sation
with one of these old _grognards_ who was on duty. He answered me
laughing. I called out: 'I know my drill. I have a little musket!'
Then the grenadier asked me to put him through his drill, and thus
we were found, I shouting, 'Present arms! Carry arms! Attention!'
the old grenadier obeying, to please me. Imagine my happiness! I
often went with my brother to breakfast with the emperor. When
he entered the room, he would come up to us, take our heads in
his hands, and so lift us on the table. This frightened my mother
very much, Dr. Corvisart having told her that such treatment was
very bad for children."

The day before the Emperor Napoleon left Paris for the campaign
of Waterloo, Hortense carried her boys to the Tuileries to take
leave of him. Little Louis Napoleon contrived to run alone to his
uncle's cabinet, where he was closeted with Marshal Soult. As soon
as the boy saw the emotion in the emperor's face, he ran up to
him, and burying his head in his lap, sobbed out: "Our governess
says you are going to the wars,--don't go; don't go, Uncle." "And
why not, Louis? I shall soon come back." "Oh, Uncle, those wicked
allies will kill you! Let me go with you." The emperor took the
boy upon his knee and kissed him. Then, turning to Soult, who was
moved by the little scene, he said, "Here, Marshal, kiss him; he
will have a tender heart and a lofty spirit; he is perhaps the
hope of my race."

After Waterloo, the emperor, who passed one night in Paris, kissed
the children at the last moment, with his foot upon the step of
the carriage that was to carry him the first stage of his journey
to St. Helena.

After this, Hortense and her boys were not allowed to live in France.
Protected by an aide-de-camp of Prince Schwartzenberg, they reached
Lake Constance, on the farthest limits of Switzerland. There, after
a while, Queen Hortense converted a gloomy old country seat into a
refined and beautiful home. A great trial, however, awaited her.
King Louis demanded the custody of their eldest son, and little
Napoleon was taken from his mother, leaving her only Louis. Louis
had always been a "mother's boy," frail in health, thoughtful,
grave, loving, and full of sentiment.

Hortense's life at Arenenberg was varied in the winter by visits
to Rome. Her husband lived in Florence, and they corresponded about
their boys. But though they met once again in after years, they
were husband and wife no more. Indeed, charming as Hortens