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and several others, were successively arrested. Then a belief began to be felt in the reality of the conspiracy, as well as to understand that it was a conspiracy of the royalists.

Meanwhile the Republican party disclaimed Moreau. The nobility were startled, and held themselves aloof. They blamed De Polignac's imprudence as soon as they found it inconvenient to maintain the zeal with which they had encouraged him. Their fault was that common to the Royalist party of believing in the existence of that which they desired and of acting on these illusions, which is an ordinary delusion of men who allow themselves to be led by their passions and their vanity.

I at this time suffered much. At the Tuileries I saw the First Consul gloomy and silent, his wife often in tears, his family irritated, and his sister exciting him by violent words, while outside of the Tuileries different opinions were raging-distrust, suspicion, and a malignant joy with some, a strong regret with others at the bad success of the enterprise, and much bitterness of feeling. I was agitated and troubled by all I saw and felt; I shut myself up with my mother and my husband; we three talked over together what we heard.

Monsieur de Rémusat, upright and gentle, was deeply afflicted by the faults that were committed; and, as he judged them dispassionately, he began to dread the future, and disclosed to me his wise but sad judgment of a character that he studied in silence. His anxieties hurt me, but I was still more pained by the suspicions of which I was conscious within myself. Alas! the time was not far off when I was to be still further and most unhappily enlightened!

"

After the different arrests of which I have spoken, the "Moniteur" copied certain articles from the "Morning Chronicle " which announced that the death of Bonaparte and the restoration of Louis XVIII. were near at hand. To these articles was added the statement that people just arrived from London affirmed that they were speculating at the Stock Exchange on these events, and that the names of Pichegru, Moreau, and Georges Cadoudal were in everybody's mouth. In that same 'Moniteur " was also printed a letter from an Englishman to Bonaparte, whom he called "Mr. Consul." This letter recommended to him, for his own particular use, a pamphlet circulated in the time of Cromwell, which attempted to prove that persons like Cromwell could not be assassinated because there is no crime in killing a dangerous animal or a tyrant. "To kill is not to assassinate," said the pamphlet; "the difference is very great." Meanwhile in France addresses from all the towns, from the army, and from the bishops, poured

into Paris, complimenting the First Consul and congratulating France on the danger she had escaped. All these were carefully printed in the "Moniteur." At last Georges Cadoudal was arrested on March 29th at the Place de l'Odéon. He was in a cabriolet, and as soon as he saw that he was pursued he whipped up his horse. A police-officer courageously snatched at the head of the animal, and was instantly killed by the pistol which Georges fired. But a crowd gathered, the cabriolet was stopped, and Georges arrested. On his person was found a large sum of money-from sixty to eighty thousand francsin notes, which were given to the wife of the man who was killed. The journals appeared with a statement that Georges Cadoudal had confessed that he came to France only to assassinate Bonaparte. Yet I very well remember that it was said at the time that Georges, who showed throughout the whole of the proceedings extreme firmness and great devotion to the Bourbons, always denied all intention of assassination, but admitted that his project had been to attack the Consul's carriage and carry him off, without doing him the smallest harm.

At this same time the King of England was taken seriously ill; our Government counted on his death to see Mr. Pitt retire from the ministry.

On the 21st of March the following appeared in the "Moniteur": "The Prince de Condé has issued a circular calling on the émigrés to assemble on the Rhine. One prince of the Bourbon house has already obeyed this summons." Then followed a secret correspondence that had been seized from a man named Drake, an accredited agent of England in Bavaria, which proved that the English Government neglected no possible means of kindling trouble in France. Monsieur de Talleyrand was ordered to send copies of this correspondence to each member of the diplomatic corps, who showed their indignation by letters which were all inserted in the "Moniteur."

Holy week was near at hand. On Passion Sunday, March 18th, my week began with Madame Bonaparte. I went early in the morning to the Tuileries to assist at mass, which was celebrated with great ceremony. After mass, Madame Bonaparte always held a crowded drawingroom, remaining there some time and conversing with every one.

Madame Bonaparte told me early that day that we were to pass the week at Malmaison. "I am thankful," she said, "for I am afraid of Paris at this time."

