Thus both of them often had to content themselves with going on foot through the streets, and it may be that, in this halcyon period of their felicity, they regarded the circumstance rather as a favor than as a scurvy trick of Fortune.  Their tender and confidential communications were not disturbed by the loud rattle of the wheels, and they were not obliged to interrupt their sweet interchange of sentiment while getting into and out of a vehicle.  Arm-in-arm, they strolled together along the promenades, he smiling proudly when the passers-by broke out in spontaneous exclamations of delight at Josephine’s beauty, and she happy and exultant as she overheard the whispered admiration and respect with which the multitude everywhere greeted Bonaparte, as she pressed with the general through the throng.

One day, Bonaparte accompanied the viscountess on a visit to Ragideau, the smallest man but the greatest lawyer in Paris.  He had been the business attorney of the Beauharnais family for a long time, and Josephine now wished to withdraw from his hands, for her own disposal, a sum of money belonging to her that had been deposited with him.  Bonaparte remained in the anteroom while Josephine went into the adjoining apartment, which was Ragideau’s office.

“I have come to tell you that I am going to marry again,” said Josephine, with her winning smile, to Ragideau.

The little attorney gave a friendly nod, as he replied:  “You do well, and I congratulate you with all my heart, viscountess, for I am satisfied that you have made no other than a worthy choice.”

“Undoubtedly, a very worthy choice,” exclaimed Josephine, with the proud and happy look of a person really in love.  “My future husband is General Bonaparte!”

The little great man (of a lawyer) fairly started with alarm.  “How?” said he, “You!—­the Viscountess Beauharnais, you—­marry this little General Bonaparte, this general of the republic, which has already deposed him once, and may depose him again to-morrow, and throw him back into insignificance?”

Josephine’s only reply was this:  “I love him.”

“Yes you love him, now,” exclaimed Ragideau, warmly.  “But you are wrong in marrying him, and you will one day, rue it.  You are committing a folly, viscountess, for you want to marry a man who has nothing but his hat and his sword.”

“But who also has a future,” said Josephine, gayly, and then, turning the conversation, she began to speak of the practical matters that had brought her thither.

When her business with the notary had been concluded, Josephine returned to the anteroom where Bonaparte was waiting for her.  He came, smiling, to meet her, but, at the same moment, he gave the notary, who was with her, so fierce and wrathful a glance that the latter shrank back in consternation.  Josephine also remarked that Bonaparte’s countenance was paler that day than usual, and that he was less communicative and less disposed to chat with her; but she had already learned that it was not advisable to question him as to the cause of his different moods.  So, she kept silent on that score, and her cheerfulness and amiability soon drove away the clouds that had obscured the general’s brow.