tudiously respectful.

The decree being read, General Buonaparte replied in a few broken
phrases, expressive of his sense of the confidence reposed in him: the
words came with difficulty, and he spoke like one abashed and confused.
He was no longer in front of his armed legions, whose war-worn looks
inspired the burning eloquence of the camp--those flashing images, those
daring flights, suited not the cold assembly, in whose presence he now
stood--and he was ill at ease and disconcerted. It was only, at length,
when turning to the Generals who pressed on after him, he addressed the
following words, that his confidence in himself came back, and that he
felt himself once more,--

"This is the Republic we desire to have--and this we shall have; for it
is the wish of those who now stand around me."

The cries of "_Vive la Republique!_" burst from the officers at once,
as they waved their _chapeaux_ in the air, mingled with louder shouts of
"_Vive le General!_"

If the great events of the day were now over with the Council, they had
only begun with Buonaparte.

"Whither now, General?" said Lefebvre, as he rode to his side.

"To the guillotine, I suppose," said Andreossy, with a look of sarcasm.

"We shall see that," was the cold answer of Buonaparte, while he gave
the word to push forward to the Luxembourg.

This was but the prologue, and now began the great drama, the greatest,
whether for its interest or its actors--that ever the world has been
called to witness.

We all know the sequel, if sequel that can be called which our own days
would imply is but the prologue of the piece!

CHAPTER XI. _Villa Scalviati, near Florence_

I have had a night of ghostly dreams and horrors; the imagination of
Monk Lewis, or, worse, of Hoffman himself, never conceived any thing so
diabolical. H., who visited me last evening, by way of interesting me
related the incidents of a dreadful murder enacted in the very room I
slept in. There was a reality given to the narrative by the presence of
the scene itself--the ancient hangings still on the walls--the antique
chairs and cabinets standing, as they had done, when the deed of blood
took place; but, more than all, by the marble bust of the murderess
herself: for it was a woman, singularly beautiful, young, and of the
highest rank, who enacted it. The story is this:--

The Villa, which originally was in possession of the Medici family,
and subsequently of the Strozzi's, was a