Josephine went home in a glow.  She did not like the man—­he had humiliated her by making her explain who she was, and his manner, too, was offensively familiar.  And yet he was a power, there was no denying that, and to know men of power is a satisfaction to any woman.  He was twenty years younger than Beauharnais, the mourned—­twenty years!  Then Beauharnais was tall and had a splendid beard and wore a dangling sword.  Beauharnais was of noble birth, educated, experienced, but he was dead; and here was a beardless boy being called the Chief Citizen of France.  Well, well, well!

She was both pleased and hurt—­hurt to think she had been humbled, and pleased to think such attentions had been paid her.  In a few days the young general called on the widow to crave forgiveness for not having recognized her when she had called on him.  It was very stupid in him, very!  She forgave him.

He complimented Eugene in terse, lavish terms, and when he went away kissed Hortense, who was thirteen and thought herself too big to be kissed by a strange man.  But Napoleon said they all seemed just like old friends.  And seeming like old friends he called often.

Josephine knew Paris and Parisian society thoroughly.  Fifteen years of close contact in success and defeat with statesmen, soldiers, diplomats, artists and literati had taught her much.  It is probable that she was the most gifted woman in Paris.  Now, Napoleon learned by induction as Josephine had, and as all women do, and as genius must, for life is short—­only dullards spend eight years at Oxford.  He absorbed Josephine as the devilfish does its prey.  And to get every thought and feeling that a good woman possesses you must win her completest love.  In this close contact she gives up all—­unlike Sapphira—­holding nothing back.

Among educated people, people of breeding and culture, Napoleon felt ill at ease.  With this woman at his side he would be at home anywhere.  And feeling at once that he could win her only by honorable marriage he decided to marry her.

He was ambitious.  Has that been remarked before?  Well, one can not always be original—­still I think the facts bear out the statement.

Josephine was ambitious, too, but some way in this partnership she felt that she would bring more capital into the concern than he, and she hesitated.

But power had given dignity to the Little Man; his face had taken on the cold beauty of marble.  Success was better than sarsaparilla.  Josephine was aware of his growing power, and his persistency was irresistible; and so one evening when he dropped in for a moment, her manner told all.  He just took her in his arms, and kissing her very tenderly whispered, “My dear, together we will win,” and went his way.  When he wished to be, Napoleon was the ideal lover; he was master of that fine forbearance, flavored with a dash of audacity, that women so appreciate.  He never wore love to a frazzle, nor caressed the object of his affections into fidgets; neither did he let her starve, although at times she might go hungry.