a moment in silence, tenderly and sadly, and then
said, "Josephine! I have been as fortunate as was ever man on the face
of this earth. But, in this hour, when a storm is gathering over my
head, I have not, in this wide world, any one but you upon whom I can
repose."

In the fearful conflict which ensued--the most terrible which history
has recorded--Napoleon's thoughts ever reverted to the wife of his
youth. He kept up an almost daily correspondence with her, informing her
of the passing of events. His letters, written in the midst of all the
confusion of the camp, were more affectionate and confiding than ever.
Adversity had softened his heart. In these dark days, when, with most
Herculean power, he was struggling against fearful odds, and his throne
was crumbling beneath his feet, it was observed that a letter from
Josephine was rather torn than broken open, so great was the eagerness
of Napoleon to receive a line from her. Wherever he was, however great
the emergency in which he was placed, the moment a courier brought to
him a letter from Josephine, all other business was laid aside until it
had been read.

The allied armies were every day approaching nearer and nearer to Paris,
and Josephine was overwhelmed with grief in contemplating the disasters
which were falling upon Napoleon. At Malmaison, Josephine and the ladies
of her court were employed in forming bandages and scraping lint for the
innumerable wounded who filled the hospitals. The conflicting armies
approached so near to Malmaison that it became dangerous for Josephine
to remain there, and, in great apprehension, she one morning, at eight
o'clock, took her carriage for Navarre. Two or three times on the road
she was alarmed by the cry, "Cossacks! Cossacks!" When she had proceeded
about thirty miles, the pole of her carriage broke, and at the same time
a troop of horsemen appeared in the distance, riding down upon her.
They were French hussars; but Josephine thought that they were either
Cossacks or Prussians, and, though the rain was falling in torrents, in
her terror she leaped from the carriage, and began to fly across the
fields. She had proceeded some distance before her attendants discovered
the mistake. The carriage being repaired, she proceeded the rest of her
way unmolested. The empress hardly uttered a word during this melancholy
journey, but upon entering the palace she threw herself upon a couch,
exclaiming, "Surely, surely Bonaparte is ignor