ses by
promising to return soon. But during the forty years that remained to
her she never set foot again in her "second home."

In her forty-sixth year Vigee Le Brun left Russia, and turned her face
towards Paris; she crossed the border into Germany and halted a short
while in Berlin to paint a few portraits, and in order to go to Potsdam
to paint the Queen of Prussia. On leaving Berlin she narrowly escaped
losing her diamonds and gold, a servant of the inn making an attempt to
force open the baggage that contained them. From Berlin she roamed to
Dresden, where she seems to have hesitated, reluctant to bend her steps
towards Paris, yet torn with desire to go. As she came nearer to
France her desire to return conflicted with her horror at the memories
which the tragedy and wreckage of the Terror raised like ghouls in her
imagination--every well-loved spot would now bear witness to her of the
ghastly crimes that had swept away her old friends, their once masters
and mistresses.

VI

THE END

At last, the year after Napoleon, with great pomp, took up his official
residence as First Consul at the palace of the Tuileries, Vigee Le Brun
set foot on French soil after twelve years splendid exile, carrying
with her a considerable fortune.

The egregious Le Brun seems to have been reconciled, for he took a
leading part in her reception. As she stepped out of the carriage she
found herself in the arms of her brother and his wife, amidst tears of
joy--with Le Brun in attendance. In her home, which was gay with
flowers, everything else was exactly as she had left it, except that
above her bed was a crown of golden stars set there by "citizen Le
Brun." The long-suffering Vigee Le Brun was deeply touched; but could
not forget that the unconscious wag had made her pay dearly for the
golden stars.

Concerts and ovations greeted the returned exile; but it was all a
strange world. A few old friends--and the rest, kindly strangers. She
grew restless, and in six months was setting out for London. Here she
found herself amongst hosts of old friends; and the doors of the great,
as everywhere, thrown open to her. She painted George the Fourth and
Byron amongst many others. The rage for portraits by her kept her in
England for three years; and it was her fiftieth year (1805) before she
returned by way of Holland and Belgium into France.

But in the midst of the great sea of adventure that swept France along
under Nap