necessity." 
 
 Tallien yawned, and whispered in the gratified ear of 
 the innkeeper he grew a tuft of greyish hair in each 
 "Heard me mention Joseph? At present employed as 
 his private secretary by Barras? A nominal position, of 
 course. They say . . ." 
 
 Pluto's face shone. He nodded his head and screwed 
 his lips, but he thought better of a whistle. Instead, he 
 blurted out: "We have come out of the fray stronger 
 than ever. I'm not boasting, but I am a faithful friend." 
 (He slapped his chest.) "Forgive me, citizen, I don't 
 see you as the grand gentleman of to-day though you 
 prove the value of rank but as the Friend of the People, 
 the zealous editor of a brilliant publication. Sometimes 
 I read over the old numbers with tears in my eyes." He 
 laid his hand on a portion of blue and yellow satin. "If 
 ever man knew his business, you did. If ever man loved 
 his business, you did. My poor old wife used to attend 
 the executions " 
 
 "Dear friends," said Tallien, "you exaggerate my 
 merits. I am only a humble instrument in the hands of 
 retribution. If the time comes again when I am wanted, 
 you know where to find me." 
 
 The poet leaned over the table. 
 
 "Are your hands clean?" he asked breathlessly. "Let 
 me look." 
 
 "Funny man," said Tallien. 
 
 "Where are the dice?" said the doctor. 
 
234 LOVE 
 
 "The aristocrats are a race apart," continued the poet, 
 mournfully obstinate. "Race and tradition " 
 
 "Stop!" 
 
 "Who said stop? I'll flatten his nose with pleasure." 
 
 "Don't take any offence, sir," said the landlord. 
 
 "I won't," said TaUien, folding Pluto to his heart. 
 They wept in company. "We must drink on this," he 
 continued, "and forget . . . forget discussions and broils 
 for the peace to come. In the name of justice, brothers, 
 I raise my glass." 
 
 In his box the fat man, as far as space allowed, was 
 twisting and turning like a frenzied top, playing for all 
 he was worth. One illuminating smile. No doubt he 
 was assisting at the fun of the fair in his native village, 
 the boys and girls and the children footing it merrily 
 on the green. He played and he played, and he jigged 
 and he jigged ; every boy did his best; every girl her utter- 
 most. And some of the babies tumbled on the green. 
 The sun was scorching hot and the dry earth smelt of 
 honeysuckles. 
 
 "I love you," said Tallien, kissing Lizette. ( She looked 
 up, wondering; she was not at a commonplace fair but 
 in heaven.) 
 
 "Once upon a time," said the poet, shivering, "I wrote 
 a grand book. I spoilt it all by words. They'd sweep 
 in like the tide on the Atlantic coast. They'd pile up 
 in great deadly heaps. My poor book my poor, poor 
 book!" 
 
 "That's all right," said the doctor. "He's off danger- 
 ous ground, anyhow." 
 
 The swing-door of the tavern opened mightily to admit 
 two officials. For once in his life Souci "took notice." 
 He stopped in the middle of a lovely cadence. Blank 
 silence greeted the newcomers. 
 
 Citizen Jean Lambert Tallien rose to his feet, steady- 
 ing his right hand on the table. The women scuttled 
 to right and left. Every man in the place left his glass 
 and gaped. The landlord came forward, wiping his hands 
 
LOVE 235 
 
 on his cloth. The pawnbroker tried to get up, but every 
 time a fiend pushed him back. The doctor and the poet 
 exchanged glances. 
 
 "Complications," whispered the doctor. 
 
 The stranger in the green coat reading from a paper 
 by the light of a lantern held by his companion gave 
 all and sundry notice that by order of the Commander- 
 in-Chief of the Home Forces, General Napoleon Bona- 
 parte, every citizen, under pain of six months' imprison- 
 ment, was to deliver up any arms and weapons in his 
 possession within the next three days, at the different 
 arsenals hereby notified. 
 
 The proclamation being read, the men marched out. 
 
 Tallien resumed his seat. 
 
 "I must say that for him," he said, "Bonaparte always 
 carries out his instructions at once. As a matter of 
 fact, the disarming of the civil population was my idea. 
 It is useful to both sides." 
 
 The doctor's right eyebrow shot up to the level of his 
 hair. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 "HP HANK you, Clementine. Whom did you see?" 
 
 Clementine, in her striped dress and pretty white 
 apron, smiled at her mistress. 
 
 "No one I knew. A footman who took your note, 
 ma'am, as if it had been filled with explosive matter." 
 
 "Perhaps it was," said Josephine demurely. 
 
 " 'Give it to the general,' I said, 'at once.' 'When it is 
 convenient to me, young woman,' he answered. I wouldn't 
 stay in the same house with him, not an hour." 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais was playing a desultory game 
 of patience. There is nothing more trying to our nerves 
 when we are thinking of something else. 
 
 "It is close on nine o'clock, madam." 
 
 Josephine shifted a card. She was seated in the bow 
 window at a round, old-fashioned mahogany table. "I'm 
 not going out to-night." 
 
 "Oh, ma'am! And your dress and your shoes and 
 your fan all laid out!" 
 
 "Put them back again, Clementine. And if you are 
 going to worry me, walk out of the room." 
 
 Clementine sighed and fingered her apron. 
 
 "I can't bear her, that's the truth. This will be a 
 slap in her face, nasty mischievous cat ! I am sick of 
 hearing of her beauty and her clothes. Those kind of 
 people never last." 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 Josephine banged a card on its face. "The worst set 
 in Paris." 
 
 "And the most fashionable," said Clementine stoutly. 
 With the aid of her fingers the cleverest and the nimblest 
 pair in town she checked off a dozen names to corroborate 
 her statement: ladies who considered it a privilege to be 
 
 236 
 
LOVE 237 
 
 seen in Madame Tallien's society, in spite of her and her 
 husband's antecedents. Certainly they gave the cold 
 shoulder to Tallien, but all the more consideration to his 
 much-discussed wife. 
 
 "Madame Fanny de Beauharnais, Madame Lebrun, 
 Madame de Stael " 
 
 "Clementine, I'll get up and slap your face, if you keep 
 on irritating me! I'm not prudish myself " 
 
 Clementine curtsied. "Dear, dear madam," she said, 
 "forgive me. And when are the children coming home?" 
 
 "To-morrow," said Josephine. "Tell cook to let us 
 have chocolate eclairs for lunch. Eugene loves them. 
 Remember we send word round to Louise the first thing 
 in the morning. The last time Hortense was at home her 
 dresses were up to her knees. We must do something to 
 them. I can't afford new ones." She sighed and looked 
 pensively at the fire. "It is so difficult to be poor." 
 
 "And all the gentlemen willing to marry you." 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais laughed. "You will never guess 
 who I have decided on ... a mother must sacrifice her- 
 self in the interest of her children. I am going to do my 
 duty, Clementine. Not going to La Chaumiere to-night 
 proves it." 
 
 "If Madame Tallien cans, will you receive her?" 
 
 Josephine opened her eyes wide. "Of course. That is 
 quite another matter; she is so amusing. After all, I am 
 not responsible for her moral conduct." 
 
 Josephine, a couple of days or so after the successful 
 dance at La Chaumiere, was looking at her only son with 
 her pretty eyes clouded over. 
 
 Madame Tallien's ball had ended in a spirited manner 
 by the hostess being carried in procession around the 
 reception-rooms preceded and followed by a chorus of 
 young people, singing, more or less out of tune, a hymn 
 to Love and Beauty. Barras had held the divinity's hands 
 pressed to his heart the little friction between them 
 caused by the ugly dwarf completely wiped out. Cham- 
 
238 LOVE 
 
 pagne and love do wonders, and the rest can be safely 
 left to beauty. Never had Madame Tallien appeared more 
 to her advantage. She practically had the whole room 
 at her feet. The sea-green frock, resting on pink feathers, 
 was a triumph of liberal display. The heat intensified 
 the whiteness of her skin ; the adulation offered her person 
 gave an added lustre to her eyes. "Thank you," she mur- 
 mured, ready in her gratitude to kiss anyone who came 
 first. We fancy the banker, M. Ouvrad, seized his chance, 
 to the general merriment of the company and the partic- 
 ular scowl of the great M. Barras. Madame Tallien didn't 
 mind. She had them both under her thumb. . . . 
 
 Young Eugene had been giving his mother a lecture. 
 She was such a poor hand at explanation. 
 
 "I don't care what you say, I'm going to keep it." 
 
 "The general has forbidden it, darling. You don't want 
 to go to prison, do you?" 
 
 "I don't mind." 
 
 "And break my heart?" 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 "Be reasonable, Eugene. Later on, I'll buy you a new 
 one " 
 
 "It won't be father's sword," answered the boy sadly, 
 clasping the weapon tenderly to his heart. 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais had only partly finished her 
 morning toilet. Her hair was dressed for the day, but 
 she still wore a peignoir of muslin and lace, fresh as a 
 daisy. Her dressing-room was a study in green and white. 
 Her dressing-table loaded with crystal and silver. For 
 a poor woman she made a tolerable display. Wealth 
 couldn't have done much better. Then as we all know 
 poverty has its relative degrees. 
 
 Eugene de Beauharnais, who was either twelve or thir- 
 teen at this time a spirited, handsome boy was devoted 
 to his father's memory. 
 
 "I hate him," he said slowly. 
 
 Which ebullition of temper was more than the gentle 
 widow could stand. She actually shook her son by his 
 
LOVE 239 
 
 shoulder. "Imbecile!" she cried. "If you don't believe 
 me, go and ask him yourself. General Bonaparte receives 
 between twelve and three. He may make an exception in 
 your favor " 
 
 The boy's eyes sparkled. 
 
 "On account of your mother." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "He takes an interest in her." 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 
 "Then I'll go at once. Lucky you know the brute. I'll 
 be even with him. I'll tell him you sent me." 
 
 "Do." 
 
 "Darling!" Eugene sprang into her extended arms 
 and embraced her warmly. 
 
 He took the old sword with him, carrying it through 
 the streets of Paris with considerable pride. His thoughts 
 were full of the future, and how he would protect his 
 mother from tyrants, dragons and so forth. "Fancy her 
 knowing Bonaparte !" he repeated to himself, half in con- 
 tempt and half in envy. He wouldn't have been human 
 if he had not had a lively curiosity to see him himself. 
 At school General Bonaparte was the chief topic of con- 
 versation. He was awfully brave, and hard as flints. They 
 said his eyes hypnotized you. He could single-handed 
 keep a crowd at bay. These wonders came into his mind 
 as he approached the general's residence. The great sword 
 made his arm ache. His hand trembled as he touched 
 the bell. 
 
 Hardly had Eugene left his mother's house in the Rue 
 Chantereine before Madame Tallien's chariot stopped the 
 way. That lady, on ascertaining from her footman that 
 Madame de Beauharnais received, slowly ascended the 
 stairs to her dressing-room. She had come on a visit of 
 reconciliation. 
 
 She found the widow frosty, trying on a new pair of 
 ear-rings. M. Barras had sent them around that morning 
 in a box of chocolates . . . rather pretty of him. 
 
240 LOVE 
 
 "Good morning." 
 
 "You are not cross, darling? What charming ear- 
 rings !" 
 
 "Old as the hills," murmured the widow coldly, dropping 
 the ornaments carelessly into a pin-tray. 
 
 "Are you going out?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "May I sit a little while?" 
 
 "Do." 
 
 Terezia, in a soft tricot dress of champagne-colored 
 silk, toned up by a remarkable hat of cerise velvet and 
 feathers, sank gracefully in the little couch by the window. 
 She played with her sable muff. It was early in the year 
 for furs, but they suited her. She held the muff up to 
 her face her eyes sparkled over the edge her golden 
 hair was dressed low over her ears. Not a single jewel on 
 her person. Maybe it was a concession to the morning, 
 or to the hat? Some hats won't stand jewelry. In 
 conjunction with them even a rope of pearls looks vulgar. 
 
 "I want to be friends, Josephine." 
 
 "Very kind of you, I am sure." 
 
 "I missed you terribly on Wednesday. We had such 
 fun. And, oh, my dear, their appetites !" 
 
 "That's what they came for, I suppose? to eat." 
 
 La Chaumiere's hospitality was famous in these dog- 
 days of famine, when a bone cost a fortune. Prices had 
 not gone down on the contrary, harassed housewives 
 assured each other they had gone up. And yet extrava- 
 gance was the ruling passion. People said it was a natural 
 result, following the Revolution and all the restrictions 
 and miseries they had undergone. 
 
 "Don't be odious. There is not another woman in 
 Paris that I'd get out of my bed for. I knew I'd catch 
 you if I came early." 
 
 As we all know, Josephine had the kindest heart in the 
 world. Also she was burning to hear all about the party 
 and what people were saying about the little general. 
 
 "You are too frivolous, Terezia." 
 
LOVE 241 
 
 "I can be as serious as Bonaparte if I want to." 
 
 "You never do." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks! Tallien is sufficient worry to give any 
 woman grey hair. How I envy you your liberty! A 
 young widow with plenty of admirers has a most envi- 
 able position. Darling Josephine, kiss me." 
 
 Terezia rose from her seat, dropped her muff on the 
 floor, and held out her matchless arms. 
 
 "I can't help liking you," said Josephine, after the 
 ladies had warmly embraced. "Only I wish you were 
 more careful." 
 
 "I will, I will," said Madame Tallien glibly, leading 
 Josephine back to the charming sofa, a comfortable size 
 for two. 
 
 Confidence restored, I tell you the minutes flew. The 
 mid-day sun peeped in (rather shyly it was a blowy, 
 cold day) before either Josephine or Terezia was aware 
 of the flight of time. 
 
 "I've a thousand things to do," said Madame Tallien. 
 
 "You will stay to lunch? I don't eat before one." 
 
 "Thanks, darling. I'm afraid of your general." 
 
 Josephine laughed. "He is so inoffensive, really. Be- 
 sides, he does not live here." 
 
 "I believe you intend to marry him. Isn't it thrilling! 
 I rather love a new man." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Josephine, slightly nettled. 
 She didn't like her young man disparaged. 
 
 "I don't know. I am sure he is an admirable creature, 
 once you get over his awkwardness. What do you talk 
 about?" 
 
 "Lots of things." 
 
 "I always find him stiff as a poker." 
 
 "He doesn't get on with everybody." 
 
 "That's rather a mercy. Plus que reme ... do you 
 remember that silly old prophecy? You told it us. Who 
 knows, there may be some truth in it ; and that Bonaparte 
 will end up by being rich and famous. You wretch, if 
 
242 LOVE 
 
 you dare to jump over my head I'll never forgive you, 
 never 1" 
 
 "Is it likely?" said Madame Beauharnais truthfully. 
 "Still, all the same, I am sure he'll get on. He is devoted 
 to his profession." 
 
 "You mean fighting?" 
 
 "He simply adores it. He was speaking of beating the 
 English the other evening, and he forgot all his shyness 
 he shouted, and he snapped his fingers. I thought he 
 had gone clean off his head. His eyes glowed, and he 
 spoke with as much assurance as if he had had the biggest 
 army in the world at his disposition." 
 
 "Poor dear creature, how disappointed he will be!" 
 
 "That's just it " 
 
 "We'll come back to him. I want to tell you about my 
 party. Madame Fanny was great like a picture in her 
 hooped petticoats. She danced a minuet with old Leroux. 
 You almost saw the dead king and poor Marie Antoinette 
 looking on." 
 
 "Not at La Chaumiere, darling." 
 
 "Too sweet for words. My dwarf would have loved it. 
 He has such a poetical soul." 
 
 Josephine shivered. "I hate abnormalities." 
 
 "Yet you love Napoleon !" Terezia >lew a kiss on 
 the tips of her fingers to no one in particular. 
 
 "I don't love him." 
 
 "No matter; he loves you a la foUe. Life is a glori- 
 ous adventure, it really is. I am going to get rid of 
 Tallien and marry again." 
 
 "Who is the lucky man?" 
 
 "Paul Barras." 
 
 "He is far too prudent " 
 
 "Until he loses his head. I will only give it him back 
 as a wedding present. No, I'm only joking. Public 
 servants can't afford scandals. They deal largely in 
 blinds. That's really rather witty, darling. Pass it on 
 to the general, with my love. I'll tell you a secret. I 
 dislike him. For some reason or other he is rude to me. 
 
