In a moment more the trumpets rang out shrilly, the horsemen closed up beside the imperial carriage, and it rolled away amid the tumultuous shouting of the populace.

The girl who had so attracted Napoleon’s attention was Marie Walewska, descended from an ancient though impoverished family in Poland.  When she was only fifteen she was courted by one of the wealthiest men in Poland, the Count Walewska.  He was three or four times her age, yet her dark blue eyes, her massive golden hair, and the exquisite grace of her figure led him to plead that she might become his wife.  She had accepted him, but the marriage was that of a mere child, and her interest still centered upon her country and took the form of patriotism rather than that of wifehood and maternity.

It was for this reason that the young Countess had visited Bronia.  She was now eighteen years of age and still had the sort of romantic feeling which led her to think that she would keep in some secret hiding-place the bouquet which the greatest man alive had given her.

But Napoleon was not the sort of man to forget anything that had given him either pleasure or the reverse.  He who, at the height of his cares, could recall instantly how many cannon were in each seaport of France and could make out an accurate list of all his military stores; he who could call by name every soldier in his guard, with a full remembrance of the battles each man had fought in and the honors that he had won—­he was not likely to forget so lovely a face as the one which had gleamed with peculiar radiance through the crowd at Bronia.

On reaching Warsaw he asked one or two well-informed persons about this beautiful stranger.  Only a few hours had passed before Prince Poniatowski, accompanied by other nobles, called upon her at her home.

“I am directed, madam,” said he, “by order of the Emperor of France, to bid you to be present at a ball that is to be given in his honor to-morrow evening.”

Mme. Walewska was startled, and her face grew hot with blushes.  Did the emperor remember her escapade at Bronia?  If so, how had he discovered her?  Why should he seek her out and do her such an honor?

“That, madam, is his imperial majesty’s affair,” Poniatowski told her.  “I merely obey his instructions and ask your presence at the ball.  Perhaps Heaven has marked you out to be the means of saving our unhappy country.”

In this way, by playing on her patriotism, Poniatowski almost persuaded her, and yet something held her back.  She trembled, though she was greatly fascinated; and finally she refused to go.

Scarcely had the envoy left her, however, when a great company of nobles entered in groups and begged her to humor the emperor.  Finally her own husband joined in their entreaties and actually commanded her to go; so at last she was compelled to yield.

It was by no means the frank and radiant girl who was now preparing again to meet the emperor.  She knew not why, and yet her heart was full of trepidation and nervous fright, the cause of which she could not guess, yet which made her task a severe ordeal.  She dressed herself in white satin, with no adornment save a wreath of foliage in her hair.