“The post-master of Ecouen was in the courtyard at the moment when the Emperor, as he stepped into his carriage, told me he would send some sweetmeats for the pupils.  I immediately communicated to them the intelligence, which was joyfully received; but the sweetmeats were looked for in vain.  When Alexander set out for England he changed horses at Ecouen, and the post-master said to him:  ’Sire, the pupils of Ecouen are still expecting the sweetmeats which your Majesty promised them.’  To which the Emperor replied that he had directed Saken to send them.  The Cossacks had most likely devoured the sweetmeats, and the poor little girls, who had been so highly flattered by the promise, never tasted them.”

“A second house was formed at St. Denis, on the model of that of Ecouen.  Perhaps Madame Campan might have hoped for a title to which her long labours gave her a right; perhaps the superintendence of the two houses would have been but the fair recompense of her services; but her fortunate years had passed her fate was now to depend on the most important events.  Napoleon had accumulated such a mass of power as no one but himself in Europe could overturn.  France, content with thirty years of victories, in vain asked for peace and repose.  The army which had triumphed in the sands of Egypt, on the summits of the Alps, and in the marshes of Holland, was to perish amidst the snows of Russia.  Nations combined against a single man.  The territory of France was invaded.  The orphans of Ecouen, from the windows of the mansion which served as their asylum, saw in the distant plain the fires of the Russian bivouacs, and once more wept the deaths of their fathers.  Paris capitulated.  France hailed the return of the descendants of Henri IV.; they reascended the throne so long filled by their ancestors, which the wisdom of an enlightened prince established on the empire of the laws.

[A lady, connected with the establishment of St. Denis, told Madame Campan that Napoleon visited it during the Hundred Days, and that the pupils were so delighted to see him that they crowded round him, endeavouring to touch his clothes, and evincing the most extravagant joy.  The matron endeavoured to silence them; but Napoleon said, ’Let them alone; let them alone.  This may weaken the head, but it strengthens the heart.’”]

This moment, which diffused joy amongst the faithful servants of the royal family, and brought them the rewards of their devotion, proved to Madame Campan a period of bitter vexation.  The hatred of her enemies had revived.  The suppression of the school at Ecouen had deprived her of her position; the most absurd calumnies followed her into her retreat; her attachment to the Queen was suspected; she was accused not only of ingratitude but of perfidy.  Slander has little effect on youth, but in the decline of life its darts are envenomed with a mortal poison.  The wounds which Madame Campan had received were deep.  Her sister, Madame Auguie, had destroyed herself; M. Rousseau, her brother-in-law, had perished, a victim of the reign of terror.  In 1813 a dreadful accident had deprived her of her niece, Madame de Broc, one of the most amiable and interesting beings that ever adorned the earth.  Madame Campan seemed destined to behold those whom she loved go down to the grave before her.