“General,” cried out Josephine, cheerfully, “have you heard what M. Ragideau says?”

Bonaparte turned slowly round, and his large eyes fell with a flaming look upon the little advocate.

“Yes,” said he, gravely, “I have heard all.  M. Ragideau has spoken as an honest man, and every thing he has said fills me with esteem for him.  I trust he will continue to be our agent, for I feel inclined to give him full confidence.”

He bowed kindly to the little lawyer, who stood there bewildered and ashamed, and, offering his arm to Josephine, Bonaparte led her into the drawing-room. [Footnote:  The little advocate Ragideau remained after this Josephine’s agent.  When Bonaparte had become emperor, he appointed Ragideau notary of the civil list, and always manifested the greatest interest in his behalf, and never by a word or a look did he remind him of the strange circumstance which brought about their acquaintance.—­See Meneval.  “Napoleon et Marie Louise,” vol. i., p. 202.]

The decisive word had been spoken:  Josephine de Beauharnais was now the bride of General Bonaparte.  His hitherto pale, gloomy countenance was all radiant with the bright light of love and happiness.  The days of solitude and privations were forgotten; the young, beautiful Desiree Clary, whom Bonaparte so much loved a few months ago, and the amiable Madame Permont, were also forgotten (and yet to the latter, in her loge at the theatre, as a farce between acts, he had offered his hand); all the little love-intrigues of former days were forgotten; to Josephine alone belonged his heart, her alone he loved with all the impassioned glow and depth of a first exclusive love.

But yet, now and then, clouds darkened his large pensive brow; even her smile could not always illumine the gloomy expression on his features; it would happen that, plunged in deep, sad cogitations, he heard not the question which she addressed him in her remarkably soft and clear voice which Bonaparte so much loved.

His lofty pride felt humiliated and disgraced by the part he was now performing.

He was the general of the army of the interior, but beyond the frontiers of France there stood another French army, whose soldiers had not the sad mission to maintain peace and quietness at home, to fight against brothers; but an army seeking for the foe, whose blood and victories were to secure them laurels.

General Bonaparte longed to be with this army, and to obliterate the remembrance of the 13th Vendemiaire and its sad victory by brilliant exploits beyond the Alps.  It was also to him a humiliating and depressing feeling to become the husband of a wealthy woman, and not bring her as a glorious gift or a wedding-present the fame and laurels of a husband.