 
LOVE 243 
 
 You'll have to rub up his manners, Josephine, or shut 
 him up for ever in a camp." 
 
 Josephine was just considering a suitable retort, when 
 Eugene ran into the room, carrying the big sword, brim- 
 ming over with excitement. 
 
 "Oh, mother!" he exclaimed. "He was as nice as he 
 could be. 'Keep it,' he said, 'and do it credit.' When 
 I'm older, he is going to take me on as his aide-de-camp. 
 When I mentioned your name, he bowed his head over 
 his hands and " 
 
 Terezia rose languidly. "I congratulate you, sir, on 
 your victory," she said. 
 
 "Poor dear Alexandre!" said the widow. "I ought to 
 go and thank him." 
 
 "Won't it be a little difficult?" 
 
 Terezia's sarcasm was lost on Madame de Beauharnais. 
 "I am so delighted, Eugene. Wasn't it a good idea?" 
 
 "Splendid." 
 
 The shy sunlight suddenly flooded the room. 
 
 "It is going to be fine, after all," said Terezia. "Good- 
 bye, dearost. Do the children know?" she whispered. 
 
 Josephine shook her head. "H'sh! No. Not a word. 
 Well, if you want to go I can't keep you." 
 
 "I'd love to stay, you know it. I'm a coward, darling, 
 and I daren't offend her. Lamertine's new rooms are 
 dreams wicked dreams. You have promised me Mon- 
 day faithfully?" 
 
 "Faithfully." 
 
 "I'll write and tell M. Charles " 
 
 "Please don't be so ridiculous!" (Josephine blushed 
 and smiled.) "What a charming hat you have got on!" 
 
 Down the stairs ran Madame Tallien, laughing. . . . 
 "Poor dear Josephine," she murmured to herself, "what 
 a fool she is! I'd rather take Charles of the two, any 
 day." 
 
 She stepped into her carriage. 
 
 The footman waited for his orders. 
 
 "To the Luxembourg," said Madame Tallien. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 \X7HEN in doubt a woman as a rule decides to please 
 ' herself. We don't say Terezia a past-mistress in 
 the art hadn't left a few stings in the gentle widow's 
 heart. It was worse almost than if she had made open 
 fun of the "new" man, her veiled amusement at the gen- 
 eral's obvious faults; not so much of character as of 
 person. The average woman, of two evils, prefers her 
 young man to drink than to tie his tie badly. There was 
 no getting away from it that General Bonaparte pre- 
 sented a slovenly appearance. His hair was seldom 
 brushed ; his boots never polished Josephine had suffered 
 agonies on account of those boots clumsy, hideous things ! 
 he rarely paid her a compliment in fact, he didn't under- 
 stand the usages of polite society. The only thing in his 
 favor was that he loved her. And that he undoubtedly 
 for her sake or for his own intended to gratify his 
 ambitions. What were they? No one could with cer- 
 tainty put their finger on the spot. Vaguely Josephine 
 realized that they were immense. Never had a new man ar- 
 rived at a more opportune moment. Have you not noticed 
 it, sometimes? God clears the stage for a favored human 
 being an immense place, bare and naked, and he fills it 
 with life and color and wonder a marvel to behold. The 
 multitudes follow behind, shouting. It does not happen 
 often. Otherwise achievement would be tame as a rabbit. 
 Naturally, Josephine thought of nothing so fantastic. 
 At most she dwelt on the thought of improved social con- 
 ditions and a replenished wardrobe, in conjunction with 
 her diffident lover. . . . Josephine, pulling on her long 
 cream suede gloves, smiled happily. "It is rather excit- 
 ing," she assured herself. "I do hope the Austrians won't 
 go home before he has time to get down and beat them. 
 
 244 
 
LOVE 245 
 
 So nice for Bonaparte that they are behaving badly." 
 A frown succeeded the smile at the expense of the lax 
 government. "Noodles!" said Josephine as she got into 
 her waiting cab such a horrid old cab, with all the straw 
 coming through the cushions at nine hundred francs the 
 hour. The widow's charming gold bag was stuffed with 
 the currency of the day those dubious assignats prac- 
 tically valueless in the money market. In London they 
 were not even quoted. Only a speculator might have 
 given you a half-penny a thousand. A ruinous rate of 
 exchange for the unhappy possessor of French moneys. 
 
 The waning October light was faintly coloring General 
 Bonaparte's modest apartment, when a closely veiled lady 
 was shown into the office adjoining the general's private 
 rooms. With a bow the secretary in attendance requested 
 to know the lady's pleasure. In a timid, soft voice she 
 asked to have the privilege of an interview with the general. 
 She could wait, she said. The private secretary a young 
 man of very observant eye begged the mysterious 
 stranger to be seated. He would directly ascertain if 
 she could be received. He glanced round the somewhat 
 bare and austere room before earnestly fixing the face 
 of a large gilt bracket clock, facing the curtainless win- 
 dows. Look as he would he couldn't alter the hour. It 
 was exactly ten minutes past four. 
 
 "I'm afraid, madam, you are rather late." 
 
 "I'm so sorry," said the lady. 
 
 "Have you an appointment?" 
 
 "No." " 
 
 "Your name, madam?" 
 
 ''Madame Josephine de Beauharnais." 
 
 "Your errand, madam?" 
 
 "I wish to thank the general for his kindness to my 
 son." (Here her voice trembled.) "He has been allowed 
 to keep his father's sword." 
 
 The secretary bowed. 
 
 "Exactly, madam," he said, with as much detachment 
 as if he had been an automatic figure, clicking out so 
 
246 LOVE 
 
 many words a minute. "Pray be seated, madam." (His 
 maker had paid particular attention to his manners.) 
 
 Madame Josephine accepted a chair by the window, one 
 of a dozen of the same precise, uncomfortable pattern. 
 
 She was in brown from head to foot a soft, warm nut- 
 brown made with the simplicity of a nun's robe in dull- 
 faced satin; her circular cloak was in velvet to match 
 her little hat was enveloped in flowing ninon veils of the 
 same shade, through which the polite secretary glimpsed 
 a sweetly red mouth and a pair of beautiful eyes, reflecting 
 to a nicety the general tone of brown in her costume. 
 Even her reddish hair more brown than red was in 
 the picture. Surely the market bunch of violets at her 
 waist was a stroke of genius? The violets, together with 
 the delicate perfume she affected, emitted a delicious scent. 
 The curve of her bare throat and slightly drooping chin 
 affected the secretary to deeds of unparalleled bravery. 
 He walked boldly across the uncarpeted floor and knocked 
 determinedly on the general's private door. He was 
 admitted. The widow never looked up. The last parting 
 rays of the sun illuminated her slight figure. 
 
 Almost at once the secretary briskly returned, as any 
 fool could see, the bearer of good tidings. 
 
 "Madam " 
 
 She looked up with a start. 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 "The general will be most happy to see you in about 
 h'm five minutes. Some slight derangement of his 
 toilet " 
 
 "Oh, dear!" said Josephine. "I don't want to give 
 him any trouble. I'll call again another day." 
 
 "Madam, I entreat you to remain." 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "If you go, the general will be seriously annoyed with 
 h'm both of us." 
 
 "That would be a pity." 
 
 A little smile hovered in her eyes and went to sleep 
 on her lips. 
 
LOVE 247 
 
 "I'm afraid," she said, "the general is rather inclined 
 to be obstinate. Not that I know him very well, but it 
 strikes me he might be obstinate." 
 
 "Exactly, madam." 
 
 "He is rather a remarkable man." 
 
 "Very remarkable." 
 
 Josephine sighed and pulled off her long soft gloves 
 not nearly so white and soft as her arms. She put up 
 her jewelled hand under her veil and adjusted a curl. 
 
 "Am I looking tidy, sir?" 
 
 "Lovely. I mean, madam, perfect." 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 You ought to have heard the dignity of her voice and 
 seen the distracted gaze of that reckless young man. In 
 his office a clerk is not a man but a machine. So he 
 tiptoed back to his tall desk and took up his quill pen 
 and turned over the leaves of an immense folio without 
 seeing a single page. . . . Madame Josephine sat on 
 her chair by the window. The sun had retired and left 
 her face in shadow. 
 
 The secretary, as we remarked at once, was a very 
 observant young man. Never had oil on troubled waters 
 proved more magical than the name of Citoyenne Veuve 
 Beauharnais for allaying the gathering storm in General 
 Bonaparte's steely glance. He hated interruption. Ob- 
 serving his secretary standing before him, he had glared 
 quite viciously. He was writing at feverish speed at his 
 untidy table, laden with papers, books and maps. At 
 her name the general had leapt to his feet. "Keep her!" 
 
 he had shouted. "I'll be back in a minute. Tell her " 
 
 And he was gone like a whirlwind into his dressing- 
 room beyond. Clearly, clearly that observant young sec- 
 retary would get on in the world. Where do secretaries 
 end? 
 
 Josephine sat immovable, admirably concealing her 
 impatience at the delay; her little silk-stockinged feet, in 
 their brown leather shoes, meekly crossed over each other. 
 The secretary longed to offer her a footstool. But thwe 
 
248 LOVE 
 
 wasn't one. Waiting-rooms seldom, if ever, run to foot- 
 stools. They are really lamentably short in their ap- 
 pointments. 
 
 "It has been quite a warm day," she remarked. 
 
 The secretary peeped over his big ledger in fact he 
 had been peeping all the time. "It has madam," he agreed 
 respectfully. 
 
 The minutes lagged and dragged. She was really 
 annoyed with her little general. Was he going to surprise 
 her in the vanities of a court costume? satin knee-breeches 
 and buckled shoes? So unnesessary. He'd be sure to 
 spoil it with some glaring lack of detail. She laughed. 
 
 The secretary stared over his ledger. Truth to tell, 
 she was feeling miserably nervous. Why had she ever 
 come? And that wretched old cab at nine hundred francs 
 an hour! In a fit of temper she tossed her gold bag on 
 the seat opposite. 
 
 "I arn obliged " she began. 
 
 The double doors communicating with the private apart- 
 ments opened as they open on the stage, that is to say, to 
 their widest capacity. On the centre of the threshold 
 stood the general (in his old green coat and field boots), 
 upright and pale. His eloquent eyes were apparently 
 fixed on the opposite wall. He had thrust his right hand 
 into the breast of his coat. 
 
 The room behind him was illuminated. There were 
 burning candles in sconces on the wall; in tall sticks on 
 the writing-table; in bronze candelabra on the marble- 
 topped console tables between the windows. The green 
 rep curtains were drawn. 
 
 "Madam," said the general coldly, "be so good as to 
 enter." 
 
 Josephine rose and came down the little strip of red- 
 and-white linen matting running down the length of the 
 room from door to door. 
 
 The general stood aside to let her pass. Then he 
 shut the doors. The secretary vanished like a cloud of 
 smoke. He shut-to the big folio volume and hurried off 
 
LOVE 249 
 
 to The Blue Dragon, where he dined, anticipating his 
 master's wishes. Being an observant young man he 
 realized that he had completed his work for the day half- 
 an-hour earlier than usual. 
 
 She very faintly realized that she had set a match to 
 an all-devouring flame. This was her first visit, remem- 
 ber. He had made no attempt to meet her half-way. It 
 was her place to come to him. As she crossed the room, 
 his lips had parted in a triumphant, dazzling smile. Yet 
 when she touched his hand it was only the limp, trembling 
 hand of an eager lover. 
 
 She lifted her veil. 
 
 "Citizen general," she said formally, her voice failing her 
 a trifle, "I have come to thank you for your kindness to 
 my little boy. He is so happy." 
 
 Perhaps it was Josephine's stereotyped curtsey which 
 broke the first spell. (He had lived a hundred years while 
 watching her move across the room.) 
 
 " Josephine !" he said. "Josephine, my beloved!" And 
 he covered her hands with his kisses. 
 
 She stood with her face averted. She observed on the 
 general's writing-table a little cream china bowl filled with 
 violets. Each breath from her parted lips attacked him 
 and left him physically weak. He was capable of murder 
 to reach her lips. Somehow, her coquetry failed her. His 
 stormy mad elation affected her heart a little. Her bosom 
 rose and fell. She blushed like a young girl. His desire 
 was overwhelming ... on the whole she was pleased. 
 
 "Haven't you made yourself grand! Quite a pretty 
 room. And all those candles " 
 
 She swayed across to the writing table and touched 
 the bowl of violets. 
 
 "Sir," she said, "of your plenty you sent me only one. 
 That was not very generous." 
 
 "I have but one soul, one life, one heart. And for me 
 there is only one woman in the world." 
 
 His voice thrilled her. He stood there a little way 
 off not daring to approach her. 
 
250 LOVE 
 
 "Citizen, come nearer." She laid a cool hand on his 
 arm. "I wish I understood love better," she confessed. 
 
 "If you did you'd kill me." 
 
 "That would be a pity." She shrugged her shoulders. 
 "As if love could kill!" 
 
 She met his glance. "You darling you darling," his 
 eyes told her as much, "I worship you. I adore you. . . ." 
 
 "Whose picture is that?" 
 
 "Yours." 
 
 "Who drew it?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "It's not a bit like me." 
 
 "No." 
 
 She had unclasped her cloak and it fell to the ground. 
 Against the long wall between two mahogany bookcases 
 was a deep, old-fashioned sofa, covered in green rep cloth. 
 
 "You have never asked me to sit down," she said, looking 
 back at him over her shoulder. She moved away. He fol- 
 lowed her, stumbling over her dress. She had not time 
 to exclaim at his awkwardness. She was more conscious 
 of her dragging veil than his kisses. He didn't spare her. 
 As she sank back on the sofa his burning lips clung to 
 her face, her neck, her hands. "Please, please!" she said, 
 warding him off. . . . "Don't be so impetuous. I'm 
 not going, not just yet awhile. . . . Have you missed 
 me so very much?" Really and truly he was quite a 
 hurricane. . . . her frivolous heart beat as gently as 
 the heart of a lark soaring upwards. Napoleon's wings 
 were strong enough to carry them both ever so high. 
 . . . Here was romance and glory; conquest and devo- 
 tion. So her little hands ceased their play. Her mouth 
 rested on his. He forced her head gently back on the 
 pillow behind her a hard, uncompromising black satin 
 cushion, stuffed with goodness knows what. She closed 
 her eyes. 
 
 "I idolize you." 
 
 Her lashes fluttered. She held tightly to both his 
 hands. 
 
LOVE 251 
 
 "Marry me to-morrow. Now. . . . What am I saying? 
 I can't see anything. I'm blind . . . happy as I never 
 hoped to be happy. Darling, darling look at me. You 
 white witch of the world, I adore you. I'll do anything 
 in the world to please you. You do like me?" 
 
 He was standing over her, one knee on the couch, 
 menacing in his youth and power. 
 
 She looked at him. She stroked his right hand. "Napo- 
 leon," she said, "I'm proud of you." 
 
 His eyes filled with tears. He slipped down and knelt 
 at her feet and buried his face in her lap. 
 
 "Sir, you weep at that?" 
 
 The soft incredulity of her voice stung him. He shiv- 
 ered. "Madam, you flatter me," he said hoarsely. "There 
 are moments when I doubt my whole existence. I may 
 never merit your splendid faith. I may bring you to 
 shame." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Josephine, just a shade crossly. She 
 disliked what she was pleased to call "heroics." Not an 
 atom of meaning in it. Bonaparte without being fla- 
 grantly conceited was well aware of his own merits. 
 Everyone is. If you lose heart you lose the battle. She 
 wanted him to win. 
 
 She took oft 7 her hat, laid it on a chair close by, fluttered 
 her fingers through her hair, and talked as reasonably as a 
 grandmother on his future conduct in the world. Joseph- 
 ine's homily was deliciously feminine. She had his whole 
 attention. His eyes were riveted on her face. She liked 
 sitting in the great sofa curled far back with Bonaparte 
 at her feet, madly in love. It was flattering to her years. 
 He couldn't have loved her more if she had been seven- 
 teen and had never met Alexandre de Beauharnais . . . 
 and others. Did the dear boy imagine he was first? She 
 felt almost sorry for him. Her tender eyes looked inscru- 
 table and dark as the violets growing in their native soil. 
 For quite a long while he had not said a word. He seemed 
 content to sit there and look up at her; to finger her 
 
252 LOVE 
 
 dress, to dream his dreams, which he (foolishly) took 
 for her own. 
 
