a lady of slight figure,
but stately carriage, the daughter of a Irishman named Dillon, who
lost his life in the Revolution. Her vivacious manners bespoke a warm
impulsive nature, that had revelled in the splendour of her high
ceremonial station and now seemed strained beyond endurance by the
trials threatening her and her three children. The Bertrands had been
with Napoleon at Elba, and enjoyed his complete confidence. Younger
than they were General (Count) Montholon and his wife--he, a short but
handsome man, his consort, a sweet unassuming woman--who showed their
devotion to the ex-Emperor by exchanging a life of luxury for exile in
his service. Count Las Cases, a small man, whose thin eager face and
furtive glances revealed his bent for intrigue, was the eldest of the
party. He had been a naval officer, had then lived in England as an
_emigre_, but after the Peace of Amiens took civil service under
Napoleon; he now brought with him his son, a lad of fifteen, fresh
from the Lycee. We need not notice the figures of Savary and
Lallemand, as they were soon to part company. Maingaud the surgeon,
Marchand the head valet, several servants, and the bright little boy
of the Montholons completed the list.

The voyage passed without incident. Napoleon's health and appetite
were on the whole excellent, and he suffered less than the rest from
sea-sickness. The delicate Las Cases, who had donned his naval
uniform, was in such distress as to move the mirth of the crew,
whereupon Napoleon sharply bade him appear in plain clothes so as not
to disgrace the French navy. For the great man himself the crew soon
felt a very real regard, witness the final confession of one of them
to Maitland: "Well, they may abuse that man as much as they like, but
if the people of England knew him as well as we do, they would not
hurt a hair of his head."--What a tribute this to the mysterious power
of genius!

On passing Ushant, he remained long upon deck, silent and abstracted,
casting melancholy looks at the land he was never more to see. As they
neared Torbay, the exile was loud in praise of the beauty of the
scene, which he compared with that of Porto Ferrajo. Whatever
misgivings he felt before embarking on the "Bellerophon" had
apparently disappeared. He had been treated with every courtesy and
had met with only one rebuff. He prompted Mme. Bertrand, who spoke
English well, to sound Maitland as to the acceptance of a box
containing his (Napoleo