ridor, and thence
into the apartments of the empress, calling in a loud voice, "Constant!"
The _valet de chambre_ entered immediately. "Constant!" said the
emperor, "come hither close to me, and listen. You will quickly set in
order my travelling-coach, so that I shall be able to set out in an
hour. Roustan and you will accompany me--no one else. But you must not
say a word about my departure. I want it to be known at the Tuileries,
as well as in Paris, to-morrow only, that I have left the capital, and
it is of the highest importance that it should remain a secret until
then. Do you understand me? And now make haste! In an hour every thing
must be ready!"

Constant bowed in silence and withdrew. "Yes, yes," he murmured, while
hastily passing on, "I understood the emperor very well. His departure
is to remain a secret; that is to say, especially for the empress. Ah!
the poor, good empress! How she will weep when she hears to-morrow that
the emperor has again set out without her! Formerly he always took her
with him; she had to share the triumphs and troubles of the journey; but
now she must stay at home. Poor Josephine! she is so good, and loves him
intensely! But I must obey the emperor's order. I cannot tell her any
thing! I cannot, but it would be no fault of mine if some one else
should! Ah! a good idea strikes me! The empress had the gold
travelling-case of the emperor brought to her yesterday in order to have
one like it made for the viceroy of Italy. I must go immediately and get
it from her maid, and she is fortunately tenderly devoted to the
empress!"

CHAPTER XLV.

JOSEPHINE'S FAREWELL.

The empress in the mean time had returned to her rooms, sad and absorbed
in her reflections. She had dismissed her ladies of honor; only her
mistress of ceremonies, Madame de Remusat, was still with her, and her
maids were in the adjoining room to await her orders until she retired.

No sooner had Josephine reached her room than she sat down slowly and
abstractedly, and, throwing back her head, fixed her eyes on the
ceiling. An expression of profound grief was visible in her features,
and darkened the shade with which age was veiling her countenance. When
smiling, Josephine was still a graceful and fascinating woman, but when
melancholy it was but too plainly to be seen that her charms were
fading, and neither the flattering rouge nor the skill of the artist
could conceal this fact.

Josephine's brow was now oft