ld that he made three steps to
the door of the Emperor's cabinet after advising him to get rid of three
men in France on the eve of Napoleon's departure for his celebrated
and admirable campaign of 1814. After the second return of the Bourbons
Bartolomeo ceased to wear the decoration of the Legion of honor. No man
offered a finer image of those old Republicans, incorruptible friends
to the Empire, who remained the living relics of the two most energetic
governments the world has ever seen. Though the Baron di Piombo
displeased mere courtiers, he had the Darus, Drouots, and Carnots with
him as friends. As for the rest of the politicians, he cared not a whiff
of his cigar's smoke for them, especially since Waterloo.

Bartolomeo di Piombo had bought, for the very moderate sum which Madame
Mere, the Emperor's mother, had paid him for his estates in Corsica, the
old mansion of the Portenduere family, in which he had made no changes.
Lodged, usually, at the cost of the government, he did not occupy this
house until after the catastrophe of Fontainebleau. Following the habits
of simple persons of strict virtue, the baron and his wife gave no heed
to external splendor; their furniture was that which they bought with
the mansion. The grand apartments, lofty, sombre, and bare, the wide
mirrors in gilded frames that were almost black, the furniture of the
period of Louis XIV. were in keeping with Bartolomeo and his wife,
personages worthy of antiquity.

Under the Empire, and during the Hundred Days, while exercising
functions that were liberally rewarded, the old Corsican had maintained
a great establishment, more for the purpose of doing honor to his office
than from any desire to shine himself. His life and that of his wife
were so frugal, so tranquil, that their modest fortune sufficed for all
their wants. To them, their daughter Ginevra was more precious than the
wealth of the whole world. When, therefore, in May, 1814, the Baron di
Piombo resigned his office, dismissed his crowd of servants, and closed
his stable door, Ginevra, quiet, simple and unpretending like her
parents, saw nothing to regret in the change. Like all great souls, she
found her luxury in strength of feeling, and derived her happiness from
quietness and work. These three beings loved each other too well for the
externals of existence to be of value in their eyes.

Often, and especially after the second dreadful fall of Napoleon,
Bartolomeo and his wife pa