n Europe since the fall of the Emperor, Prince Jerome owes the
comfortable maintenance which he still enjoys to the love of the
princess, she does not any the less show a truly exemplary submission to
his will. Princess Catharine occupies herself almost exclusively with
her three children, two boys and one girl, all of whom are very
beautiful. The eldest was born in the month of August, 1814. Her
daughter, the Princess Mathilde, owes her superior education to the care
her mother exercised over it; she is pretty, but less so than her
brothers, who all have their mother's features.

After the description, which is not at all flattered, which I have just
given of Princess Catharine, it may seem surprising that, provided as she
is with so many solid qualities, she has never been able to conquer an
inexplicable weakness regarding petty superstitions. Thus, for instance,
she is extremely afraid to seat herself at a table where there are
thirteen guests. I will relate an anecdote of which I can guarantee the
authenticity, and which, perhaps, may foster the weakness of persons
subject to the same superstitions as the Princess of Wurtemberg. One day
at Florence, being present at a family dinner, she perceived that there
were exactly thirteen plates, suddenly grew pale, and obstinately refused
to take her seat. Princess Eliza Bacciochi ridiculed her sister-in-law,
shrugged her shoulders, and said to her, smiling, "There is no danger,
there are in truth fourteen, since I am enceinte." Princess Catharine
yielded, but with extreme repugnance. A short time after she had to put
on mourning for her sister-in-law; and the death of the Princess Eliza,
as may well be believed, contributed no little to render her more
superstitious than ever as to the number thirteen. Well! let strong
minds boast themselves as they may; but I can console the weak, as I dare
to affirm that, if the Emperor had witnessed such an occurrence in his
own family, an instinct stronger than any other consideration, stronger
even than his all-powerful reason, would have caused him some moments of
vague anxiety.

Now, it only remains for me to render an account of the bestowal I made
of the first cross of honor the First Consul wore. The reader need not
be alarmed; I did not make a bad use of it; it is on the breast of a
brave soldier of our old army. In 1817 I made the acquaintance of M.
Godeau, a former captain in the Imperial Guard. He had been severely
wounded at