spicion that it is more, which
is promptly nullified by further explosions such as "kisses as burning
as my heart and as pure as you." Poor Napoleon! he is soon to be
disillusioned. She is the same old Josephine in Italy as she was in
Paris. He pleads with her to send him letters, for she must "know how
dear they are to him." "I do not live," he tells her, "when I am far
from you." "My life's happiness is in the society of my sweet
Josephine." Again he writes, "A thousand kisses as fiery as my soul,
as chaste as yourself! I have just summoned the courier; he tells me
that he crossed over to your house, and that you told him you had no
commands. Fie! Naughty, undutiful, cruel, tyrannous, jolly little
monster. You laugh at my threats, at my infatuation; ah! you well know
that if I could shut you up in my heart I would put you in prison
there!" This playful, gloomy, humorous, and tender quotation does not
emanate from the heart of a monster, but from an unequalled lovesick
soul confiding the innermost secrets of his mind to an inglorious
helpmate, whose follies during the first years of their married life
were a cruel humiliation to him.

She courted ruin with cool dissolute persistency. She deceived, lied,
and wept with the felicity of a fanatic. She sought and found
happiness at the cost of not only self-respect, but honour and virtue.
She was not a shrew, but a born coquette, without morals rather than
immoral, and, withal, a superb enigmatic who would have made the
Founder of our faith shed tears of sorrow. It is by distorting facts
that her eulogists make it appear that she was a loving and devoted
wife during the early years of her second marriage.

On her arrival at Milan from Paris she had presented to her many army
officers, amongst whom was a young Hussar, the friend and assistant
General of Leclerc, who became the husband of Paulette, the giddy
little schoolgirl sister of Napoleon. Josephine, at this period of her
history was famous for her aversion to chastity, so that it is not
altogether inexplicable that she should have sought the distinction of
making Hippolyte Charles her lover. He was fascinating, witty, dressed
with splendour, and was quite up to her standard of moral quality. The
friendship grew into intimacy, so that he became a frequent visitor to
Josephine during Napoleon's absence.

It was scarcely likely that this love affair, which was assuming
dramatic proportions, could be long kept from the