 The candle-light flickered on the oak-panelled walls, 
 with a complimentary grace all their own. . . . There 
 was nothing very complicated about Bonaparte (she 
 thought). His was an elementary nature. He was a 
 child of the South, passionate and headstrong. His tem- 
 per was not quite reliable ... he had a sweet mouth. 
 Really, in a certain light, he was quite good-looking. 
 
 Josephine had a soul, of course. We don't hold with 
 the Prophet but oh, how small, how compressed out of 
 sight by a host of greater interests the vexed problems 
 of dress, flirtation, prettiness which form to some women 
 their whole existence! 
 
 I tell you, the general's present attitude, worshipful 
 in the extreme, not only vexed but worried Josephine. 
 She was not a very well-read woman. Poetry had no 
 distinction in her eyes. Life was full of hard values. 
 Fancies were to her as immaterial as mist. Presently 
 he grew human again. 
 
 "Darling, say you love me!" 
 
 She said it. 
 
 He reached up his hand and pulled her face down to 
 his and twisted a stray curl, flattering her oval cheek, 
 round his lean sensitive finger. The action and the atti- 
 tude were both painful to Josephine. It speaks volumes 
 for her restraint that she bore it patiently. 
 
 "You belong to me." 
 
 "Yes," she murmured faintly. 
 
 "Kiss me, Josephine. Put your arms round my neck. 
 One moment, only one moment." 
 
 "I love you," she piped. 
 
 The burning intensity of his voice and the miserable 
 insincerity of hers! Fancy being idolized by Napoleon 
 the young Napoleon with all his glory yet to come 
 isn't the bud sweeter than the rose? with every feat and 
 every dream caressed and made perfect by love of her 
 and getting in return such poor, painted lip-service ! She 
 
LOVE 253 
 
 would have been just as pleased (or more) to have been 
 kissed by M. Charles. It makes us contemptuous of the 
 whole sex. Charles was a little conceited coxcomb and a 
 coward at that, as you'll hear later on. Napoleon the 
 greatest genius that ever lived. He imi^st have penetrated 
 her thin disguise. Her love? Snow and sunshine snow 
 and rain snow and summer. In a trice it is melted and 
 the green trees know it no more ; a memory and a delusion 
 to their thirsty lips. If we could choose our own time 
 in life, what a lot we'd gain! No, we wouldn't. We'd 
 never move on. It is derogatory to be kicked out of a 
 good place. Competition is seldom polite. 
 
 He noticed nothing wrong. In his strong arms her soft 
 body stayless and tranquil set his pulses on fire. From 
 time immemorial her type had triumphed over men. Your 
 hard, cold, clever women seldom feed their senses, and 
 never their imagination. In a flood of joy he realized 
 her significance. She, and she alone, held the secret of 
 success. He could confidently trust her in all things. She 
 was the source and inspiration of all his desires. She 
 was his life. 
 
 It seems such impertinence to peep behind those closed 
 doors. We seem to hear the whistle of Napoleon's con- 
 tempt. He takes the fine thread of our narrative in his 
 ghostly fingers and snaps it off . . . her violets fall to 
 the ground, a little heap of dust. They vanish as if 
 they had never been. Weary, weary is an empty room 
 when you are longing for your lover. In a way we love 
 them both. We are dependent on them. It requires 
 courage to crowd even two or three lives, a few spectators, 
 properties, natural defects, and advantages, into the 
 meagre covers of a book or two. From the cradle upwards 
 we are faced by limitation. Deep down in his heart 
 Napoleon knew it. Even when he kissed Josephine he 
 knew she (or the gods) were hiding something from him. 
 He hadn't his full value. The years beyond are as the 
 flowers of the sea invisible to mortal eyes. 
 
254 LOVE 
 
 In juxtaposition to him she is simplicity itself. She 
 never questioned the deep. She was content to sail on 
 calm waters and have (if you will accept our metaphor) 
 the water-lilies brought to her. In a luxurious boat, if 
 you please, in perpetual fine weather. Not a bad pros- 
 pect. The elements of uncertainty in it? That she would 
 never consider. The Josephines of this world are all alike. 
 They blossom every year. If every tenth century, or so, 
 brings forth a Napoleon, let's say our prayers. Hate 
 him or love him none can deny his exclusiveness, we were 
 going to say uniqueness, but that does not fit in in the 
 thousand-year scheme. . . . So, he'll come again in 
 power and glory and dominion ; a firebrand on earth ; and, 
 alas, a monument of human delusion. We can't picture 
 the end without tears in our eyes. Hers was the happier 
 lot far, far. No rose is without a thorn, but we rather 
 fancy hers didn't pierce very deep. To the end she had 
 her compensations. If you remember, she died in a pink 
 silk robe, enchantingly made and trimmed with yards and 
 yards of rare Honiton. . . . 
 
 We can hear you exclaim, much as the irate playgoer at 
 Othello, "Wipe your pen on your sleeve and get on with 
 the story." 
 
 Can't you see our cunning? We don't want to tear 
 holes in Napoleon's most notable love-story. It is vile 
 presumption on our part. There is nothing on earth to 
 prevent you imagining what you like, except the limit of 
 your imagination. Ladies and gentlemen, we leave it to 
 you. 
 
 It is not playing the game. We know you rely on 
 our indiscretion. You expect a love-scene, penned accord- 
 ing to the time-honored rules of noveldom. You want to 
 be thrilled by Bonaparte's voice. You want to see him 
 exactly as he appeared when he kissed his beautiful Joseph- 
 ine for the first time. . . . 
 
 It was not the first time and she was not so very 
 beautiful. Love is the most becoming mirror in the world. 
 What true lover finds a flaw in his mistress's face? What 
 
LOVE 255 
 
 faithful admirer finds faults in his author's composition? 
 If any, they but embellish the whole. It is a delightful 
 look-out for everyone concerned. It may encourage care- 
 lessness. She may forget to powder her face and he to 
 polish his phrases. 
 
 Try as we will we'll never improve the picture. Napo- 
 leon, on that misty autumn evening more than a hundred 
 years ago, is a great representative of Youth, and his 
 darling Josephine a triumphant embodiment of eternal 
 woman. 
 
 No doubt she enjoyed her easy victory. It never kept 
 her awake. When at last Clementine did pay off the old 
 cab giving Cabby a few breezy names as extras for his 
 extortionate charges Josephine went up to her room 
 excited over the prospects of the night's entertainment. 
 A delightful assembly in the Arcades, open to all. There 
 were to be colored lanterns, bonfires, sugar comfits and 
 men in quantities. . . . 
 
 I don't say Napoleon was not equally astonishing. Two 
 minutes after Madame de Beauharnais' departure he gave 
 his undivided attention to a very dry piece of work 
 something to do with municipal by-laws, we fancy. An 
 enviable gift, not to be underrated. Fancy, we little 
 people, if we were able at a moment's notice to pack 
 aside our emotions (until wanted) and start a fresh sub- 
 ject, cool as the morning. This peculiar talent was worth 
 a deal to General Bonaparte, was valuable to the Emperor 
 of France and of solace to England's Prisoner. . . . 
 
 "I love you, Josephine. . . . How clever you are . . . 
 how sweet . . ." 
 
 We catch the tinkling echo of his poor little love- 
 phrases, swinging over a century of time and more. They 
 fill us with awe. They were so entirely ordinary. You 
 and I have listened to them, let us hope with more atten- 
 tion than Josephine did (who was going to a rowdy affair 
 in the Arcades). Yesterday, to-day and to-morrow 
 belong to life. And life has no age. Like the waves 
 of the sea are the centuries of time. Our great lover 
 
256 LOVE 
 
 died nearly no, more than a hundred years ago. You 
 cease to live, once your career is over. Ask the half-pay 
 officer the superannuated schoolmaster the old clergy- 
 man, who resigned at ninety-nine and a half. . . . 
 
 Poor Napoleon! Historians have fattened on you. 
 Novelists have taken to you greedily. Expert print- 
 sellers have made a living out of your counterfeit fea- 
 tures, at all prices. Dramatists find you useful. Poets 
 when at a loss accept you. (If there was a dash of 
 spirit in his ghost, surely he would long ago have jumped 
 at us and shaken us for our impudence? Stay. Or does 
 he like it? Does he attend First Nights? Does he read 
 Napoleonic literature wade through "romances" of his 
 love-affairs and statistics of his wars, all equally unreal?) 
 
 He looked round the room with a sharp, inquiring 
 glance. 
 
 "Are we alone?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do go and find out. That secretary of yours may 
 be listening to every word we say." 
 
 He verified his statement. The ante-room was a cavern 
 of darkness. Night had come upon them unawares. 
 
 "I must be going," she said. 
 
 "Stay." 
 
 He went into his bedroom. Constant had left a shaded 
 lamp burning on the dressing-table. The room was in 
 perfect order. His narrow camp-bed was covered with 
 a white counterpane. By his bedside stood a bottle of eau- 
 de-Cologne. On his toilet table lay a pair of ebony hair- 
 brushes, with his initials in silver. They had come that 
 morning. The general looked at them with pride. His 
 old brush was a very old one. 
 
 He went to the chest of drawers and took out a small 
 parcel. Then he hurried back to Josephine. 
 
 The candles burned very brightly. He had lit them in 
 her honor. He had taken the tinder-box from the mantel- 
 shelf and lit every one of them. He had done it almost 
 
LOVE 257 
 
 mechanically. In his heart a great light had blazed . . . 
 sign and token of fulfilment; she had come to him of her 
 own accord. He had opened the doors wide. 
 
 He came back into the room, closing the doors after 
 him. 
 
 "You have got to trust me, Josephine, now and always." 
 
 He couldn't look at her enough. He was sick and dizzy 
 with his own emotion. He couldn't honor her enough 
 in his own way, which was not strictly puritanical. He 
 was a passionate, headstrong lover, and she found his 
 kisses "very nice." (Oh, the irony of circumstance!) 
 Yet when he laid the curb on himself pretty heavily, she 
 ididn't appreciate his obvious sacrifice. "Don't worry," 
 said her eyes, slightly veiled. 
 
 She was amused at his passion. It was so easily kindled. 
 Terezia was utterly in the wrong. . . . 
 
 "We want the same thing," he said, crushing her against 
 his body. 
 
 She was passive in his embrace. She understood per- 
 fectly. No doubt she allowed him liberties. And if she 
 hadn't he would have taken them imperially. He was a 
 grasp-all, Bonaparte; at times relentless and cruel. His 
 good angel never invoked except in her presence was 
 not overworked. 
 
 The glow in his eyes was very faintly reflected in her 
 own. Women, don't you envy her? We would have 
 gloried in his kisses. We can say as much, now that he 
 is dead, without any grave loss of self-respect. 
 
 In that candle-lit parlor they are blissfully happy 
 let's include her after all, men and women run in couples. 
 They are happily, blissfully ignorant of their future. The 
 little lady in brown no more dreams of divorce-courts 
 than he of a barren island cast upon the sea. Whatever 
 he does, she never glimpses an imperial crown. . . . "Her 
 Majesty the Empress": there is a clang about that title 
 which appeals to every daughter of Eve. Had the Fates 
 come tripping down the room, whispering into her ear 
 
258 LOVE 
 
 such things, she would have repudiated them as silly 
 geese. 
 
 She nestled her head on his shoulder. "Nothing on 
 earth matters," she said, "except that you love me and 
 I love you. You'll never look at another woman?" 
 
 He shivered at her suggestion. "Never," he said, hor- 
 ror-struck. 
 
 He cooed over her unintelligible language. "Yes," she 
 said, "yes, it is very nice." 
 
 His eyes shone like stars. They even startled her. 
 
 In leaping cadences he told her of the advent of twelve 
 white horses and a gold coach. At some brilliant ceremony 
 where her figure was to outshine every other figure that 
 ever was, past, present and hereafter. As he talked he 
 clutched her arms as in a vice. As if he was holding her 
 back from a precipice in a high wind. Poor Josephine! 
 He quoted to her strange passages from Ossian (whoever 
 he was). Poor Josephine! Yet his personality pleased 
 her ... if she didn't see too much of him she'd like him 
 ever so well. 
 
 "What are you thinking of, darling?" 
 
 "Nothing particular. Twelve white horses that'll be 
 very smart." 
 
 His sombre eyes stared at her fiercely. 
 
 "You don't believe me! You think I'm telling lies!" 
 
 "Oh, no, dear." 
 
 "I'll love you until death parts us. I'll love you for 
 all eternity. Josephine, you are so wonderful, so won- 
 derful!" 
 
 That was better. "I believe you, sir," she said gently, 
 with the faintest little sigh in parenthesis. Such life-long 
 devotion would be tedious. Ah, well, he'd go to the 
 wars. . . . 
 
 " 'Tall as glittering rock,' " he quoted. " 'His spear- 
 is a blasted pine. His shield the rising moon. ... I 
 never yield to mortal man. Dark Cathullin shall be great 
 or dead. And the sound of their going was as the rushing 
 of a stream of foam when the thunder is travelling above, 
 
LOVE 259 
 
 and dark-brown night sits on half the hill. . . . Fly, king 
 of the ocean! Fly!' Isn't it beautiful? He's bound 
 to win . . . immortality. The sea is open to all birds. 
 The supreme effort of this world is the capture of beauty." 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 "Don't be too hard on me, Josephine." His voice 
 trembled. "I may fail. You may be marrying a poor 
 general who will always remain a poor general." He 
 hung his head. 
 
 "Nonsense !" she said briskly. "I wish you'd drink milk 
 or butter, or something. I want my poor general fatter." 
 
 How pleased he looked! He pressed her hands in 
 tender homage. 
 
 "Was there ever anyone so thoughtful and so practical 
 as you, Josephine!" 
 
 "They have not done half enough for you. And oh, 
 Bonaparte, get another horse." 
 
 He flushed painfully. The mounts placed at the service 
 of the general in command were notoriously bony and evil- 
 fed beasts the laugh of the town. He took it out of 
 them, too. Perpetually, sitting loosely in his saddle, he 
 was clattering round the town, seeing that his orders were 
 properly carried out. 
 
 "A thousand angels guard you. If I rise little Jose- 
 phine I'll get a thoroughbred. You wait. I'll be so 
 smart you won't know me." 
 
 "I don't like waiting." 
 
 "I hate it!" 
 
 "Hurry them up. M. Barras is a reasonable man. The 
 others don't count. Tallien will do anything for popu- 
 larity." She laughed gaily. "Sir, they are all jealous of 
 you ! It is most amusing. Only you must not let things 
 cool off." 
 
 "Do I?" he said. 
 
 "Not always. Sometimes you are a very forward young 
 man. Men ought to treat their careers as women, the 
 women they love." 
 
 He kissed her rapturously. 
 
260 LOVE 
 
 "You are the most beautiful and the cleverest woman 
 in all the world !" He sobered down. "With you I'll suc- 
 ceed. 'The strong winds blow.' " 
 
 "No, no more poetry, darling. I don't understand it. 
 It is very beautiful, but I don't understand it. It makes 
 my head ache. What is in that parcel?" 
 
 "Forgive me. I am a heartless monster." 
 
 "Never mind, general darling. Is it a present for me? 
 What can it be?" 
 
 "Guess." 
 
 "I am a poor hand at guessing. I'd rather look." 
 
 They looked together; and all the candles. Such an 
 exciting moment. Eagerly Bonaparte undid the parcel 
 and held out for her inspection a diminutive pair of ruby 
 velvet slippers, lined with whitest fur. 
 
 "How sweet!" said Josephine, who always took a pres- 
 ent nicely. 
 
 He tried them on for her. "Are they comfortable?" 
 
 "Just my size." 
 
 He held her feet in his hands. "I could look at them for 
 ever," he said devoutly. 
 
 And there she sat far back on the great sofa her 
 little feet flirting in their ruby velvet slippers edged with 
 whitest rabbit-skin. "Don't they look nice?" she said. 
 "Bonaparte, I am going to tell you a secret." 
 
 His curiosity was boundless. 
 
 She whispered some trifling little matter in his ear. She 
 clapped her hands. Incidentally she mentioned his lucky 
 number, probably some date or other. "You shan't have 
 it an hour earlier. A whole fortnight of dreams and hopes 
 deferred. I've no intention of spoiling you. . . ." 
 