We started a few hours later. Bonaparte was in his own carriage; Madame Bonaparte in hers, and I the only person with her.

During the first part of the drive, I noticed

that she was silent and very sad; I showed my anxiety, but she seemed afraid to answer my timid inquiries, but at last she said:

"I am going to confide a great secret to you. This morning Bonaparte informed me that he had sent Monsieur de Caulaincourt to the frontier to seize the Duc d'Enghien. He will be brought here."

upon me; it seemed to me that he was changed, or that I ought to find him so.

Several officers dined with him, and the time passed much as usual; after dinner he retired into his cabinet, and to his work. And that night, when I left Madame Bonaparte, she promised me to renew her entreaties.

The next morning I went to her as early as I

"Good God! madame," I cried; "what will dared. She was entirely discouraged. Bonathey do with him?”

"Try him, I suppose."

These words struck a pang of terror through my soul, such as I had never before experienced in my life. Madame Bonaparte thought I was about to faint, and she hurriedly opened all the carriage windows.

"I have done all I could," she continued, "to obtain from Bonaparte a promise that no harm should come to the Prince; but I much fear that his fate is sealed."

"Do you mean that he will die?"
"I fear so," she answered.

At these words I burst into tears. Before my eyes swept all the fatal consequences of such an event-this spilling of royal blood which would satisfy only the Jacobin party; the especial interest which this Prince inspired in every one else; the name of Condé; the general horror; and the hot hatreds which would be rekindled.

I dwelt on all these points en masse, while Madame Bonaparte saw only a portion of them. The idea of a murder was all that had struck her. I succeeded in terrifying her thoroughly, and she promised to do all in her power to avert the impending fatality.

We reached Malmaison. I took refuge in my chamber, where I wept bitterly. My soul was shaken to its foundation. I loved and I admired Bonaparte. I believed him called by an invincible power to the highest destiny; I allowed my youthful imagination to invest him with every noble quality; all at once the veil which covered my eyes was torn away, and by what I felt at that moment did I only too well understand the impression that this event would produce on others.

At Malmaison there was not a human being to whom I could open my heart and speak freely. My husband was in Paris. It was necessary to compose myself, and appear with a calm face, for Madame Bonaparte had positively forbidden me to allow any one to suspect that she had spoken to me on this subject. When I entered the salon, at six o'clock, I found the First Consul playing chess. He seemed calm and serene; his unmoved face made me feel ill as I looked at him; for two hours I had been absorbed in thinking of him, and my mind was so disturbed that I could not regain the impression he usually made

parte had repulsed her on all points.

"Women should not meddle in such matters." His policy necessitated this coup d'état. This rigor would give him the right to be more merciful on other occasions. Some decisive action was now incumbent upon him, or a long series of conspiracies would follow, which would require daily punishment. Impunity would only encourage these people. He should be obliged to persecute, to exile, and to punish, to take back what he had done for the émigrés, and bestow favors on the Jacobins. The royalists had compromised him more than once in regard to the revolutionists. This act would place him straight with all parties.

The Duc d'Enghien, after all, had joined in this conspiracy of Georges Cadoudal's; he had brought trouble and discordance into France; the English made use of him as their instrument of vengeance; then, too, his military reputation might at some future time have had its influence on the army; but his death would break all ties between our soldiers and the Bourbons. In politics a death which can insure repose is not a crime; orders were given, and he could not change them.

In this conversation Madame Bonaparte told her husband that he would aggravate the odium of this act by having selected Monsieur de Caulaincourt, whose relatives had been attached in past days to the house of Condé.

"I did not know that," answered Bonaparte; "and what does it matter, after all? If Caulaincourt is compromised, it is of no especial consequence; he will serve me just as well. The opposite party will never forgive him for being a gentleman." He added that De Caulaincourt had been told only a portion of the plan, and thought that the Duc d'Enghien would remain in prison.

My courage failed as I heard Madame Bonaparte repeat these words. I was a friend of Monsieur de Caulaincourt, and I suffered acutely. It seemed to me that he should have refused to accept the mission with which he was intrusted. The day passed drearily enough; I remember that Madame Bonaparte, who loved trees and flowers, was busy all the morning in superintending her gardener, who was transplanting a cypress to a part of the grounds which

were newly laid out. She herself put in a little earth, in order to say that she had planted it herself. 'Ah, madame!" I said as I looked at her, "it is a tree that well befits the day."

