n repeatedly to Celio Benvoglio and
these letters the first maid of honour, finding no opportunity to
forward to Elba, had judged best to retain at Naples unopened until the
return of the secretary.

So the days flew for the Princess and dragged for her husband, until at
midnight on the twenty-seventh of February, 1815, Napoleon with his
handful of devoted soldiers embarked for France, and his sister returned
to Naples with instructions for Murat. Then the Neapolitan villa was
suddenly vacated and the seven carriages of the Princess took up their
line of march for Rome.

She had found awaiting her at Naples letters in which her husband
passionately besought her to return; and, while her face flushed as she
realised the motives which he attributed to Murat, her heart swelled
with triumph that he believed in her in spite of all.

"He loves me!" she murmured to herself unguardedly, in the presence of
her secretary.

"Then give me leave to write him," the young man cried, impulsively,
"that I may relieve his anxiety. Let me bid him join you at Rome. Think,
dearest madam, what he must suffer."

But at that word the Princess frowned. "And do you think I have not
suffered?" she cried. "I am glad that he is jealous, since it proves
that he can love. Nevertheless I would gladly summon him if I could. But
do you not see, Celio, that he must not be implicated in our plots? If
we fail, he must be known to have had no letters from me. I forbid you
to communicate with him until I give you permission. Camillo is too
honest to make a good conspirator. If I can wait, cannot you? The game
may not be worth the candle, but I will play it to the end."

The little cavalcade paused at Mondragone, for the Princess had decided
to spend a few weeks at her Frascati villa. Here, to her indignation,
she found engineers preparing to take down the Pope's chimneys.

"On whose authority do you presume to do a thing so outrageous?" she
demanded, and they showed her the order of Prince Borghese.

"Delay the execution of these instructions until such time as they are
repeated," she commanded. "I have decided to take up my residence here
for the present, and cannot be disturbed by repairs and alterations."

When the men were gone she faced her secretary in consternation. "Who
can have incited Camillo to such a resolution?" she demanded, and the
consciousness of guilt in his face was a sufficient answer.

"It was you, dear lady, who put the idea