 Her gentle voice, very soft and colorless, tinkled as a 
 low-toned bell. 
 
 He staggered to his feet as a drunken man reels. He 
 caught savagely at her breast, digging his fingers deep 
 into her tender flesh. He rocked her to and fro in an 
 ecstasy of joy. "It is destiny!" he said. "Destiny!" 
 
 And the little candles winked almost as if they approved 
 
 
LOVE 261 
 
 of everything. They knew she had mentioned his lucky 
 number. One or two guttered contentedly. One or two 
 prosaic ones nauseated by so much human folly, quietly 
 went out. 
 
 And in the darkness presently Napoleon kissed 
 Josephine. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 months sped on fiery wings. He lived in an atmos- 
 phere of work (boundless), ambition (boundless), and 
 love (boundless). It is only your small-holders who de- 
 light in fences. 
 
 Very likely all that happened later lay clipped and ready 
 in his fertile mind against certain dates. Why not? His 
 was such an exceptional mind, so roomy, so confident, 
 except when the clouds descended. Only a fool is always 
 an optimist. Days and days his head was bowed to the 
 storm at this date of degradation. The Army Council 
 or whoever it was had not seen fit to change his mount. 
 As a figure perilously close to fun General Street rode 
 round Paris on his sorry nags. Once or twice, you remem- 
 ber, he came to an encounter with the people. The story 
 of the stout market woman who accused him and his class 
 of riotous living (those parties in the Arcades and the 
 wanton waste of things including moral had circulated 
 freely) has come down to history. History now and again 
 takes to a human story. "If it comes to that, mother, 
 which of us is the fattest?" The good-humored retort 
 pleased the crowd. The startlingly thin general trotted 
 back, on his sorry nag, the victor. 
 
 If it came to that, he was generally victorious. Nothing 
 splendid or dashing, you understand, but he got his own 
 way. Night and day he worked. At vespers and at matins 
 he Wrote to her. . . . Working and dreaming he thought 
 of her. No cool, calculating touch here burning, idola- 
 trous passion. She was all in all to him his star, his 
 choice, his woman. We can't fathom any other reading. 
 To speak of his love for Josephine, or rather his marriage 
 to her, as an act of deliberate diplomacy, based on purely 
 material grounds, strikes us as calumny. His love-letters 
 
 262 
 
LOVE 263 
 
 prove the contrary. They are not reasonable letters, 
 artistically balanced to please a vain woman, but the out- 
 pourings of a starved heart. He feeds on her smiles ; 
 he treasures her least word; her little ring went with 
 him always. 
 
 We all know he bored her. She considered his love- 
 making ponderous, and his letters unreadable and far too 
 many. 
 
 Clementine, her invaluable maid, deplored her mistress's 
 want of interest in the little general. Clementine had a 
 warm spot in her heart for all lovers. General Bonaparte 
 was so palpably devoted to Madame Josephine so terribly 
 upset by a rebuff from the gentle widow and gentle women 
 can give knock-out blows that Clementine's sympathy 
 was all on his side. What if his letters were unreadable? 
 She need not have treated them as unpaid bills merely 
 waving them aside as so much waste-paper. . . . "Another 
 letter from the general? Oh, thank you, Clementine. Put 
 it down there." Clementine would put it "down there" 
 with a mighty frown on her pretty face, and Josephine 
 would continue placidly to read her novel or finish her 
 peach, or whatever she was doing. Maybe only thinking 
 how charmingly M. Charles danced the fandango, or what- 
 ever the dance a la mode was called. It is always very 
 much the same thing. Rain is rain and sun is sun eh? 
 Variable ? Yes, sir, but fundamentally the identical article. 
 And as to life spread it out over leagues or roll it up 
 in a tight corner, and you don't get much change out of 
 it. The clock ticks and the minutes march. 
 
 Aunt Fanny was a great comfort to her niece. She 
 encouraged her to do the right thing. To consider her 
 children and her own prospects. Also she backed the 
 general for all she was worth. 
 
 "You are lucky, Josephine," she would say, opening her 
 wide reticule and dropping in something handy. (The 
 widow's table was very well provided.) "I have every con- 
 fidence in General Bonaparte. His is an upright and 
 honest nature. And he loves you." 
 
264 LOVE 
 
 "Yes," Josephine would assent meekly. 
 
 "I don't say you are not honoring him, my dear," the 
 old lady would continue. "As far as family goes we have 
 the advantage, but mark my words, he has got the 
 brains " 
 
 "Yes," said Josephine again. "Do they matter?" 
 
 Aunt Fanny an authoress of repute, remember would 
 toss her head and say they mattered very much indeed. 
 
 Though, in his relationship to Josephine, we insist on 
 his love in the first instance, it would be folly to say he 
 was blind to every other consideration. He was proud 
 of her aristocratic connections. He would listen respect- 
 fully to Aunt Fanny's stories of the prowess and lineage 
 of the family Tacher de la Pagerie. And what a noble 
 man was Josephine's father though poor and a planter. 
 What a good woman was her mother. Never spent a 
 farthing on her dress. Aunt Fanny left it to conjecture 
 if her daughter, Josephine, had inherited the maternal 
 virtue. Also, though she spoke a good deal directly and 
 indirectly of blue blood, she never once mentioned black. 
 Which shows you she was human. 
 
 We would like to linger over these little intimate evenings 
 when the general, his sweetheart, and his best friend spent 
 a happy time together in the widow's pretty drawing- 
 room in the Rue Chantereine, but we haven't the time. 
 They would sit round the lamp, Aunt Fanny knitting and 
 talking, twenty to the dozen, in an amazing "patchwork" 
 old-world dress something that didn't spoil but which 
 looked "nice." Dear Aunt Fanny! she was always so 
 complacently assured of her own appearance. Josephine 
 would eat more chocolates than the stitches she put into 
 her work. Bonaparte would sit on the stiff little chair 
 he fancied, opposite the ladies, paying the profoundest 
 attention to both. He didn't talk much. However, now 
 and again he would surprise the ladies by his concise and 
 fluent speech. He'd spring to his feet, walk up and down 
 the room, and display extraordinary volubility. Josephine 
 would look at the clock. She knew from bitter experience 
 
 \ 
 
 
LOVE 265 
 
 that when once her shy young man lost his shyness, he'd 
 talk for ever. If nothing stopped him. We may be sure 
 that she did, sooner or later. "Good night, general. I'm 
 afraid I must interrupt you. . . . How very interesting! 
 It is time for us all to be in bed. You are so fearfully 
 energetic." 
 
 She could do what she liked with him, really. Twist 
 him round her little finger, as the saying is. Down the 
 streets he'd tramp that heavenly December-tide in the 
 dark and in the cold, wrapped in his glory. When he got 
 home he would very soon dismiss Constant if indeed he 
 stayed up for him at all and sit down at once and write 
 to her. 
 
 A real love-letter! Oh, thou poor ghost of a happy 
 moment, though it tears one's heart to say so, it were better 
 if thou were burnt alive, than kept to wither and fade, to 
 grow old and uninteresting, a relic of purely commercial 
 value. (What is the price of Napoleon's original love- 
 letters?) 
 
 She she never valued them, bless you? Madam take 
 care. Good heavens, what a scatterbrain fool! We see 
 her flinging them on the fire, and we imagine the wrath 
 of her heirs-at-law. 
 
 Maybe there were reasons for Josephine's hideous ex- 
 travagance. Some letters are wisest not kept. The fire 
 purifies them of all evil. Very likely that headstrong, 
 giddy young man of hers would in ardent language recall 
 and bless her for some indiscretion which good taste would 
 never have mentioned. Josephine did not set up to be 
 strong-minded. If she slipped very gracefully off the 
 moral plank into a sea all sunlit and golden which has 
 wetted a good many excellent intentions, who can blame 
 her? We believe that she was just sufficiently "good" to 
 be at times sorry for her naughtiness. There are heaps 
 of Josephines in this world, and they gain, on the whole, 
 rather an unfair amount of attention and forgiveness. Her 
 pretty little mouth was lined with excuses. Not that she 
 aired them it was so unnecessary. 
 
266 LOVE 
 
 The New Year of seventeen hundred and ninety-six 
 opened under the most propitious circumstances for both 
 our hero and heroine. As to Madame Tallien, she was 
 in great form and splendid confidence. And more out- 
 rageous than ever. She openly flaunted Tallien. Tallien 
 writhed and gibbered and plotted. To what purpose you 
 will hear later. His humility was only equalled by his 
 conceit. With an invisible tape in his trembling hand 
 the hand of a weak man he took Bonaparte's measure. 
 He found it beneath contempt. How the gods laughed! 
 The churches in France were shut, you remember, by 
 order but they congregated in the open, anywhere they 
 could gather under the stars, and shouted, "Wrong 
 wrong wrong!" "Eh?" said Tallien, his evil eyes squint- 
 ing terribly. Naturally he never saw the gods, though he 
 heard their voices. 
 
 Josephine sat leaning over the fire one January evening 
 she was a chilly little mortal with the general's last 
 love-letter in her hand, screening her face from the heat. 
 
 The gentle widow as other gentle widows have done and 
 will do was amusing herself by comparing her impetuous 
 and accepted lover with other candidates for her favor. 
 Needless to say in many points he failed to score. In 
 comparison M. Barras was the mirror of fashion and the 
 soul of discretion. M. Barras would never have written 
 a thing like that. Unconsciously the letter in her hand 
 quivered, whether in protest or admiration we are not bound 
 to say. M. Barras' love-letters were the genteelest pro- 
 ductions possible of an empty mind. From their letters 
 was but a step to their conversation. Every word M. Paul 
 Barras had addressed to her was perfectly intelligible. The 
 general's speech was painfully involved truth to tell, often 
 she never knew what he was talking about . . . not that 
 it mattered. 
 
 Josephine didn't believe in miracles nor greatly credit 
 the stars with anything except a feeble light. To say 
 they guided her destiny was nonsense. . . . she hid a 
 
LOVE 267 
 
 yawn behind her letter and sat back in her deep pink 
 velvet chair, and shifted the position of her feet on the 
 fleecy white rug. She had just bought new lamp-shades 
 ... so pretty all pink silk and painted medallions. Out- 
 side the wind howled. They said snow was falling. The 
 pink silk curtains were drawn. 
 
 She leaned pensively forward and smiled into the heart 
 of the fire such a good one. Clementine had built it up 
 from little sticks and cedar logs. Behind her head was 
 a green rush basket of lilies-of-the-valley forced, poor 
 dears, but a generous present from dear M. Charles. He 
 must have paid a fortune for them. The Maison Henri 
 was so expensive. 
 
 "I wonder," she thought, "what his people are like? 
 Paul tells me the sisters are handsome. I wonder if there 
 is any truth in the story that his mother Letitia, isn't 
 that the name? rides about on a fat donkey, with two 
 big flagons of oil in the saddle-pockets, selling it in small 
 quantities at a profit? It does not sound ladylike. I do 
 hope they are not disreputable. I really know nothing 
 about him, of course, except that he is a soldier who has 
 made some little stir for himself. It is a shame to forget 
 Toulon. Surely getting rid of the English was cleverer 
 than scattering a handful of our own people? People 
 never keep to the truth. ... It is a great thing in his 
 favor that they are jealous of him." 
 
 Then she thought of poor dear Alexandre, surrounded 
 by the spirits of his ancestors. As far as family went, 
 her first husband was irreproachable. They hadn't got 
 on together, but that was quite another thing. With a 
 sigh Josephine came to the conclusion that you can't expect 
 everything in this life. And that it is no use complaining. 
 Also that it is our bounden duty to make the best of 
 circumstances. 
 
 She reached out her arm and touched the grey-worsted 
 bell-rope. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am?" 
 
 "If the general calls to-night, Clementine, I'm not receiv- 
 
268 LOVE 
 
 ing. Remind him that he is lunching here to-morrow. I 
 feel rather tired, and I'll go to bed.* 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 Every tone in Clementine's voice was eloquent of dis- 
 approval. She just hated having to give that heartless 
 message to General Bonaparte. She knew very well how 
 he would receive it. He'd turn white as a sheet the joyful 
 anticipation in his beautiful eyes wiped clean out. He'd 
 stumble down the stairs without a word. It was God's 
 mercy if he didn't fall dead at her feet! 
 
 Clementine put a log on the fire and did not look at 
 Madame. Very well for her to sit over the fire in a pink 
 velvet chair, in a blue satin dress, eating sugared almonds 
 and give her inhuman orders she hadn't to carry 
 them out. 
 
 Not at home, indeed! How often during the past 
 months hadn't Clementine almost banged the hall door in 
 the face of the doomed general rather than tell him a 
 lie, and save him from the ignominy of hearing madame's 
 silvery laugh and the laugh of other people too. 
 
 Josephine had told Clementine that the general was a 
 tyrant. Quite early in their engagement he had looked 
 evilly on her intimacy with the Talliens. Lately he had 
 forbidden her to go to La Chaumiere. 
 
 "I don't approve of Madame Tallien," he had said. "She 
 is not fit society for my future wife. . . ." 
 
 Hoity-toity, what airs and graces for a penniless 
 Nobody ! Terezia had laughed as well as anyone at General 
 Bonaparte's absurd pretensions. And to show her truly 
 Christian spirit she continued to send him cards for her 
 parties. And he continued to stay away. In her heart 
 of hearts Josephine was rather pleased at her lover's 
 firmness. "My darling Terezia," she would laugh, "what- 
 ever have you done to him !" Terezia would look volumes 
 not at all in "darling Josephine's" taste. Really, that 
 woman's conceit was outrageous. 
 
 The front bell pealed through the house. 
 
LOVE 269 
 
 "There he is," said Clementine, her hand on her heart. 
 "See him only for five minutes, ma'am?" 
 
 "Not one," said Josephine, with almost Bonaparte's 
 obstinacy. 
 
 The bell rang again. Clementine ran to answer it. Jose- 
 phine ran to the window and peeped through the blinds. 
 Fortune got up from the hearthrug to stretch himself 
 and give a suspicious bark. Fortune did not love the 
 general. He was too clever a dog not to realize that 
 Bonaparte was his rival, though even he did not realize 
 his importance. Bonaparte when Josephine was not 
 looking would kick at him in defense of his calves. For- 
 tune would jump at him, trying to get a bite in some- 
 where. 
 
 The general, thick in the clouds, marched home again, 
 in a violent rage. There is nothing like baulked love for 
 making us feel desperate. We rather fancy he covered 
 his thumbed translation of Ossian with scalding tears 
 the tears of bitter disappointment. She didn't love him 
 . . . she didn't care a button for him. She deliberately 
 insulted him. He'd be damned before he went to her 
 lunch to-morrow, probably to meet a party of silly fools ! 
 . . . You can fancy what an exhibition he made of 
 himself. You can also be positive that nothing on earth 
 would have prevented him going back to her house to-mor- 
 row, a humble, patient, nay, grateful lover. During the 
 courting seasons the females particularly the selfish 
 ones make all the scoring. 
 
 The lamplight fell on her portrait a little water-color 
 sketch by a rising artist. She had given it to him as a 
 birthday present on his twenty-sixth birthday. It was 
 a flattering likeness. The artist had to a nicety caught 
 the lady's expression, given her a complexion of cream 
 and roses and a neck a swan might envy. Her short- 
 waisted dress was of white satin, girdled with narrow blue 
 ribbon. . . . Just as he had seen her that first time, float- 
 ing as an angel of beauty through the crowded reception- 
 rooms of the Luxembourg. He had gazed and gazed his 
 
270 LOVE 
 
 heart away. It is not only our imagination or his but 
 a little bit of all truth. Which is so precious. 
 
 To-night he was passionately sure of his case. Such 
 love as his was unique. In all the history of love he 
 stood alone he and his bleeding heart . . . they all say 
 that. 
 
 Something whips us into making horrid suggestions, 
 mean little asides. Why can't we take love as it comes 
 from the perennial stream flowing from the fount of 
 Eternity for our necessities? 
 
 Her picture evoked a thousand fond recollections. He 
 recalled her at her most bewitching, tranquil moments 
 a very glory of a woman, soft, acquiescent, warm. 
 
 "Josephine!" he called. "Josephine!" 
 
