lf from her society, and the private access
between their apartments was closed. He now seldom entered her room, and
whenever he did so, he invariably knocked. And yet not one word had
passed between him and Josephine upon the fearful subject. Whenever
Josephine heard the sound of his approaching footsteps, the fear that he
was coming with the terrible announcement of separation immediately
caused such violent palpitations of the heart that it was with the
utmost difficulty she could totter across the floor, even when
supporting herself by leaning against the walls, and catching at the
articles of furniture.

The months of October and November passed away, and, while the emperor
was discussing with his cabinet the alliance into which he should enter,
he had not yet summoned courage to break the subject to Josephine. The
evidence is indubitable that he experienced intense anguish in view of
the separation, but this did not influence his iron will to swerve from
its purpose. The grandeur of his fame and the magnitude of his power
were now such, that there was not a royal family in Europe which would
not have felt honored in conferring upon him a bride. It was at first
contemplated that he should marry some princess of the Bourbon family,
and thus add to the stability of his throne by conciliating the
Royalists of France. A princess of Saxony was proposed. Some weighty
considerations urged an alliance with the majestic empire of Russia, and
some advances were made to the court of St. Petersburgh, having in view
a sister of the Emperor Alexander. It was finally decided that proposals
should be made to the court of Vienna for Maria Louisa, daughter of the
Emperor of Austria.

At length the fatal day arrived for the announcement to Josephine. It
was the last day of November, 1809. The emperor and empress dined at
Fontainebleau alone. She seems to have had a presentiment that her doom
was sealed, for all that day she had been in her retired apartment,
weeping bitterly. As the dinner-hour approached, she bathed her swollen
eyes, and tried to regain composure. They sat down at the table in
silence. Napoleon did not speak. Josephine could not trust her voice to
utter a word. Neither ate a mouthful. Course after course was brought in
and removed untouched. A mortal paleness revealed the anguish of each
heart. Napoleon, in his embarrassment, mechanically, and apparently
unconsciously, struck the edge of his glass with his knife, w