ir, and poor Eugene was
nearly overcome by agitation, as the act of separation was read;
Napoleon declared that it was in consideration of the interests of the
monarchy and the wishes of his people that there should be an heir to
the throne, that he was induced "to sacrifice the sweetest affections of
his heart." "God knows," said he, "what such a determination has cost my
heart." Of Josephine he spoke with the tenderest affection and respect.
"She has embellished fifteen years of my life; the remembrance of them
will be forever engraven on my heart."

When it was Josephine's turn to speak, though tears were in her eyes,
and though her voice faltered, the dignity of all she uttered impressed
every one who was present. "I respond to all the sentiments of the
emperor," she said, "in consenting to the dissolution of a marriage
which henceforth is an obstacle to the happiness of France, by
depriving it of the blessing of being one day governed by the
descendants of that great man, evidently raised up by Providence to
efface the evils of a terrible revolution, and restore the altar, the
throne, and social order I know," she went on to say, "what this act,
commanded by policy and exalted interest, has cost his heart; but we
both glory in the sacrifice which we make to the good of our country. I
feel elevated by giving the greatest proof of attachment and devotion
_that ever was given upon earth_."

It was not till Josephine heard the fatal words which were to part her
from the object of her affection forever, that her courage seemed for a
moment to forsake her; but hastily brushing away the tears that forced
their way, she took the pen which was handed to her, and signed the act;
then taking the arm of Hortense, and followed by Eugene, she left the
saloon, and hurried to her own apartment, where she shut herself up
alone for the remainder of the day.

It is well known that, notwithstanding the courage with which the
imperial family came forward before the public on this occasion, they
gave way to the most passionate grief in private. Napoleon had retired
for the night, and had gone to his bed in silence and sadness, when the
private door opened, and Josephine appeared. Her hair fell in wild
disorder, and her countenance bore the impress of an incurable grief.
She advanced with a faltering step; then paused; and bursting into an
agony of tears, threw herself on Napoleon's neck, and sobbed as if her
heart were breaking. He t