 Only a short half-hour back he had sat at this very table, 
 confident of his success. Through her he would attain the 
 unattainable. Without her he was lost. He had no initia- 
 tive to continue ; victory was valueless. Ambition a howl- 
 ing mockery. Death was the only solution of misery. He 
 would die that she might remember. Sacrifice a single tear 
 to his memory. . . . 
 
 Very probably he labored through these imaginings, 
 believing them to be his last word and testament. Remem- 
 ber, she had tried him sorely. 
 
 She was as necessary to him as food and drink as 
 light and air as recognition and music. Her faintest 
 caress fanned his purpose to flames. 
 
 The unhappy young man knelt on the floor beside the 
 big sofa and buried his face on the hard pillow where her 
 head had rested sacred pillow! A faint, subtle perfume 
 affected his senses to torture. He had no difficulty in 
 conjuring her actual presence. By the sheer strength 
 of his will he held her in his arms frail, white, living 
 a rose of a woman! 
 
 Here she had sat in all her inimitable grace here he 
 had knelt worshipping at her feet. He crushed the cushion 
 in his arms. His stormy eyes filled with light. Hope 
 returned as a bird on the wing. 
 
LOVE 271 
 
 We only know elation who understand depression. One 
 is the natural outcome of the other. 
 
 "Josephine," he whispered. "In my triumph you shall 
 triumph. All I have is yours. I love you! I want you! 
 Precious " 
 
 He rose and paced the room. His face was haggard 
 as the face of one who has endured physical pain. For 
 an hour or more he strode up and down the room 
 keeping to the strip of matting stretching from door to 
 door. His mind was aflame, changing from grave to gay. 
 At one moment he doubted her, the next he was raptur- 
 ously assured of her fidelity, supported by substantial 
 facts (fighter than air). Some incident, some little word 
 would again upset his clear conviction. He had only him- 
 self to blame. He had lived in a fool's paradise. In a 
 revulsion of feeling he apostrophized her in the most 
 scathing words at his command all of which Josephine, 
 asleep in her comfortable bed, under her flowered silk 
 quilt, was happily unconscious of. The general's temper 
 at a distance never worried her, which attitude towards 
 life saves us infinite amount of trouble. 
 
 If the pretty widow contrary to fate had wearied 
 of her exacting Bonaparte, and in a spirit of pique or 
 pride had married someone else say Hoche or Coulain- 
 court both her devoted admirers would he have survived 
 his loss? We rather fancy he would have got his shattered 
 dignity mended as soon as possible and looked out for 
 and found Number Two in no while. We are generally 
 true to ourselves. He loved Josephine, but he loved Ambi- 
 tion better. Pacing his chamber, that wild winter night 
 it was snowing heavily he would have repudiated our 
 suggestions as utterly false and heartless both wrong to 
 himself and to her. . . . Josephine his Josephine . . . 
 who could not deny him anything! Then again the ham- 
 mer of Justice would come down in vengeance and break 
 to pieces such precious truth. He saw Clementine some- 
 what crestfallen refusing him admittance to the House 
 
272 LOVE 
 
 of Dreams. Josephine from her wealth had sent him 
 away a beggar. 
 
 Trembling he sat down at his table, and wrote to her. 
 Under excess of emotion, even good handwriting grows 
 irregular. We are sure his grew from bad to worse. Not 
 that it mattered. You see, she would never take the pains 
 of deciphering his effusions, in any case. At most she 
 picked out a sentence or two. As we know, some of them 
 offended her. 
 
 ". . . My beautiful Josephine, you are as far removed 
 from me as the stars. Yet I love you tenderly. You are 
 never absent from my heart. Waking and sleeping you 
 fill my thoughts to the extinction of everything else (which 
 was not true). I know I have nothing to offer you, 
 nothing but my eternal love and the devotion of a lifetime. 
 Darling, darling, as if I did not know that a throne itself 
 wouldn't tempt you to sacrifice your heart to worldly ambi- 
 tion. If needs must, I will step out of your life. Sorceress, 
 recall me ! In whatever corner of the world I am across 
 oceans and deserts your beloved voice would reach my 
 ears. It is music in my ears. If needs must, I will break 
 the most wonderful love-story in the world. What am 
 I but a slave, a slave born to obey his queen? I adore 
 you. I love you more than words can say. But there is 
 a limit to human endurance. You have made me suffer 
 agonies to-night. For the first time I realize (it was not 
 the first time) that you cannot love me. That you despise 
 me. Oh, Josephine! do you think I am made of stone, to 
 be trampled upon without effect? Can you not see my 
 bleeding heart lying at your feet those little feet I have 
 so often kissed? Nothing can alter my devotion. I'd 
 rather be your husband than Emperor of France! Why 
 did you send me away to-night? Cruel Josephine! For- 
 give me, darling. I've no shadow of right to blame you. 
 Yesterday you were very kind, a real angel of sweetness. 
 Perhaps it is best that we never meet again? I am a 
 vulgar brute without any restraint. When I see you I 
 
LOVE 273 
 
 go clean off my head. You set me on fire. There is no 
 obstacle between us there is nothing but yourself your 
 wonderful, wonderful self. Precious, precious Josephine, 
 I kiss you fondly. NAPOLEON." 
 
 Constant took it round the first thing in the morning. 
 The city was white with snow and glorious with sunshine. 
 The stillness was remarkable, and the air crystal-clear. 
 
 "Good morning, citoyenne" said Constant, stamping 
 the snow from off his boots. 
 
 "Good morning," answered Clementine cheerfully, who 
 was busy brushing down the door-steps of No. 6, Rue de 
 Chantereine. That invaluable Clementine could do every- 
 thing not only well but expeditiously. It was a pleasure 
 to watch her work, and her smiling, good-natured face. 
 That baker's young man of hers knew a good thing when 
 he proposed to her. What a wife to get ! How spotless 
 she'd keep his house how quiet his babies how contented 
 himself and how good his puddings would be! 
 
 She took the letter Constant handed to her. 
 
 "Poor general!" she said. "How did he sleep?" 
 
 "The general never went to bed at all, mam'selle." 
 
 "T'ja! men are fools!" said Clementine. 
 
 Constant shook his head, not wishing to commit him- 
 self one way or another. 
 
 Clementine put the general's letter on the tray, when 
 she brought Josephine her early cup of chocolate. 
 
 "Another one?" said Josephine, sitting up in bed in a 
 very becoming night-cap. "Draw back the blinds, Cle- 
 mentine." 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 * "O ABY, come and look at the snow," called Josephine 
 *-* to her daughter. 
 
 Hortense de Beauharnais was a pretty, fair-haired, fine- 
 grown child between ten and eleven, whom her mother 
 as fond mothers are apt to do particularly with their 
 youngest-born refused to believe would ever outgrow her 
 first pair of shoes. When Clementine and Hortense insisted 
 to the contrary, Josephine merely shook her head and said 
 she would not have it. She wanted her baby always, 
 always. Hortense, who was a nice-tempered, affectionate 
 child, was devoted to her mother. She invariably sobbed 
 when she had to go back to school, that dreaded school at 
 Passy under Madame Campan's Argus eye. Madame 
 Campan, who had had a minor post at the court of Marie- 
 Antoinette, was an authority on deportment and social 
 matters. The very best young ladies passed through her 
 hands. No doubt kind M. Barras paid Hortense's fees. 
 Josephine could not have squeezed them out of her choco- 
 late-box. As we have said before, Josephine had a sweet 
 way of accepting presents. The return she made her 
 friends no doubt amply repaid them for their generosity. 
 
 The sun was shining into the widow's charming rooms 
 touching up the green-and-white walls of her dressing- 
 room and incidentally her nut-brown hair. Madame was 
 seated at her dressing-table a little gem of its kind, 
 in painted satinwood. She was looking earnestly at her 
 reflection in the silver-framed mirror. Josephine had had 
 quite an experience that morning. For the first time 
 she had had her hair dressed by M. Duplon, a promising 
 young artist, warmly recommended by Madame Tallien. 
 "He is a treasure," said Terezia. "Do try him. I am 
 
 274 
 
LOVE 273 
 
 sure you will be delighted with him." "Is he expensive?'* 
 asked Josephine, who occasionally remembered her poverty. 
 Tere/ia had shrugged her matchless shoulders. "Ask him," 
 she'd said. 
 
 Josephine did for a wonder. She was very pleased 
 with her appearance. "Charming, M. Duplon. What do 
 I owe you?" 
 
 "We will come to terms later, madame," said Duplon 
 bowing. "All I want is to give you satisfaction." Duplon 
 smiled. Duplon was conceited. Duplon was an artist. 
 
 "Thank you," said Josephine. "To-morrow at ten, 
 please . . ." 
 
 Now, looking at herself in the mirror, she decided she 
 would employ him always. Poor clumsy old Fizzlepate 
 was not a patch on him. 
 
 Josephine's kind heart was really full of delusions. 
 There is Hortense, a dear sweet thing, but no more a 
 baby than you or I. There is Bonaparte, whom she per- 
 sisted in considering as a rather foolish young man. She 
 called him "jumpy." So he was, worse than a kangaroo, 
 a kangaroo with a spotted velvet fur coat yellow spots 
 on blue that is to say, a most extraordinary kangaroo. 
 You couldn't call Bonaparte commonplace, unless you 
 were as mad as a hatter, and as short-sighted as an owl 
 in broad daylight. Madame's poverty was also so very 
 comfortably concealed. Of course there is the story of 
 her two chemises one on and one off and that invalu- 
 able Clementine washing, ironing, patching ... it sounds 
 unbelievable or a slovenly state of things. I despise a 
 woman who lays all her pennies on her hats and goes in 
 "rags" beneath. Besides, we know Madame Josephine 
 was sensitive, refined, you might say extravagant all 
 through. If I had time I'd go to Clementine and ask her 
 to tell me the truth. 
 
 When Josephine came out of prison M. Barras had 
 paid the fiddler, which is a homely expression, meaning 
 the kind gentleman kept her ''until her affairs were regu- 
 lated." Why! there's more in a phrase than we can pos- 
 
276 LOVE 
 
 sibly say or even understand. The proudest stomach can 
 swallow a loan. Josephine was not very proud. But 
 sweet oh, my dears, charming! 
 
 "Mamma," said Hortense, at the window. "There is 
 the general waiting outside the gate." 
 
 So he was, leaning on the little iron gate and looking 
 at the little plot of earth under the snow where, pres- 
 ently, the crocuses would come up and show the way to the 
 hyacinths and the early tulips. The little two-storied 
 house long since pulled down to give place to modern 
 improvements was detached, surrounded by a wee gar- 
 den. It was originally in the possession of Talma ; rented 
 by Josephine, and soon after her A^cond marriage it was 
 bought by General Bonaparte as a little extra wedding- 
 present for his bride. At that time he would have thought 
 nothing of giving her the world, if it had been in his 
 power to do so. And greedy little woman she would 
 have thought nothing of taking it. "So nice," she would 
 have said to Terezia. We rather fancy Terezia would 
 have been very much annoyed. People who make "corners" 
 in anything are generally looked upon as robbers. 
 
 "Why doesn't he come in?" said Josephine. "It must 
 be dreadfully cold outside. What has he got on, child?" 
 
 "His grey coat, mamma. And his three-cornered hat. 
 He is looking up and smiling." 
 
 "Ridiculous creature! Clementine where are you? 
 Come and fasten my dress. I can't manage it. Where is 
 my scarf? Oh, dear, where do all my things get to?" 
 
 Clementine hurried into the room the picture of neat- 
 ness in her clean white apron over her colored dress. A 
 little cap on her head high-heeled red leather shoes and 
 striped green stockings. You'd never think she'd been 
 sweeping the snow off the front steps, dusting, polishing 
 putting every bee that ever lived to shame by her indus- 
 try. She and cook between them ran the widow's estab- 
 lishment. 
 
 "I do hope we will have a good lunch," said Josephine, 
 adding a touch of powder to her throat. 
 
LOVE 277 
 
 "There's an omelette, ma'am, and a lovely vol-au-vent 
 champignons, and stewed pears in syrup 1 
 
 "That is nice. The general likes pears." 
 
 "He never sees what he eats. I never saw such a gentle- 
 man for being " 
 
 "Now my scarf, and I'm ready. There's the bell, 
 Clementine. Where is his letter? I meant to put it away. 
 I'll read it when I have time. Hortense, my precious 
 angel, let me look at you. Don't say you have grown 
 out of your new frock! It is most disheartening having 
 children." 
 
 Josephine kissed Hortense. Hand in hand they went 
 downstairs into the drawing-room to receive the general. 
 Josephine wore a simple little woollen dress in a pretty 
 grey shade. The dress was nothing the scarf was every- 
 thing! Wide, long, soft, of a vivid emerald-green, em- 
 broidered all over or nearly so with a foaming multi- 
 colored Chinese design too wonderful for words ! There 
 were birds on it and flowers God forbid that some un- 
 fortunate creature had sacrificed her eyesight over the 
 business. 
 
 Josephine sat down on the music-bench, in a very grace- 
 ful attitude, the scarf floating around her. Her arms 
 encircling her little girl, much as Madame Lebrun has 
 painted her self-portrait with child. 
 
 "Darling," said Josephine, "I do hope he will be in a 
 good temper. You'll be good, won't you? Don't spill 
 on the clean cloth, if you can help it ; and you must wear 
 your feeder." 
 
 "Yes, mamma. I don't want to, though." 
 
 "Baby !" Josephine raised a warning finger. "If you 
 are naughty, you'll go back to school to-morrow, instead 
 of a whole extra week with me. Think of poor dear 
 Eugene working like a nigger- " 
 
 The general bounded up the stairs, flung open the door 
 and was immediately enveloped in Josephine's smile. 
 
 "So nice to see you," she said. 
 
 "Thank you, madam," said the general in a strangled 
 
278 LOVE 
 
 voice. Truth to tell you, he had utterly forgotten the 
 existence of Hortense. The little girl's presence was a 
 shock to him. He sat down awkwardly on the repeated 
 invitation of his hostess on the little high-backed sofa by 
 the fireplace. His hair looked particularly lank and un- 
 brushed. There were black shadows under his eyes and 
 dejection in his voice as he made some inarticulate re- 
 joinder to the widow's remarks. 
 
 "I was so sorry I could not see you last night." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 "Hortense, go and kiss the general. You are great 
 friends, aren't you?" 
 
 "Yes," said the general mournfully. 
 
 The little girl approached him shyly. Her new dress 
 was a high-waisted affair in checked pink-and-white silk. 
 Her beautiful hair was tied back with a pink ribbon to 
 match. 
 
 "Good morning," said the general. "I hope you are 
 quite well." 
 
 "Quite well, thank you, sir." 
 
 Josephine re-arranged her scarf. 
 
 "We were afraid of mumps. But it is nothing. I am 
 so glad," she said. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, madam?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing. Baby, run and ask Clementine if lunch 
 isn't soon ready. You must be famished, general." 
 
 He looked at her sorrow, reproach, unutterable long- 
 ing in his eyes. His expression merely annoyed her. Of 
 course, she was in for a "scene" again. 
 
 The color left his lips. He looked almost ugly, sitting 
 bolt upright on the sofa. 
 
 "Bonaparte " only a breath only a gesture of in- 
 finite forgiveness and comprehension. Hortense's feet 
 ran down the corridor. . . . 
 
 He crossed the room swiftly to her side. He pulled 
 her up from her seat as you'd pull up a daisy without the 
 least consideration. He embraced her fiercely. "Joseph- 
 ine , t , Josephine!" he repeated exultantly. "I could 
 
LOVE 279 
 
 not give you up. I lied to you last night. I love you! 
 I love you!" His hands went all over her face, slipped 
 to her shoulders fondled her arms. She bore it like a 
 heroine. She even remembered to thank him for the letter 
 which she had not read. 
 
 "Why do you doubt your little Josephine?" she said. 
 "Cruel man." 
 
 Their lips met. "I've been in hell," he said. 
 
 "Come back to heaven," she replied demurely. "Only 
 do take care of my hair. It has got to last all day." 
 
 He kissed her rapturously, giddy with delight. Or was 
 it want of food? He had not eaten anything for twenty- 
 four hours. 
 
 Josephine, seizing her opportunity, moved gracefully to 
 the polished round table and pretended to re-arrange some 
 red tulips in a cut crystal vase. 
 
