“We, therefore,” says she, [Footnote:  Abrantes, “Memoires.” vol. xii., p. 289.] “ascended the throne-room, and were no sooner seated, than the drums began to beat, and the empress entered.  I shall never forget that figure, in the costume which so marvellously suited her... never will this gentle face, now wrapped in mourning crape, fade away from my memory.  It was evident that she was not prepared for the solitude which she had found on the grand staircase; and yet Junot, in spite of the risk of being blamed by the emperor, went to receive her, and he had even managed that the empress should meet on the stairs a few ladies who, it is true, did not very well know how they came and what they had to do there.  The empress, however, was not deceived; as she entered the grand hall and approached the throne on which, in the presence of the public of the capital, she was to sit probably for the last time....her feet trembled and her eyes filled with tears. ....I tried to catch her eyes; I would willingly have sunk at her feet and told her how much I suffered....She understood me, and looked at me with the most agonizing gaze which perhaps was ever in her eyes since that now blighted crown had been placed on her head.  That look spoke of agony—­it revealed depths of sorrow!....What must she have suffered on this awful day!....She felt wretched, dying, and yet she smiled!  Oh, what a torture was that crown!....Junot stood by her.

“‘You were not afraid of Jupiter’s wrath,’ said I to him afterward.

“‘No,’ said he, with a gloomy look, ’no, I fear him not, when he is wrong....’

“The drums beat a second time; they announced the emperor’s approach....  A few minutes after he came in, walking rapidly, and accompanied by the Queen of Naples and the King of Westphalia.  The heat was extraordinary, though it was cold out of doors.  The Queen of Naples, whose gracious, charming smile seemed to demand from the Parisians the salutation, ‘Welcome to Paris,’ spoke to every one, and with the expression of uncommon goodness.  Napoleon, also, who wished to appear friendly, walked up and down the room, talking and questioning, followed by Berthier, who fairly skipped at his side, fulfilling more the duties of a chamberlain than those of a connetable.  A trifling circumstance in reference to Berthier struck me.  The emperor, who for some time had been seated on his arm-chair near the empress, descended the steps of the throne to go once more around the hall; at the moment he rose I saw him bend down toward the empress, probably to tell her that she was to accompany him.  He rose up first; Berthier, who had stood behind him, rushed on to follow his master; the empress was already standing up, when his feet caught in the train of her mantle, and he nearly fell down, causing the empress almost to fall.  However, he disentangled himself, and, without one word of excuse to the empress, he followed the emperor.  Certainly Berthier had not the intention to be wanting in respect to the empress; but he knew the secret—­he knew the whole drama soon to be performed.... and assuredly he would not have so acted one year ago as he did to-day.....  The empress had remained standing with a marvellous dignity; she smiled as if the accident was the result of mere awkward-ness.... but her eyes were full of tears, and her lips trembled....”