At the side of her husband’s father, and holding her daughter in her arms, Josephine entered Paris.  Behind them came a long train of brilliant equipages, of relatives and friends.  The passers-by stopped to see the brilliant procession move before them, and to ask what it meant.  Some had recognized the viscountess, and they told to others of the sufferings and of the acquittal of the poor young woman; and the people, easily affected and sympathizing, rejoiced in the decision of the Parliament, and with shouts and applause followed the carriage of the young wife.

The marquis, her father-in-law, turned smilingly to Josephine.

“Do you see, my daughter,” said he, “what a triumph you enjoy, and how much you are beloved and recognized?”

Josephine bent down toward the little Hortense and kissed her.

“Ah,” said she, in a low voice, “we are returning home, but the father of my children will not bid us welcome.  For a pressure of his hand, for a kind word from him, I would gladly give the lofty triumph of this hour.”

No, Alexandre de Beauharnais did not bid welcome to Josephine in his father’s house, which they had occupied together.  Ashamed and irritated, he had sped away from Paris, and returned to his regiment at Verdun.

On the arm of the Marquis de Beauharnais, Josephine traversed the apartments in which she had lived with her husband, and which she now saw again as a widow, whom not death but life had separated from her husband.  Her father-in-law saw the tears standing in her eyes, and, with the refined sympathy of a sensitive mind, he understood the painful thoughts which agitated the soul of the young wife.

He fondly folded her in his arms, and laid his blessing hand on the head of the little Hortense.

“I have lost my son Alexandre,” said he, “but I have found in his stead a daughter.  Yes, Josephine, you are and will remain my daughter, and to you and to your children I will be a true father.  My son has parted from us, but we remain together in harmony and love, and as long as I live my daughter Josephine will never want a protector.”

CHAPTER VI.

Trianon and Marie Antoinette.

Whilst the Viscountess Josephine de Beauharnais, the empress of the future, was living in enforced widowhood, the life of Marie Antoinette, the queen of the present, resembled a serene, golden, sunny dream; her countenance, beaming with youth, beauty, and grace, had never yet been darkened with a cloud; her large blue eyes had not yet been dimmed with tears.