 "A lovely color," she said. "Don't you love the snow? 
 White and red go so well together." 
 
 "Madame est servie," said Clementine, from the door- 
 way. 
 
 They sat down at the narrow table, Josephine at the 
 top with her back to the light the general and Hor- 
 tense on either hand. 
 
 It was not what you'd call a pretty table. The napery, 
 though white, was coarse. The china thick. Opposite 
 the general stood an undecanted bottle of wine. Further 
 down the table was a yellow jug of milk; a dish of apples ; 
 a big butter-dish with the butter passed through a mould 
 representing a hare, with long ears, lying down. It was 
 Hortense's special privilege to get the ears. Josephine 
 spoilt her dreadfully. Though she insisted on her wear- 
 ing her feeder. Hortense blushed rosy-red, but made no 
 further protest. The general unfolded his enormous nap- 
 kin folded like a priest's mitre and laid it across his 
 knees. 
 
 Clementine handed round the omelette. 
 
 "Try these crayfish," said Josephine, pushing across 
 to her guest one of the several little plates on the table. 
 
280 LOVE 
 
 "And radishes! Isn't that a treat in January? Do you 
 know, general, that to-morrow is Twelfth Night? Aren't 
 you excited?" 
 
 "Very," he said, not raising his eyes from his plate. 
 
 "You are eating nothing," said Josephine. 
 
 He looked up, startled, laughed and, to Hortense's 
 astonishment, made two bites of his fish cutlet. In the 
 second he had finished his plate and was eating up his roll 
 as if famished. 
 
 "What will it bring us?" 
 
 "What?" His voice was as a boimWhell. 
 
 She lifted her scarf, and answered in the same mild 
 voice : "The coming year, dear. This wonderful year. It 
 is going to be wonderful." 
 
 At that he smiled wholly happy. He left what re- 
 mained of his bread alone and looked at her ecstatically. 
 Her shawl glowed on the back of the tall mahogany chair 
 like a trail of light. . . . 
 
 "It suits you," he said. 
 
 She smiled in her turn. "It is always a tiny virtue to 
 do credit to your clothes," she said. 
 
 "Some wine, sir?" said Clementine at his elbow. 
 
 "Eh?" He looked up at her suspiciously. 
 
 "Wine, sir?" 
 
 "Thank you ; a little." He drank his glass at a gulp. 
 "Do you like fairy-stories, Hortense?" he asked, leaning 
 over the narrow table. 
 
 "Very much, citizen general." 
 
 "My stories always end happily. Every difficulty 
 smoothed away. That is how it ought to be." 
 
 "Of course," said Josephine, helping herself to the 
 pudding. 
 
 " 'Each hero is a pillar of darkness ; the sword a beam 
 of fire in his hand. The field echoes from wing to wing, 
 as a hundred hammers that rise on the red son of the 
 furnace,' " he quoted. 
 
 Josephine looked at Clementine for sympathy, prob- 
 ably. Was there ever such an incomprehensible man? 
 
LOVE 281 
 
 "One day I'll read it to you " 
 
 "Oh, sir, you have upset the gravy on the " 
 
 "Don't make remarks, Hortense," said Josephine. "In- 
 stead of telling you beautiful stories, the general will 
 scold you for being a rude little girl." 
 
 He smiled at Hortense, a very reassuring smile. 
 
 "It is quite the other way about. Once and for always 
 I have given her permission to keep me in order." 
 
 "If I'm not afraid." 
 
 "Afraid? Afraid of me?" He clutched the edge of the 
 table. And I am sorry to say he crumpled the cloth. 
 
 "Not really. I might pretend." 
 
 "We all pretend." 
 
 Josephine wiped her mouth. She was not listening, 
 really. Nor did she mind in the least that he had ruined 
 the cloth. Nor did Clementine. Though she would have 
 to wash it. Clementine was devoted to the "little general." 
 If anyone spoke contemptuously of him in her presence, 
 she very nearly boxed their ears. Needless to say, that 
 astute baker's young man of hers was a warm partisan of 
 the general. "There's grit in him," he said. "And more 
 than that, talent." Which was a great compliment. 
 
 "We are all capable of great things and great sacrifices," 
 he said. 
 
 Hortense blushed. She decided she would give Stella 
 that bit of muslin for her doll's petticoat. Stella was the 
 youngest pupil at Madame Campan's elegant school. 
 
 "As for your mother," he said, "I'll stake my life on 
 her happiness. We'll cover her in jewels and in lace and 
 in love." He waved his hand. "Enough to satisfy any 
 fairy princess that ever was." 
 
 Josephine gave a little shiver and swept her shawl 
 around her. "It is cold, even here. When you speak like 
 that you frighten me, sir. Isn't it naughty to promise 
 what you know you can never perform?" 
 
 He laughed boisterously. "She does not believe in us, 
 Hortense! Doesn't believe in me!" He laid his hand on 
 Josephine's. "My all in all," he whispered. "If I do go 
 
282 LOVE 
 
 abroad which isn't likely I'll be fancying that you are 
 in trouble and alone. Whichever way it works it is for 
 the best." 
 
 Josephine didn't see it in that light at all. 
 
 "That is not very ambitious of you, Bonaparte," she 
 said. "When you marry you must think of the bread and 
 butter." 
 
 There was something very fascinating in Josephine's 
 little attempts at prudence. You'd think from her man- 
 ner that she spent her life in watching the family pot 
 boil. That she got up every morning to go to market. 
 And that every Saturday regularly she added to her little 
 nest-egg, saved from her housekeeping money, against a 
 rainy day. 
 
 He looked at her reverently. 
 
 "Darling," he said, "you shall do exactly as you please." 
 
 Which was foolish of him. Even Josephine thought 
 that. She had nothing to do with the Italian command, 
 the coveted Italian command. Only last night or the 
 night before, was it? at the Bourriennes' dinner, Cam- 
 baceres had told her it was a big golden price for the best 
 boy. Cambaceres fancied his own rather ponderous wit. 
 However, there was truth in what he said. She looked 
 quite gravely at Bonaparte. Was he the best boy? Or 
 would not the cleverest boy do as well? 
 
 His thoughts had travelled leagues away from the 
 prosaic lunch-table. For a second or two Josephine did 
 not matter. She was inconceivably small, overshadowed 
 by the Alps, lost on the fertile plains of Lombardy, hid- 
 den in the enthusiastic crowds at Milan . . . for two sec- 
 onds he ruled the world and commanded the respect of men 
 and the sanction of the gods. 
 
 No wonder even she respected his silence. Confronted 
 by abnormal forces we are speechless. 
 
 Haven't we said before that all that happened lay 
 slipped and ready in his mind, each in its tidy pigeon-hole? 
 We believe it. ... The shell of man is dust the spirit 
 of him eternal flame. There is something inspiring in the 
 
LOVE 283 
 
 idea like seeing the sun through the clouds, the herald 
 of a perfect daj. 
 
 Long after we have ceased to be, 
 The sun will light in hush and tree 
 And shine unchanged. 
 
 They are not our lines. We read them the other day, 
 in some book or other. We quote them, with apologies 
 to the poet. They struck us at the time as not only 
 sincere but good . . . and true. 
 
 Though a million footsteps have ascended and descended 
 the same track, there is always some stone waiting to be 
 discovered. 
 
 Josephine's fingers traced a pattern on her coarse home- 
 spun cloth. 
 
 "If you are ready, general, let us go into the next 
 room." 
 
 He assured her gravely, "I am quite ready." 
 
 Watch her passing through the folding-doors swaying 
 as a flower sways to the wind and admire her grace. She 
 has not much imagination. She does not appreciate the 
 general half as much as he deserves. In her heart of 
 hearts she is a little frightened of him. 
 
 On the polished table, resting against the base of the 
 crystal vase of tulips, Clementine had placed a note. 
 
 "From Citoyen Barras," said Josephine. "I wonder 
 why he is writing to me?" 
 
 The general's mouth twitched. A fool's paradise ex- 
 clusive to lovers has many doors. He suffered agonies 
 of jealousy as his darling leisurely broke the seal and read 
 the contents of her letter. 
 
 He sat down and waited, Hortense, at a signal from 
 Clementine, had been admitted into the pantry her 
 paradise. 
 
 "Leave 'em alone," said Clementine. 
 
 "May I wash the cups?" 
 
 "If you are very careful. . . ." 
 
284 LOVE 
 
 Josephine came across to the general. She bent down 
 and pinched his ear, in imitation of a mannerism of his 
 when pleased. 
 
 "No I don't want a kiss. I want to know your mind. 
 Do you still want the Italian command? Answer me, 
 sir, yes or no?" 
 
 She stood on tiptoe, waving the open letter over her 
 head. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do you deserve it?" 
 
 "Josephine!" 
 
 "You are not half excited enough." 
 
 She laughed and handed him the letter. "Read it," 
 she said. "Oh, you lucky, lucky man!" 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 MBARRAS' letter was a masterpiece of brevity. 
 "Italy is his," he wrote. Two initials scrawled in 
 the left-hand corner, and the date. 
 
 "When do you start?" said Josephine eagerly. "You 
 have got to thank me, sir, for much." 
 
 His face was a mask, colder than the air outside. It 
 damped her joy pretty considerably. 
 
 "You'll go round the first thing this afternoon to the 
 Luxembourg and talk it over." 
 
 "T"j&/" he said. "I am glad it amuses you, madam." 
 
 He was bitterly disappointed. He knew the negative 
 value of loose statements. Barras' letter was quite un- 
 official. Probably it had been penned after a good dinner 
 or very likely after a successful interview with Madame 
 Tallien. Sometimes the source is very far from the spring. 
 
 "No matter, Josephine. I thank you. I thank you 
 from my heart, darling." 
 
 "Oh!" she said. "If there is anything on earth I hate, 
 it is politics ! Why do people fight at all? I see no reason 
 why you should go to Italy and kill people, or very prob- 
 ably get killed yourself." 
 
 His lip trembled. "Then, madam, you will be able to 
 speak of your 'poor dear Napoleon,' who was foolish 
 enough to believe in you . . . and other things." 
 
 "Don't be cross ! It must mean something. Barras is 
 the soul of precaution " 
 
 "Not with women." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean, sir." 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "It isn't polite." 
 
 They sat opposite each other in chilly silence. True, 
 
 285 
 
286 LOVE 
 
 his nerves were on edge. His jealousy quite overcame his 
 disappointment. No doubt "poor dear Alexandra" the 
 gentle widow's invariable description of her late husband 
 had had to put up with much. . . . 
 
 "Italy or no Italy, you have got to marry me," he said. 
 
 "Your tone offends me, sir." 
 
 "I mean it, madam." 
 
 "My dear general, I do wish occasionally you would 
 remember your manners." 
 
 When he left the house it was under the ban of her dis- 
 pleasure. As a parting shot she told him she was going 
 to the Talliens'. "Terezia is such a darling and my very 
 best friend." 
 
 He looked at her mournfully. 
 
 She wrapped her green scarf tightly, tightly round her 
 figure and returned his glance with scorn. 
 
 Waiting is ever a doleful game; the more impatience 
 we put into it the worse it is. 
 
 We can fancy how he spent his Twelfth Night alone, 
 utterly alone. How he hated all mankind ! How he swore 
 to be even with his enemies and superior to his friends! 
 
 M. B arras did not follow up his note to Josephine. 
 "It required some looking into," he said, when questioned 
 on the subject. He was expecting reports from head- 
 quarters. He had always a smile and excuse for the 
 general. 
 
 Paris was very gay. Lamertine, who owned the most 
 popular music-hall, or rather, dancing establishment, in 
 town, must have made a good thing out of his patrons. 
 
 Madame Tallien seldom failed him. She had her own 
 particular box and was a great attraction. Sometimes 
 she allowed Tallien to be seen in her company. People 
 remarked on that gentleman's improved appearance. Both 
 at Lamertine's and elsewhere his good-humor was very 
 noticeable. He was always laughing. When he wasn't 
 laughing he was hinting of great changes in the immedi- 
 ate future. The changes affected the government, not 
 
LOVE 287 
 
 Lamertine, whose immensely popular balls would go on 
 just as usual, three nights a week. As at Terezia's 
 parties, there was always a new attraction offered the 
 guests with the difference that you had to pay for it. 
 
 Tallien slipped through the midnight crowds, in a suc- 
 cession of wonderful coats, creating small diversion. Ke 
 was on friendly terms with aristocrats, in particular with 
 a dark smallish man who called himself Vicomte Tarre- 
 dorosse, presumably as assumed as his manners. He could 
 not have felt affectionate towards the man of Bordeaux! 
 
 No doubt Tallien was busy evolving a plot, wherein 
 he hoped General Bonaparte would figure largely. He 
 made no secret of his dislike of him. He alluded particu- 
 larly to him as that "naughty child." He even informed 
 the government that if they did not look out they'd re- 
 gret the general's promotion. "As a humble instrument, 
 gentlemen," he said, "I warn you. He's up to mischief." 
 They only laughed. Which is the best way of taking 
 anything disagreeable. 
 
 Dear old Paris ! Sometimes we shut our eyes and quite 
 forget that we are ferreting under quite a presentable pile 
 of years, coaxing the spring flowers of a hundred years 
 ago and more to put out fresh leaves for your benefit. It 
 seems like yesterday when General Street sitting loosely 
 in his saddle rode round the town, on his disreputable 
 old horse, to inspect his different posts and units. He 
 was a very thorough young man. Ask Josephine. Ask 
 the Directoire. Or only go to nice Captain Junot, who 
 served under him at Toulon, and who idolizes his superior 
 officer. Junot has no end of an opinion of Bonaparte. 
 It would be amusing if that fool Tallien tried to inveigle 
 him into his web which he was busily, busily and oh so 
 clumsily spinning for the undoing of a "naughty child." 
 A child, by the way, who stood in his way. How could 
 Tallien get on when Bonaparte blocked the way? 
 
 "Opportunity ! Opportunity !" 
 
 March was busy getting her coming-out dress ready 
 about the last week in February, we fancy and every- 
 
288 LOVE 
 
 body in town, from the lowliest sparrow to the greatest 
 man in Paris, had the same incantation on their lips. 
 
 Who was the greatest man? M. B arras, dispensing 
 really princely hospitality at the Luxembourg the nom- 
 inal head of the (rotten) government, or the (temporary) 
 idol of the little man in the street, Bonaparte? 
 
 The general's importunity, nay, his microscopic atten- 
 tion to details (far better left alone) made him a holy 
 terror to his superiors. If you poke your head down a 
 drain you have only yourself to blame if you get a head- 
 ache. He poked. Headache or no headache, he poked. 
 And he invariably rose to the surface with a fresh proof 
 of inefficiency somewhere. Public scandal is best covered 
 up with a fair white cloth. 
 
 At times even Josephine complained. 
 
 "Darling," she said. "I wish you wouldn't interfere. 
 Is it necessary?" 
 
 Like most lovers, they had fallen out and fallen in 
 several times during the past months. Still, he was push- 
 ing on their marriage preparations. And she was getting 
 new clothes. They were really only waiting for a little 
 thing. 
 
 I don't say at times Josephine, growing sick of it all 
 the inconceivable dilatoriness of officialdom didn't pro- 
 pose a change of plans. 
 
 "Give it up," she said to Bonaparte. "Send in your 
 papers you have done it before and leave the army. 
 Bribe fortune in another direction. M. Ouvrad told me 
 yesterday that champagne growers made all the money. 
 I'll recommend the wine." 
 
 He kissed her fondly, being in one of his affectionate, 
 slightly despondent moods. He said it sounded a good 
 thing, and that he'd think it over. The crocuses in the 
 widow's garden were in their beauty. 
 
 Then it happened. 
 
 Clementine carried in another note from M. Barras. 
 Josephine, in very much the same voice as before, ex- 
 pressed her astonishment at her unusual correspondent. 
 
LOVE 289 
 
 "Whatever can he be writing to me for?" 
 
 The little general, kicking his (comparatively) idle 
 heels together, sitting on Josephine's little brocade-and- 
 gilt sofa, hadn't an idea. 
 
 She'll read you the letter. It finally clinched their 
 case. After that Josephine could no longer decently defer 
 the date of their marriage; in fact, she had to hurry it 
 forward. There were a thousand things to be done, she 
 said. And she kissed her general with genuine pleasure. 
 "There'll be settlements and things." 
 
