a son of the marquis on the breast, and instantly
killed him. The young man, who was on the eve of his marriage to the
daughter of an ancient friend, was an officer of great promise, and the
hope of the declining family. His death was a terrible calamity, as well
as a most afflictive bereavement. The father abandoned himself to all
the delirium of inconsolable grief, and was so utterly lost in the
depths of despair, that it was feared his mind would never again recover
its tone. The Duke of Orleans was grand-uncle of the young man who was
killed, and Madame Montesson, the mother of Louis Philippe, sent for her
distressed relatives that she might administer to their consolation. All
her endeavors, however, were entirely unavailing.

In the midst of this afflictive scene, Josephine entered the saloon of
Madame Montesson. Her own heart taught her that in such a grief as this
words were valueless. Silently she took by the hand the eldest daughter,
a beautiful girl, whose loveliness plead loudly for a father's care, and
in the other arm she took their infant child of fifteen months, and,
with her own cheeks bathed in tears, she kneeled before the stricken
mourner. He raised his eyes and saw Josephine, the wife of the first
consul, kneeling before him, and imploringly presenting his two
children. He was at first astonished at the sight. Then, bursting into
tears, he exclaimed, "Yes! I have much for which I am yet bound to live.
These children have claims upon me, and I must no longer yield to
despair." A lady who was present on this occasion says, "I witnessed
this scene, and shall never forget it. The wife of the first consul
expressed, in language which I will not attempt to imitate, all that
tenderness which the maternal bosom alone knows. She was the very image
of a ministering angel, for the touching charm of her voice and look
pertained more to heaven than to earth." Josephine had herself seen days
as dark as could lower over a mortal's path. Love for her children was
then the only tie which bound her to life. In those days of anguish she
learned the only appeal which, under these circumstances, could touch a
despairing father's heart.

Several conspiracies were formed about this time against the life of
the first consul. That of the Infernal Machine was one of the most
desperate, reckless, and atrocious which history has recorded. On the
evening of December 24, 1800, Napoleon was going to the opera. Three
gentlemen we