e Interior and explain
that his name was Eugene Beauharnais, that his father was the martyred
patriot, General Beauharnais, and that this beloved father's sword was in
the archives over which Providence had placed the General of the Interior.
Furthermore, the son should request that the sword of his father be given
him so that it might be used in defense of France if need be.

And it was so done.

The whole thing was needlessly melodramatic, and Napoleon laughed. The
poetry of war was to him a joke. But he stroked the youth's curls, asked
after his mother, and ordered his secretary to go fetch that sword.

So the boy carried the sword home and was very happy, and his mother was
very happy and proud of him, and she kissed him on both cheeks and kissed
the sword and thought of the erring, yet generous man who once had
carried it. Then she thought it would be but proper for her to go and
thank the man who had given the sword back; for had he not stroked her
boy's curls and told him he was a fine young fellow, and asked after his
mother!

So the next day she went to call on the man who had so graciously given
the sword back. She was kept waiting a little while in the anteroom, for
Napoleon always kept people waiting--it was a good scheme. When admitted
to the presence, the General of the Interior, in simple corporal's dress,
did not remember her. Neither did he remember about giving the sword
back--at least he said so. He was always a trifler with women, though; and
it was so delicious to have this tearful widow remove her veil and
explain--for gadzooks! had she not several times allowed the mercury to
drop to zero for his benefit?

And so she explained, and gradually it all came back to him--very slowly
and after cross-questioning--and then he was so glad to see her. When she
went away, he accompanied her to the outer door, bareheaded, and as they
walked down the long hallway she noted the fact that he was not so tall as
she by three inches. He shook hands with her as they parted, and said he
would call on her when he had gotten a bit over the rush.

Josephine went home in a glow. She did not like the man--he had humiliated
her by making her explain who she was, and his manner, too, was
offensively familiar. And yet he was a power, there was no denying that,
and to know men of power is a satisfaction to any woman. He was twenty
years younger than Beauharnais, the mourned--twenty years! Then
Beauharnais was tall and h