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I had told you, for he could not understand your sadness. Try and be more cheerful."

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My passion rose. Let him think what he chooses, madame!" I exclaimed. "Let him ask After that time I never passed that cypress me why I weep, and I will tell him that I weep without a pang. for him," and as I said this I again burst into tears.

My overwhelming emotion troubled Madame Bonaparte. Light and frivolous by nature, and confident that the views of the First Consul were wiser than those of any one else, she was yet impressed by my fears. She felt keenly, but her feelings were evanescent. Convinced by the First Consul that the death of the Duc d'Enghien was a political necessity, she was then desirous of dismissing it from her mind, and discard all thoughts as useless regrets.

This I would not permit. I employed the greater part of the day in harassing her. She listened to me with great gentleness, but in a discouraged sort of way, for she knew Bonaparte better than I did. I wept bitterly as I entreated her to make one more effort, and finally, being really fond of me, she promised to do so. "Mention my name if you choose to the First Consul," I said; "I am myself of little consequence, but he will judge from the impression I have received how other people will feel. He knows, too, that I am more attached to him than are most persons; I ask nothing better than to find excuses for him, but I can not see one for this thing that he is about to do."

That whole day we saw nothing of Bonaparte. The Chief Justice, the Préfet de Police, and Murat, all came and had long audiences. Everybody looked troubled. I was up the greater part of the night; when I slept my dreams were horrible.

I fancied I heard continual movements in the château, and I was convinced that some new enterprise was in contemplation. I persuaded myself at one time almost into rushing down stairs, and throwing myself at Bonaparte's feet, to implore him to take compassion on his own glory, for I believed it then to be without a spot, and wept that it should be tarnished.

That night will never be effaced from my memory. Tuesday morning Madame Bonaparte said to me: "It is no use. The Duc d'Enghien arrives to-night. He will be taken at once to Vincennes and examined. Murat will attend to it all. He is perfectly odious in this affair. It is he who pushes Bonaparte on. He keeps telling him that any mercy he shows now will be regarded as weakness, and that the Jacobins will be furious. One party will ask why so little regard was paid to Moreau's glorious reputation, and why a Bourbon was of more importance? Bonaparte has forbidden me to say another word. He spoke of you," she continued. "I said that

Madame Bonaparte was frightened at my nervous excitement. She was a stranger to strong emotions, and when she sought to calm me I could only answer by these words: “Ah, madame, you do not understand me!" She assured me that after this event all would go on as before.

Alas! It was not the future which disturbed me. I did not doubt his power over himself and others, but I felt as if I, personally, were being rent asunder.

The dinner-hour came, and I was obliged to calm myself. Again did I find on going down stairs that Bonaparte was quietly playing chess. He had taken a fancy to this game. As soon as he saw me he called to me, and bade me tell him what move to make. I choked, and could not utter four words. The gentleness of his tone and manner added the finishing touch to my distress.

When dinner was served, he made me sit near him, and asked me many personal questions. It seemed to me that he had taken it on himself to prevent me from thinking.

Little Napoleon had been sent for from Paris. He was placed in the center of the table, and his uncle seemed to be very much amused to see the child touching all the dishes, and upsetting everything about him.

After dinner he sat down on the floor, and played with the child. To me his gayety seemed forced. Madame Bonaparte, who had dreaded lest he should feel irritated against me by reason of what she had said, looked at me with a kind smile, which seemed to say: "You see he is not so cruel, after all. We can reassure ourselves."

As for myself, I hardly knew where I was. Sometimes it seemed to me that I was in a bad dream. My manner was probably a little peculiar, and I perhaps had a frightened look, for suddenly Bonaparte turned toward me, gazed at me fixedly, and said: "Why do you not wear rouge? You are too pale."

I answered that I had forgotten to put it on. "What!" he exclaimed; "a woman forget her rouge!" And he burst out laughing.

