ew this well; and I--." She paused, and
then, though her lips moved, the words that followed were inaudible.
"There is but one on earth," continued she, as her eyes, brimful of
tears, were turned towards Madame Bonaparte, who still stood talking
in the window, "over whose fortunes my affection has thrown no blight.
Heaven grant it may be ever so!" Then suddenly, as if remembering
herself, she added: "What I would ask is this,--that we should meet no
more. Nay, nay; look not so harshly at me. If I, alone in the world, ask
to be deprived of his friendship who loved my brother so--"

"Oh! if you be alone in the world, feel for one like me, who has not
even a country he can call his own. Take not the one hope from my heart,
I ask you. Leave me the thought that there is one, but one, in all this
land, to whom my name, if ever mentioned with praise, can bring one
moment's pleasure,--who can say 'I knew him.' Do not forget that
Charles, with his dying breath, said you would be my sister."

The door of the _salon_ opened suddenly, and a name was announced, but
in my confusion, I heard not what. Madame Bonaparte, however, advanced
towards the new arrival with an air of welcome, as she said,--

"We were just wishing for you, general. Pray tell us all the news of
Paris."

The person thus addressed was a very tall and singularly handsome man,
whose dark eyes, and dark whiskers meeting in the middle of his chin,
gave him the appearance of an Italian. He was dressed in a hussar
uniform, whose gorgeous braiding of gold was heightened in effect by a
blaze of orders and stars that covered the entire breast; the scarlet
pantaloons, tight to the leg, displayed to advantage the perfect
symmetry of his form; while his boots of yellow morocco, bound and
tasselled with gold, seemed the very coquetry of military costume. A
sabre, the hilt actually covered with precious stones, clanked at his
side, and the aigrette of his plumed hat was a large diamond. There was
something almost theatrical in the manner of his approach, as with a
stately step and a deep bow he took Madame Bonaparte's hand and kissed
it; a ceremony he repeated to Mademoiselle de Meudon, adding, as he did
so,--

"And my fair rose de Provence, more beautiful than ever!--how is she?"

"What flattery is he whispering, Marie?" said the Consulesse, laughing.
"Don't you know, General, that I insist on all the compliments here
being paid to myself. What do you think of my robe? Y