 She stopped. Bonaparte didn't look as if he had very 
 oiuch to settle on anyone ... he didn't even look pleased ! 
 
 Josephine stamped her little foot. 
 
 "Listen," she said. 
 
 " 'Je crois, madame, qu'il vous serait agreable d'ap- 
 prendre au General Bonaparte que la Directoire, en 
 recompense des services qu'il a rendus a la patrie, et no- 
 tament en Vendemiaire dernier, 1'a investi du commande- 
 ment supreme de 1'Armee d'ltalie dans sa seance de ce 
 matin, 23 fevrier, 1796. 
 
 "'PAUL BARRAS.'" 
 
 Josephine sighed. "That's all en regie. Say you are 
 pleased!" 
 
 "Pleased!" he faltered. "That's not the word." 
 
 "Never mind what it is, as long as we are happy." She 
 laid her face on his shoulder. . . . Can't you see them? 
 
 Of course it was impossible, but it struck Josephine as 
 if her little general had aged. Just as a fairy prince if 
 they ever do grow older ages between two paragraphs 
 in a book. It all lies in the stroke of a pen. 
 
 He controlled himself fortunately Josephine's crystal 
 chandelier no longer did funny things up in the ceiling 
 not so much as a crystal drop trembled . . . nor his voice. 
 
 "I'll do my best," he said. 
 
 "My little Napoleon, I love you. Kiss me." 
 
 What lover could resist such an invitation? Not he. 
 
290 LOVE 
 
 He poured into her ear she kept her face a shade averted 
 an avowal as passionate and joyful as she had ever 
 heard from him. 
 
 She took his wild talk very happily. He touched her 
 Creole fancy, which delighted in warm colors ; he touched 
 her curiosity; he showered on her promises delightful 
 promises. She turned her face round and looked up at 
 him, as modestly as a snowdrop looks down at the briers 
 she kissed his mouth as a butterfly settles on a rose-leaf. 
 To him each gentle caress was as devastating fire. It was 
 joy akin to pain. 
 
 "We will have a long honeymoon, dear," she said, after 
 they had settled the date. (Little impostor! She knew 
 very well he could not afford it ; on the war-path generals 
 don't wait.) "And I'll wear all my new clothes. And 
 you'll say, 'Josephine, you are more beautiful than the 
 morning and lovelier than the night.' And you'll quote 
 yards of that stupid old Ossian. Yes, you will 
 
 The hall bell rang. 
 
 She flew out of his arms. 
 
 "Visitors!" she said. "Whoever can it be? There's a 
 darling, go into the next room. I'll get rid of them far 
 more quickly if I'm alone." 
 
 How fortunate just when she wanted him it was the 
 family lawyer; stiff, upright, unimpressionable Roger- 
 ideau (such a delightful name to pass your tongue over!). 
 Josephine stepped into the middle of the room and wel- 
 comed him charmingly. 
 
 "Sit down, sir, do. You'll be more comfortable on this 
 sofa out of the draught." (Also out of sight of the 
 morning-room door, with the general, probably, observing 
 them through the crack. Anyhow, he would hear every 
 word they said.) 
 
 Fortune flew at the visitor's correct ankles. 
 
 "He means nothing," said the widow, sitting down side 
 by side with her legal adviser. "Naughty, bad dog, go 
 away !" 
 
 "Jap- jap!" barked Fortune. 
 
LOVE 291 
 
 After a few civilities they entered into business. The 
 lawyer carried an impressive black leather portfolio, 
 Josephine tapped it fearfully. 
 
 "Is it full of secrets?" she asked. 
 
 Maitre Rogerideau put his gold-rimmed spectacles on 
 his nose and looked at her severely. 
 
 "You are about to commit an indiscretion, ma'am." 
 
 "No scolding, please!" 
 
 "I repeat it, madam. General Bonaparte has nothing 
 to offer you. His worldly prospects are ntt. He is very 
 young, ambitious, no doubt, but a nobody. In your own 
 interests, in the interests of your children, in the memory 
 01 my late client and dear friend, the Vicomte de Beau- 
 harnais, I earnestly beg of you to send that young man 
 packing before it is too late " 
 
 Something in the next room fell heavily to the ground. 
 She put her handkerchief to her lips. 
 
 "I couldn't, really I couldn't. He loves me, sir " 
 
 "Fiddlesticks ! What's that?" 
 
 "Probably my maid, tidying my drawers." 
 
 "Good heavens, ma'am ! A woman with your looks and 
 your position could marry anyone!" 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 "If this marriage takes place, I wash my hands of you. 
 What are you going to live on eh?" 
 
 "Fame," said the widow faintly. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 She repeated her absurd statement. "Why not?" she 
 said. "More extraordinary things have happened." 
 
 "Jap- jap!" barked Fortune from under the piano. 
 
 "He's jealous, poor darling. Dear Maitre Rogerideau, 
 don't be unkind. It is fate. I am sure it is fate. Besides 
 General Bonaparte is extremely nice-looking. You must 
 agree he has got a good nose?" 
 
 "I see nothing to admire in him and I don't trust him 
 that much at that !" 
 
 Rogerideau snapped his fingers. Then he got up. "I've 
 
292 LOVE 
 
 come too late. Well, well, as you say, it is fate, and an 
 old harridan she is at times." 
 
 "You make me nervous. At least, wish me happiness." 
 
 She stood up curtseying. 
 
 He bowed. 
 
 "Good morning, citoyemie. Let me congratulate you 
 on your future husband's brilliant prospects, and on his 
 present possessions a sword and a cloak. A nice com- 
 fortable little outfit to marry on !" 
 
 Decidedly pleased with his own wit, Maitre Rogerideau 
 took his departure. 
 
 She ran after him, calling over the stairs, "The ninth 
 of March, don't forget! You'll make the necessary ar- 
 rangements ?" 
 
 "I'll see that he can't run away," he returned grimly, 
 clapping his beaver hat on his head. 
 
 Such a to-do when she came back! There was Bona- 
 parte in the drawing-room, dancing on the middle of the 
 carpet in ungovernable rage; calling poor dear Rogeri- 
 deau such a well-meaning man every name under the 
 sun. 
 
 "Don't be idiotic," she said. "It was too funny for 
 words. I thought at any moment you'd dash in and bump 
 his foolish old head against the fender." 
 
 She curtseyed profoundly. 
 
 "Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves," she 
 said. "Come along, darling; let's go and have ices at 
 Bonfreres. I'll be ready in a moment. . . . Clementine!" 
 
 "I'll come," he said, recovering himself. 
 
 "What will you buy me, sir? I want oh, I want lots 
 of things. A carriage and pair, a string of pearls and 
 a bunch of violets." 
 
 She stood on the threshold of her room, smiling. 
 
 He pushed back his hair from his brow. A wonderful 
 light came into his tired eyes. 
 
 "You shall have them, Josephine," he said, "even if I 
 have to pawn my old cloak and sword to buy them." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 OH dear, oh dear! If we could only see them better. 
 The Rue St. Honore is crowded this gay February 
 afternoon. Here's a family party blocking our way on 
 the narrow pavement, gluing their noses outside the win- 
 dow of a bookseller's shop. Papa is pointing at a large 
 planche representing a big balloon, attached to a basket, 
 inscribed "La Theloriere." The inventor has given his 
 masterpiece his own name. Everyone in Paris was highly 
 amused at the contrivance, warranted to cross the Chan- 
 nel like a bird and cause utter consternation in the Eng- 
 lish camp. Who had ever heard of war in the air? Pater- 
 familias was full of it. The children gaped. Mamma 
 wanted to go on. Papa, seizing his opportunity, com- 
 menced another tale of wonder. There was a young man 
 in Paris at that very moment, a Mr. Fulton, who had 
 fabricated (on paper) a steam-ship "A ship, children, 
 steering against the wind, without sails." "Come on," 
 said mamma, "and don't talk such nonsense!" 
 
 You might say that they, that family party, however 
 obstructive to our view, have nothing to do with our story. 
 They have. Mamma merely voiced the conviction of the 
 general, newly appointed Commander-in-Chief of the 
 Italian Expeditionary Force. He didn't believe much in 
 Theloriere's balloon, and he had snapped his agile fingers 
 in a rage at Mr. Fulton's humble brown-paper portfolio, 
 containing his beloved drawings. "If you'd take up my in- 
 vention, citizen," he'd said to General Bonaparte in the 
 fidgets "you'd soon get the better of Lord Nelson." 
 "Ba-ah!" said the general, as rudely and vulgarly as you 
 please. He hated being interrupted in his work, and he 
 hated a fool. He considered steam-power in connection 
 
294 LOVE 
 
 with ships as beyond the dreams of man. Fancy, now. 
 Can a genius be short-sighted? So one went one way and 
 the other the other. Tallien got hold of the story and got 
 an introduction to Mr. Fulton, and invited him to a party 
 (you'll hear), merely to worry his born enemy. He hated 
 little Bonaparte. He adored his superstition. He had 
 also heard that the general trembled and almost went 
 into convulsions at a certain tune an "unlucky" tune. 
 He ferreted it out, out of Barras, we fancy. Whereupon 
 our sprightly man went to his favorite hostelry, The Cow, 
 and invited another guest; a musician. He asked him as 
 a personal favor, some time or other during the festivities, 
 to perform a piece of music. "Dear friend," he said, "I'll 
 select it. It's easy, quite easy to play." We can fancy 
 Souci's innocent stare. The whole thing was rather a 
 mystery. 
 
 A shaft of sunlight creeps up the narrow street and 
 settles in her russet hair. Josephine is waiting outside 
 the modiste's shop ; her young man has gone in to ask the 
 price of a hat, which has taken her fancy. A flashy 
 young saleswoman a hundred years haven't altered them, 
 though they've worked wonders in plate-glass removes 
 from the window a certain creation, chiefly composed of 
 pink tulle and white lilac. She, Josephine, wonders what 
 he is doing. Presently he joins her, rather breathless and 
 red in the face. "I've bought it, darling," he cries, proud 
 as Lucifer, tragedy writ plain as a penny in his eyes. Is 
 there anything more tragic than a frightfully poor young 
 man engaged to a frightfully extravagant young woman? 
 
 "Let's have ices at Bonfrere's," she says, after thank- 
 ing him charmingly Josephine always took a new hat 
 very nicely waving her little green silk bag. 
 
 He grips his thin pocket-book and offers her his arm, 
 piloting her through the crowd. People turn back to 
 look at them. "What a pretty woman !" they say. "Who 
 is she?" "The Widow Beauhamais, and that's her 
 fiance, General Napoleon Bonaparte. He is making a 
 brilliant match." A thousand fancies spring to life. We 
 
LOVE 295 
 
 see them, we hear them, we follow them down the street, 
 in respectful silence. Their humbleness makes them one 
 of us, this couple whs couldn't afford a carriage. 
 
 They had their ices. He only played with his, while 
 she talked to a chance acquaintance. Bonfrere's was the 
 fashionable cake-shop in Paris, 1796. "Au revoir, mon- 
 sieur." "Au revoir, chere madam." As humbly as they 
 had entered the shop they walked out again, followed by 
 a very few glances. 
 
 The beauty of the day has gone. Josephine feels tired. 
 She clings to the general's arm for support. "I wish I 
 had a carriage of my own," she murmurs dejectedly. Per- 
 haps her boots pinch her feet? they look remarkably 
 small, beneath her narrow silk skirt. He sighs ; he would 
 so willingly have given her all the chariots in paradise. 
 It's turned dark and cold. They wait at the crossing he 
 looking daggers, right and left. Here's a fat market- 
 woman, pushing her basket into Josephine's back. Joseph- 
 ine gives a little scream. She doesn't like being hustled 
 in a crowd. The traffic is quite congested. "You must 
 take me to Lamertine's," she says, studying with interest a 
 huge advertisement on a covered cart telling to all and 
 sundry that Citoyen Lamertine's noted dancing-saloon 
 was open to the public at such-and-such a date. Might 
 have been the ninth of March. The rooms had been newly 
 decorated and enlarged. Suppers were guaranteed first- 
 class served in the private boxes, if desired (oh! the 
 prices!), and Citoyen Lamertine assured the public that 
 he could offer them the best band in Paris. The front seat 
 of the wagon was occupied by two men in masks and 
 dominoes, each blowing a trumpet (Lamertine's). 
 
 He crushed her arm. "Lamertine's!" he laughed. 
 "Lamertine's!" A world of derision and scorn in his 
 strident voice. He succeeded in making her angry. His 
 loudness was attracting notice. The cart had moved on, 
 followed by a rush of small boys. He watched his chance 
 of piloting her across the street. 
 
 "Come, my own." 
 
296 LOVE 
 
 His voice was melting, pleading, unutterably humble 
 ... he had nothing to offer her . . . nothing nothing. 
 Do dreams ever satisfy a woman? They weren't her own, 
 either ... his poor chipped dreams cut in half by Lam- 
 ertine's vulgar advertisement. 
 
 "How very unfortunate!" said Josephine, trying to 
 look the other way. 
 
 A very handsome equipage rolled past. One lady in- 
 side, who gave our poor pedestrians a cold, you might 
 say haughty, bow. It was Madame Tallien, Madame 
 Tallien returning from a party at the Luxembourg, in a 
 truly wonderful dress her hat covered with yellow bird- 
 of-paradise feathers, waving in the air with an indescriba- 
 ble effect. They quite crushed Josephine. 
 
 "What are we waiting for?" said Josephine. "It was 
 silly of you to buy me that hideous pink hat. I'm sure 
 I'll never put it on." 
 
 For once in his life he was quite nonplussed. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 MARCH the ninth, seventeen hundred and ninety-six. 
 I wonder if he realized the importance of the date ? 
 If he trembled when he got out of bed, that cold, bleak 
 morning, not with the thought of her but under the weight 
 of coming events? Surely his brain must have teemed 
 with ideas, fancies, delusions, realities? . . . He'd buy her 
 a gold coach and twelve white horses. . . . 
 
 He ran in for a moment to kiss her as she sat at lunch, 
 his eyes alight. When Bonaparte's eyes were alight they 
 were extraordinary. Any other woman would have 
 bounded into his extended arms and buried her face on 
 his neck, half in terror, half in joy. 
 
 "Do eat something," she said, wiping her mouth. 
 
 "I haven't time, darling." 
 
 The light was still there, the light of great expectation. 
 He had half a mind to tell her of her gold coach and 
 twelve . . . rattling up the hill ... he took a deep 
 breath. 
 
 "I'll meet you at the town hall at seven sharp. You 
 won't fail me, ma'am?" 
 
 There was a catch in his voice. 
 
 "You know you like tomatoes and macaroni." 
 
 She heard the front door slamming violently, and sighed. 
 Her young man wanted educating. Was there ever any- 
 one so jumpy? 
 
 The widow continued her interrupted meal very plac- 
 idly. . . . Thank heaven, she thought piously, he has 
 his metier. Italy was a long way off from Paris . . . he'd 
 be very fatiguing if she saw much of him. 
 
 Fortune watched her from his cushion on the window- 
 seat. Fortune in honor of the day was decked out in a 
 huge white satin favor. 
 
 297 
 
298 LOVE 
 
 "Poor ducky dear," said Josephine. She spoke to For- 
 tune, but we rather fancy she meant herself. She was 
 doing a great deal for the sake of the children. Yet she 
 had not had the courage to tell them of her pending 
 alliance with General Napoleon Bonaparte. Aunt Fanny 
 had broken it to them as gently as she could. Eugene 
 had been thunderstruck. He had never conceived a suc- 
 cessor to his father possible. Hortense seemed pleased. 
 "He's a kind man," she said. 
 
 He had always treated her well, and pinched her ears 
 on several occasions, had even confided in her. "Made- 
 moiselle," he had said, "I'm nervous of your mother's 
 grand friends." Hortense had patted his hand. "I 
 wouldn't mind them," she said; "you are just as good, 
 even if you are thin. People often laugh when they ought 
 to treat you with respect." "That's true," he had an- 
 swered, much relieved. 
 
