Hortense stepped with her companion into the store to purchase the portraits of herself and of the emperor; and when she was told that these portraits were in great demand, and that many of them were sold to the people, she hardly found strength to repress the tears of blissful emotion that rose from her heart to her eyes.  She took the portraits and hastened home, to show them to her son and to bring to him with them the love-greetings of France.  While the duchess, her thoughts divided between the remembrances of the past and the cares and troubles of the present, had been sojourning in Paris for twelve days, all the papers were extolling the heroism of the duchess in having saved her son, and of her having embarked at Malta in order to take him to England.

Even the king’s ministerial council occupied itself with this matter, and thought it proper to make representations to his majesty on the subject.  Marshal Sebastiani informed the king that the Duchess of St. Leu, to his certain knowledge, had landed at Corfu.  With lively interest he spoke of the fatiguing journey at sea that the duchess would be compelled to make, and asked almost timidly if she might not be permitted to travel through France.

The king’s countenance assumed an almost sombre look, and he replied, dryly:  “Let her continue her journey.”  Casimir Perrier bowed his head over the paper that lay before him, in order to conceal his mirth, and minister Barthe availed himself of the opportunity to give a proof of his eloquence and of his severity, by observing that a law existed against the duchess, and that a law was a sacred thing that no one should be permitted to evade.

But the presence of the duchess, although kept a secret, began to cause the king and his premier Casimir Perrier more and more uneasiness.  The latter had already once informed her through M. de Houdetot that her departure was absolutely necessary and must take place at once, and he had only been moved to consent to her further sojourn by the condition of the prince, whose inflammation of the throat had rendered a second application of leeches necessary.

They were now, however, on the eve of a great and dangerous day, of the 5th of May[68].  The people of Paris were strangely moved, and the new government saw with much apprehension the dawn of this day of such great memories for France.  There seemed to be some justification for this apprehension.  Since the break of day, thousands of people had flocked to the column on the Place Vendome.  Silently and gravely they approached the monument, in order to adorn with wreaths of flowers the eagles, or to lay them at the foot of the column, and then to retire mournfully.

[Footnote 68:  The anniversary of Napoleon’s death.]

Hortense stood at the window of her apartment, looking on with folded hands and tears of bliss at the impressive and solemn scene that was taking place on the Place Vendome beneath, when suddenly a violent knocking was heard at her door, and M. de Houdetot rushed in, a pale and sorrowful expression on his countenance.