"That never happens to you, Josephine, does it?" Then he added: "Women have two things which suit them well-tears and rouge."

These words completed my discomfiture. General Bonaparte had neither taste nor measure in his gayety. His manners were at

times those of a garrison. He played with his wife for a time with more freedom than decency, and then he called me to a table for a game of chess. He did not play well, and was always unwilling to submit to the rules of the game. I let him do as he would. Every one was quiet, when suddenly he began to sing through his teeth. Then a verse came into his mind. He said in an undertone, "Soyons amis, Cinna" then the lines of Gusman in "Alzire":

"Et le mien, quand ton bras vient m'assassiner."*

I could not prevent myself from looking up at him hastily. He smiled, and continued. I absolutely believed for a moment that he was deceiving his wife and the rest of us, and that he was preparing a grand scene of clemency.

This idea, to which I clung fondly, calmed me; my imagination was then very youthful; besides, I needed hope so much.

"You like poetry?" said Bonaparte.

addressed to persons of his stamp. They say, without being asked, precisely what they please, and never answer you.

Madame Bonaparte entered the salon. She looked at me sadly, and seated herself, saying to Savary at the same time:

"It is done, then ? "

"Yes, madame," he answered. "He died this morning, and I am forced to admit with admirable courage."

I stood breathless.

Madame Bonaparte asked for details, which have since been made public. They had taken the Prince into one of the dungeons under the château: when they wished to cover his eyes with a handkerchief, he repulsed them gently, saying to the gendarmes :

"You are Frenchmen; you will at least do me the favor not to miss your aim."

He handed them a ring, some of his hair, and a letter for Madame de Rohan; Savary

I was half inclined to reply, "Yes, when it is showed them all to Madame Bonaparte. The applicable ❞—but I dared not.

We continued our game, and I by degrees trusted more and more to his gayety. We were still playing when the sound of a carriage was heard. General Hullin was announced. Bonaparte pushed back the table hastily, and rose. He went into the gallery next to the salon, where he remained the rest of the evening with Murat, Hallen, and Savary.

I went off to my room singularly tranquillized. I could not persuade myself that Bonaparte was not agitated by the thought of holding such a victim in his hands. I hoped that the Prince would insist on seeing him-as indeed he did, for he said over and over again, "If the First Consul would consent to see me, he would do me justice, and would understand that I have done my duty." Perhaps, I said to myself, he will go himself to Vincennes, and accord a sensational pardon! If such were not his intention, why should he quote those lines of Guzman's? That night-that terrible night—at last passed away. In the morning, at a very early hour, I went down stairs. In the salon I found Savary alone, excessively pale, and, I will do him the justice to say, with a frightfully agitated countenance. His lips trembled as he spoke to me, and yet he uttered only the most insignificant words. I asked him no questions, for questions have always seemed to me very useless when

* These are the lines:

"Des dieux que nous servons, connais différence;

Les tiens l'on commandé le meurtre et la vengeance; Et le mien, quand ton bras vient m'assassiner M'ordonne de te plandre et de te pardonner."

letter was open, short, and affectionate. I do not know if the last wishes of this unfortunate Prince have ever been executed.

"After his death," resumed Savary, "the gendarmes were told that they could take his clothing, his watch, and the money he had upon his person; but not one of them would touch anything. People may say what they choose; it is impossible to see such men perish without emotions very different from those we have hitherto felt, and I feel that I shall not soon recover my sang-froid."

Presently Eugène Beauharnais appeared, too young to realize what had happened, and who saw in the death of the Duc d'Enghien only a conspirator against his master's life. Generals, whose names I will not write down, quickly followed. They lavished on the act that had been committed such unmeasured commendation that Madame Bonaparte, who was always a little confused when any one spoke loudly and energetically, felt obliged to apologize for my sadness by saying over and over again the ill-timed phrase

I

"I am a woman, too, and I acknowledge that feel inclined to weep."

All that morning people continued to pour in the Consuls and the Ministers, Louis Bonaparte and his wife, the former wrapped in a silence that looked like disapproval. Madame Louis was frightened, not daring to feel, and seemed to be asking what she should think.

The women were even more than the men impressed by the magic power of Bonaparte's sacramental words-" My policy!"

