elf
whether he would mount those steps, or whether, like General Monk, he
would recall the fugitive king, and restore to him the sceptre of his
forefathers. The brothers of Bonaparte desired the first; Josephine
implored Heaven for the latter alternative. She was too completely a
loving woman only, to long for the chilly joys of mere ambition; she was
too entirely occupied with her personal happiness, not to fear every
danger that menaced it. Should Bonaparte place a crown upon his head, he
would also have to think of becoming the founder of a dynasty; and in
order to strengthen and fortify his position, he would have to place a
legitimate heir by his side. Josephine had borne her husband no
children; and she knew that his brothers had, more than once, proposed
to him to dissolve his childless union, and replace it with the presence
of a young wife. Hence, Bonaparte's assumption of royal dignity meant a
separation from her; and Josephine still loved him too well, and too
much with a young wife's love, to take so great a sacrifice upon her.

Moreover, Josephine was at heart a royalist, and considered the Count de
Lille, who, after so many agitations and wanderings, had found an asylum
at Hartwell, in England, the legitimate King of France.

The letters which the Count de Lille (afterward King Louis XVIII.) had
written to Bonaparte, had filled Josephine's heart with emotion, and,
with a kind of apprehensive foreboding, she had conjured her husband to,
at least, give the brother of the beheaded king a mild and considerate
answer. Yes, she had even ventured to beseech Bonaparte to comply with
the request that Louis had made, and give him back the throne of his
ancestors. But Bonaparte had laughed at this suggestion, as he would at
some childish joke; for it had never entered into his head that any one
could seriously ask him to lay his laurels and his trophies at the foot
of a throne, which not he, but a member of that Bourbon family whom
France had banished forever, should ascend.

Louis had written to Bonaparte: "I cannot believe that the victor at
Lodi, Castiglione, and Arcola--the conqueror of Italy and Egypt--would
not prefer real glory to mere empty celebrity. Meanwhile, you are losing
precious time. _We_ can secure the glory of France; I say _we_, because
I have need of Bonaparte in the work, and because he cannot complete it
without me."

But Bonaparte already felt strong enough to say, not "we," but "I," and
to