It may easily be understood what this poor woman suffered after losing her child.  She besought and entreated the soldiers who escorted her to return; but they had their orders, which nothing could cause them to infringe.  Immediately on her arrival she set out again on her return to Augsburg, making inquiries in all directions, but could obtain no information of her son, and at last being convinced that he was dead, wept bitterly for him.  She had mourned thus for nearly six months, when the army re-passed Augsburg; and, while at work alone in her room one day, she was told that a soldier wished to see her, and had something precious to commit to her care; but he was unable to leave his corps, and must beg her to meet him on the public square.  Little suspecting the happiness in store for her, she sought the grenadier, and the latter leaving the ranks, pulled the “little good man” out of his pocket, and placed him in the arms of the poor mother, who could not believe the evidence of her own eyes.  Thinking that this lady was probably not rich, this excellent man had collected a sum of money, which he had placed in one of the pockets of the little one’s coat.

The Emperor remained only a short time at Munich; and the day of his arrival a courier was sent in haste by the grand marshal to M. de Lucay to inform him that his Majesty would be at Fontainebleau on the 27th of October, in the evening probably, and that the household of the Emperor, as well as that of the Empress, should be at this residence to receive his Majesty.  But, instead of arriving on the evening of the 27th, the Emperor had traveled with such speed, that, on the 26th at ten o’clock in the morning, he was at the gates of the palace of Fontainebleau; and consequently, with the exception of the grand marshal, a courier, and the gate-keeper of Fontainebleau, he found no one to receive him on his descent from the carriage.  This mischance, which was very natural, since it had been impossible to foresee an advance of more than a day in the time appointed, nevertheless incensed the Emperor greatly.  He was regarding every one around him as if searching for some one to scold, when, finding that the courier was preparing to alight from his horse, on which he was more stuck than seated, he said to him:  “You can rest to-morrow; hasten to Saint-Cloud and announce my arrival,” and the poor courier recommenced his furious gallop.

This accident, which vexed his Majesty so greatly, could not be considered the fault of any one; for by the orders of the grand marshal, received from the Emperor, M. de Lucay had commanded their Majesties’ service to be ready on the morning of the next day.  Consequently, that evening was the earliest hour at which the service could possibly be expected to arrive; and he was compelled to wait until then.