"LA

VIVIAN THE BEAUTY.

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BY MRS. EDWARDES,

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AUTHOR OF ARCHIE LOVELL," OUGHT WE TO VISIT HER?" ETC.

CHAPTER XIV.

IN SILK ATTIRE.

A philosophie à deux,' " remarks Kit Marlowe, a couple of hours later on. "Let us thank the gods, whatever gods there be, that one is verdant enough still to prefer a hop to philosophy."

The ballroom windows stand open to the night; soft and low the Bohemian band strikes up the prelusory bars of the Tannhäuser waltzes; Jeanne and Sir Christopher are partners. Blonde fräuleins with garlands in their hair, with pearls around their throats, with floating knots of ribbon, with superabundant adornment of all kinds, are being led forth, by slim-waisted, yellow-mustached warriors, from the side of stalwart mammas. Lady Pamela, falling at once into the easy etiquette of Kursaal ballrooms, has accorded her hand to an unknown cavalier-an Austrian, overredolent of Government cigars, of inexpensive macassar; and alas! with cuffs and collar too palpably of paper, but fair and poetic-looking as any stage Faust. Miss Vivash lingers still, "philosophizing" with Wolfgang, who smokes his cigar in the darkness of the gardens. The master, detained by his conveniently elastic pupils, has only arrived by the latest train from Freiburg, and Miss Vivash unselfishly foregoes the certain successes of the ballroom to be his companion.

Somewhat further, perhaps, than Mr. Wolfgang suspects, may the smoking of this cigar, the pursuit of this philosophie à deux, land him.

"I believe you are a philosopher without knowing it, Sir Christopher," says little Jeanne gayly. The girl's heart is ice-cold; her cheeks are on fire. She has determined, with all the will that is in her, to show indifference to Wolfgang and his actions; and, like most unpractical actors, runs a risk of overdoing her part. With a roomful of ribbons and tulles and laces, a man must be a philosopher, indeed, who should choose a Cinderella like me for his partner."

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Sir Christopher gazes at the washed-out print with an air of lachrymose gallantry that, whether she be heart-broken or no, brings a smile, perforce, to Jeanne's lips.

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remarks sentimentally. "When you are my age, have seen as much of the pomps and vanities of ribbons and laces as I have, my dear child, you will value them accordingly."

"Your age! I should hope some one will have taken pity on me before then," cries Jeanne. "Deserving poverty may be interesting enough in its teens. What would you say to a Watteau, a wood-nymph, a poem, in limp linen at eightand-twenty?"

Sir Christopher Marlowe sighs. “I should inordinately like to know, in detail, what you mean by 'some one taking pity on you,' Miss Dempster?"

"Would you? Oh, my ambition is modest, very! I could content myself on an allowance of five hundred pounds a year pin-money." Ange and Jeanne, between them, may annually spend on their clothes five hundred marks-not a pfennig more. "Five hundred pounds a year pinmoney, with unlimited opportunities for running into debt, and an occasional bonus in the shape of jewelry. I am likely to come across that kind of 'some one' in the Black Forest, am I not?"

"Not only likely, but certain, if you would let "some one' take you at your word. In the mean time," whispers Sir Christopher tenderly, "shall we begin our waltz, do you think? I am quite contented either way, but shall we make a start -or not ? "

The suggestion reminds Jeanne Dempster that during the past two minutes she and her partner have been standing in an attitude of preparation, her hand on Kit Marlowe's shoulder, his arm around her waist-reminds, but disconcerts her not. This is Jeanne's first introduction to the world, the first ballroom in which she has stood, a come-out young lady, playing her part among grown-up men and women. She knows nothing of ballroom ethics; does not surmise that a position, admitted to be correct when in rapid movement, should be open to animadversion when in repose. Looking up, however, toward an open French window near which they stand, it chances that she catches a glimpse of Miss Vivash and Wolfgang. The master's head is in shadow. Jeanne can see the face of Vivian clear in the lamp-light, as a delicate cameo upon a setting of dusky-green background.

A faint little sneer is round Beauty's lips;

'A Watteau, a wood-nymph, a poem," he contemptuous is the expression of her half-closed

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