Hortense, in fact, while she was Mademoiselle beauharnais, regarded Napoleon with respectful awe.  She trembled when she spoke to him, and never dared to ask him a favour.  When she had anything to solicit she applied to me; and if I experienced any difficulty in obtaining for her what she sought, I mentioned her as the person for whom I pleaded.  “The little simpleton!” Napoleon would say, “why does she not ask me herself:  is the girl afraid of me?” Napoleon never cherished for her any feeling but paternal tenderness.  He loved her after his marriage with her mother as he would have loved his own child.  During three years I was a witness to all their most private actions, and I declare that I never saw or heard anything that could furnish the least ground for suspicion, or that afforded the slightest trace of the existence of a culpable intimacy.  This calumny must be classed among those with which malice delights to blacken the characters of men more brilliant than their fellows, and which are so readily adopted by the light-minded and unreflecting.  I freely declare that did I entertain the smallest doubt with regard to this odious charge, of the existence of which I was well aware before Napoleon spoke to me on the subject, I would candidly avow it.  He is no more:  and let his memory be accompanied only by that, be it good or bad, which really belongs to it.  Let not this reproach be one of those charged against him by the impartial historian.  I must say, in concluding this delicate subject, that the principles of Napoleon on points of this kind were rigid in the utmost degree, and that a connection of the nature of that charged against him was neither in accordance with his morals nor his tastes.

I cannot tell whether what followed was a portion of his premeditated conversation with me, or whether it was the result of the satisfaction he had derived from ascertaining my perfect conviction of the purity of his conduct with regard to Hortense, and being assured that I would express that conviction.  Be this as it may, as I was going out at the door he called me back, saying, “Oh!  I have forgotten something.”  I returned.  “Bourrienne,” said he, “do you still keep up your acquaintance with the Fauchers?”—­“Yes, General; I see them frequently.”—­“You are wrong.”—­ “Why should I not?  They are clever, well-educated men, and exceedingly pleasant company, especially Caesar.  I derive great pleasure from their society; and then they are almost the only persons whose friendship has continued faithful to me since I left you.  You know people do not care for those who can render them no service.”—­“Maret will not see the Fauchers.”—­“That may be, General; but it is nothing to me; and you must recollect that as it was through him I was introduced to them at the Tuileries, I think he ought to inform me of his reasons for dropping their acquaintance.”—­“I tell you again he has closed his door against them.  Do you the same; I advise you.”  As I did