 The children were at their respective schools. "I wish 
 they were with me," thought their mother as she sat over 
 the drawing-room fire, sipping her coffee, and feeling very 
 depressed indeed. She kept thinking of the past, and 
 especially of her prison experiences. What a truly dread- 
 ful time she had gone through yet she had survived. 
 She held her delicate fingers to the blaze. The general 
 couldn't be worse. Besides, he might turn out a treasure. 
 He had his good points, of course. 
 
 "Clementine, are you there?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 Clementine stood in the doorway in a brand-new dress 
 a present from her mistress looking very cheerful after 
 all her hard work. In honor of the auspicious occasion 
 she had worked prodigiously during the past week 
 scouring floors, washing curtains, 'cleaning silver and 
 brass. The little house looked as bright as a new pin. 
 The widow had lately moved from her old apartment into 
 a more commodious residence, Rue Chantereine, No. 6. 
 
 "What did I do with my memorandum-book?" 
 
 Clementine brought her a little brown leather volume. 
 
LOVE 299 
 
 Josephine turned over the pages. "Exactly," she mur- 
 mured; "exactly. Rather extraordinary, you know." 
 She shut up the book. "M. Barras is fetching me, shortly 
 before seven." 
 
 "I hope you'll be ready, ma'am." 
 
 Josephine laughed. 
 
 "It would do the general good if I kept him waiting a 
 little." 
 
 The front door bell rang. 
 
 "There's Aunt Fanny," said the widow. "I'm going 
 to keep her all day my last day of liberty, helas!" 
 
 Aunt Fanny wouldn't allow any doleful anticipations, 
 or even reminiscences. She had come solely to cheer her 
 niece and keep her punctual. It would never do to keep 
 the general waiting, said Aunt Fanny. 
 
 A little before seven the ladies were seated in the draw- 
 ing-room, expecting M. Barras. Aunt Fanny was not 
 accompanying her niece to the town hall. It was better 
 so. In formal matters ladies were best out of it, she said. 
 Josephine would have the support of her two witnesses. 
 The marriage act was of the briefest character. In less 
 than five minutes it would all be over, and poor dear 
 Alexandre would have irrevocably to step as it were into 
 the back drawing-room. 
 
 Josephine, already cloaked, with a little quilted satin 
 hood covering her head, was seated at her infinitesimal 
 writing-bureau, idly tracing some letters on a sheet of 
 paper. 
 
 "Josephine, what are you doing? Never write down 
 your new name before it is actually yours. It is most 
 unlucky." 
 
 "I was only trying to see how it would look. I'll sign 
 myself Josephine Pagerie-Bonaparte. Bonaparte alone 
 looks so very commonplace." 
 
 "I wouldn't say that." 
 
 Josephine tore up the little sheet of tinted notepaper. 
 "We all know your opinion of the general. He's simply 
 perfect perfect !" 
 
300 LOVE 
 
 She stood up, her shimmering circular mantle falling in 
 heavy folds round her slight figure. "I wish you were 
 coming with me." 
 
 "I've been expressly told to stay at home." 
 
 Josephine nodded. "He has his ideas, ce Bonaparte. 
 I wonder why." 
 
 "There's the carriage, child." 
 
 "There's no hurry," said Josephine. "I don't feel a 
 bit excited." 
 
 Aunt Fanny was seated on the big gilt sofa. You re- 
 member the one bargain of Josephine's life? She was 
 wearing a flowered green silk brocade, and carried her 
 best bag. Aunt Fanny felt the significance of the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Clementine showed M. Barras upstairs. He stood in 
 the doorway, bowing to the ladies. He also, in honor 
 t of the day, very much got up. The ladies curtseyed. 
 
 "Bon Dieu!" said Josephine, with charming gaiety. 
 "How beautiful we look!" She shook her curls under 
 her quilted hood. "All wasted. He won't give us a 
 glance." 
 
 Fortune, in his ridiculous white satin bow, flew across 
 the room towards M. Barras, snapping at his legs. He 
 knew something untoward was brewing, and like all rather 
 selfish dogs he hated changes. 
 
 Josephine picked him up in her arms and fondled his 
 ugly, whimpering head against her soft breast. 
 
 "You precious beauty," she cooed. "Take care of 
 Aunt Fanny, darling. Make her stay to supper. . . . 
 Clementine!" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am?" 
 
 "Be sure you give us hot soup and plenty to eat. The 
 general will be famished." 
 
 "Madam," said M. Barras, offering Josephine his arm. 
 
 She shook her head and ran past him, fleet as the wind, 
 on her little sandalled feet, towards her bridegroom. 
 
 Aunt Fanny went to the window to see them start. 
 First Josephine stepped into the carriage, followed by 
 
 
LOVE 301 
 
 M. Barras then M. Tallicn, with his mouth at its widest 
 capacity. He looked like a walking advertisement of a 
 disagreeable impression. 
 
 The footman slammed-to the coach door and mounted 
 to his seat on the box. M. Barras' coachman whipped 
 up his heavy Flemish mares and off they drove into the 
 gloaming. 
 
 Madame de Beauharnais returned to her seat on the 
 gilt sofa she would never dream of sitting in Josephine's 
 pink velvet chair she considered it the acme of discom- 
 fort and fell a-musing, as women will do where wed- 
 dings are concerned. Fortune, much subdued, sniffed at 
 her skirts, wagging his stump of a tail. Aunt Fanny 
 opened her reticule and abstracted a huge pocket-hand- 
 kerchief. "God bless her!" she said. 
 
 The wood fire burned with a gentle glow. Fortune 
 curled himself up in the pink velvet chair. On the big 
 round table, near the shaded lamp, stood a bowl of hya- 
 cinths. Josephine had left her needlework on the table 
 a strip of multi-colored embroidery which had occu- 
 pied her spare moments the better part of two years. 
 The two years which had elapsed since the fall of Robes- 
 pierre. Doesn't time fly? Two years, two years, thought 
 Aunt Fanny it might be yesterday. 
 
 She sighed. A thousand happy memories crowded 
 around her and touched her as gently as the timid hands 
 of children. . . . There she sat, erect and stiff on the old 
 gilt sofa, her green taffeta robe, brocaded with yellow 
 tulips, flowing about her in ample folds. Her thin fingers 
 laden with her mother's rings. 
 
 During the short drive to the town hall, M. Barras, 
 seated by her side, held Josephine's hand tightly in his 
 own. He couldn't help feeling for her. He whispered 
 into her ear words which M. Tallien, on the opposite seat, 
 did his very best to catch. It bothered him not to hear 
 what they were saying. Once or twice, with a loud laugh, 
 he hinted at some surprise in store for the lady. "Oh," 
 
302 LOVE 
 
 said Josephine, without listening. "Paul, Paul," she 
 whispered, "can't you get me out of it? He'll eat me out 
 of sheer love. There'll be nothing left of poor little 
 Josephine." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Tallien, catching a word here and 
 there. "We'll keep his attention engaged. There is 
 nothing like worrying a man to keep him sober. Gee up ! 
 Gee up !" 
 
 The carriage came to a standstill. Tallien clambered 
 down heavily, in a rage with M. Barras. He, Barras, 
 treated him as dirt beneath his feet. He, Tallien, was the 
 husband of the bride's best friend eh? "Come along, 
 come along," he said facetiously, offering Josephine his 
 arm. She took M. Barras'. 
 
 They went up an endless flight of stairs, and, through 
 swing doors, entered a gloomy and very badly lit vesti- 
 bule. 
 
 "This way," said Tallien, advancing down a stone pas- 
 sage and flinging open the door of a vast and practically 
 empty room; it was furnished with a couple of long, 
 narrow tables and a few wooden chairs and benches. The 
 windows were barred and the walls whitewashed. A couple 
 of dim oil lamps lit the apartment. 
 
 Josephine clung to M. Barras, looking around her with 
 wondering eyes. 
 
 "What a gloomy place!" she said. "Let us find the 
 general." 
 
 A clerk came forward. 
 
 "The general has not arrived," he said. 
 
 "How lucky !" said Josephine sweetly. "We must never 
 tell him we were late." The great round clock between 
 the tall, uncurtained windows, pointed to a quarter past 
 seven. "We'll scold him dreadfully for not keeping to- 
 his appointment. And such an important one." 
 
 "Never mind, ma'am," said Tallien, drawing forward 
 a chair. "You can always depend on Tallien. I thought 
 of such an eventuality. I've even provided against it. 
 What do you prefer, ma'am music or invention?" 
 
LOVE 303 
 
 Josephine sat down on the hard cane chair, resting her 
 elbows on the deal table. 
 
 "Invention, I think, if it is amusing." 
 
 M. Barras, followed by the clerk, had gone off in search 
 of the bridegroom. He might have gone into a wrong 
 department. The municipal building was very large. 
 "Idiot !" he muttered vexedly, not at all under his breath. 
 We rather fancy M. Barras was pleased to find the hero 
 of the riots tripping. If he is not our idol we don't care 
 if he's chipped. That's human nature unspeakably 
 selfish. 
 
 In the meanwhile Tallien exerted himself to amuse the 
 lady. He introduced Mr. Fulton whom he fished from 
 the shadows of the great room, with a thousand graceful 
 flourishes. At least, he thought them inimitable. 
 
 "He-he! ma'am," he said, "I assure you the gentleman 
 in front of you (look at her," sotto voce, "isn't she a 
 peach?) is the cleverest inventor of the age a fabulous 
 creature. Isn't that so, sir? Explain yourself, sir. Get- 
 ting up steam, ma'am he-he-he!" 
 
 Tallien's great laugh soared to the dirty rafters above. 
 He had seated himself on the corner of the table, dangling 
 his legs. It was an unceremonious attitude, studiously 
 maintained to impress the lady and "that crack-brained 
 ass," Fulton, that he was a very important personage 
 indeed. He could do what he liked, Tallien. He could 
 annoy Bonaparte. He could tickle Josephine. Why not 
 eh? Why not! he mouthed. 
 
 "Pick a daisy, love. He loves me a little, not at all, 
 passionately. Bonaparte, ma'am, loves this little brave 
 creature who is so sure of himself. One day he'll rule the 
 ocean. Honor bright, he'll keep the English at bay at 
 Botany Bay ha! ha! Such a puzzle!" 
 
 Tallien wiped his forehead with a large red silk hand- 
 kerchief and blew his nose like the crack o' doom. 
 
 Josephine smiled at the stranger. 
 
 "Tell me all about it, sir," she said prettily, looking at 
 the clock. 
 
304* LOVE 
 
 "Allow me to show you my drawings, madam.'* 
 
 "Another time, good man. Ask the lady to press your 
 suit on her little ahem, on her great general. That's 
 why I have brought you. Always like to do a kind action. 
 He'll jump at you. To-night of all nights! What an 
 omen! What a vision! Allow me to explain. There's a 
 ship, ma'am two wheels exactly a black funnel, belch- 
 ing steam " 
 
 "Smoke, sir." 
 
 "Exactly. We must not forget the smoke. The smoke 
 is most important. And off we go in clouds of glory." 
 
 "I see," said Josephine. 
 
 "It's as simple as your kettle boiling on the kitchen 
 fire. You have seen it, madam." 
 
 "I never go into the kitchen," said Josephine. 
 
 Mr. Fulton looked rather nonplussed. He re- tied the 
 strings of his shabby portfolio. 
 
 "It's a vastly natty idea," said Tallien. "Why don't 
 you offer it to the English?" 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "They have refused it." 
 
 "Given faith " Tallien slid off the table. "Found 
 
 the truant, sir?" he said to M. Barras. "No? Not come 
 yet? Wicked young man! We'll punish him." 
 
 Josephine looked annoyed. 
 
 "Too bad of the general," she said. 
 
 Barras waved Mr. Fulton aside. "I have an important 
 engagement at eight o'clock," he said. 
 
 "I can wait. I can always wait," said Tallien. His 
 stock speech, you remember. 
 
 "I'll stay a few minutes longer, and then I'll go home," 
 said Madame de Beauharnais with dignity and decision. 
 
 Time dragged heavily. Fulton retreated to the shad- 
 ows. He sat down dejectedly by the side of a stout man, 
 who carried a violin. 
 
 "What have we been brought for?" he whispered to his 
 neighbor. 
 
LOVE 305 
 
 The man didn't answer. He was sleeping peacefully. 
 
 Ten minutes later General Bonaparte dashed into the 
 room, followed by his supporters, M. Lamarrois and M. 
 Calmalet. His face was glistening, damp with perspira- 
 tion. His hair, tangled and matted, fell over his brow. 
 His eyes were like the eyes of a blind man expression- 
 less. 
 
 He never noticed Madame de Beauharnais' coldness, 
 M. Barras 5 stiffness, M. Tallien's haw-haw. As to the 
 two men purposely introduced to annoy him, he never 
 saw them. Tallien's face looked like the face of a doll, 
 flattened by a human heel. He was cruelly disappointed, 
 Tallien. Behind Bonaparte's back (not even "dressed" 
 for his wedding he wore the same shabby uniform he had 
 put on that morning. His boots were splashed. Not a 
 favor in his buttonhole, eh?) he made violent faces to 
 the fat man in the corner asleep. He would have liked 
 to have shaken him into helL The swiny devil! "Play!" 
 he mouthed. "Play !" The damned tune would make the 
 rats dance . . . that rat, Bonaparte. . . . 
 
 "Come on," said the general brusquely, taking Joseph- 
 ine under the arm. Not a word of excuse, not a glance 
 of contrition. "The clerk is waiting in the office." 
 
 Out he marched, number one, keeping a firm hold of 
 her. In the gloomy corridor he put his cold mouth to 
 her ear. "I love you," he whispered ecstatically. 
 
 "I'm so tired," she said, gently reproving. 
 
 Behind them came M. Barras, tall, stately, very well 
 satisfied with himself. He was wearing a blue cloth cape, 
 swung on his broad shoulders. His coat was a glitter of 
 gold lace. 
 
 Tallien, still mouthing, brought up the rear. He kept 
 folding and unfolding his great fist. He wore no gloves. 
 Once he gesticulated at the leading man's back. . . . "Eh, 
 my precious fellow," he thought triumphantly. "Wait a 
 bit. Lucky, are we? I'll be even with you yet, you'll 
 see. And then I'll pass you like a bird, or one of Fulton's 
 
306 LOVE 
 
 jackanape steamers; I'll puff you into kingdom-come, my 
 beauty. Tallien can always wait you slimy, nauseous 
 
 Pig!"" 
 
 If he had been twice as vulgar he wouldn't have affected 
 the principals. Men like Tallien don't matter. 
 
 They took up their places in front of the table. The 
 clerk dipped his quill into the ink-horn. 
 
 Bonaparte took out of his pocket a wedding-ring, en- 
 graved on the inner side with the date, 9th March, 1796, 
 and the words: "Au destin." He had chosen the device 
 himself. His eyes were now more the eyes of a man who 
 can see; a tinge of color in his face. He stood upright, 
 motionless. 
 
 Kind Josephine had recovered from her natural irrita- 
 tion. She stood by his side, smiling. She even smiled at 
 the sleepy-eyed clerk, facing her. 
 
 General Bonaparte scrawled his signature on the page 
 indicated. 
 
 "Here, citizen general," said the clerk, handing him the 
 pen. 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 His voice was suspicious. 
 
 "Quite all right, citizen." 
 
 Then came the turn of Josephine. Before signing she 
 turned and smiled at the general. He had his eyes down. 
 He couldn't face anyone, not even Josephine, at the mo- 
 ment of victory. . . . So? He had done it? He had 
 said from the beginning that he would marry her. From 
 the very first moment of seeing her he had decided to make 
 her his wife. Somewhere in the vaulted skies his star 
 shone with a great radiance. 
 
 Josephine wrote her name very small ; it was practically 
 hidden beneath her husband's signature. Her husband's? 
 
 He wanted to laugh, to shout, to scream, to caper . . . 
 he stood rigid as a figure carved in stone, as voiceless 
 as stone. 
 
 Their signatures were witnessed in proper order. Over 
 M. Barras' entry there was a splash of ink. 
 
LOVE 307 
 
 "Allow me to congratulate you, Citoyenne Bonaparte/' 
 said M. Barras, kissing her hand. 
 
 The other gentlemen followed his example. 
 
 Bonaparte moved. His right hand fingerecl the sworil 
 he carried. He looked up. 
 
 "General," she said, "take me home." 
 
 END OF VOLUME B, 
 
YB 59747 
 
 U. C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 CDM5S51E3T 
 
 4934 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY