ad a splendid beard and wore a dangling sword.
Beauharnais was of noble birth, educated, experienced, but he was dead;
and here was a beardless boy being called the Chief Citizen of France.
Well, well, well!

She was both pleased and hurt--hurt to think she had been humbled, and
pleased to think such attentions had been paid her. In a few days the
young general called on the widow to crave forgiveness for not having
recognized her when she had called on him. It was very stupid in him,
very! She forgave him.

He complimented Eugene in terse, lavish terms, and when he went away
kissed Hortense, who was thirteen and thought herself too big to be kissed
by a strange man. But Napoleon said they all seemed just like old friends.
And seeming like old friends he called often.

Josephine knew Paris and Parisian society thoroughly. Fifteen years of
close contact in success and defeat with statesmen, soldiers, diplomats,
artists and literati had taught her much. It is probable that she was the
most gifted woman in Paris. Now, Napoleon learned by induction as
Josephine had, and as all women do, and as genius must, for life is
short--only dullards spend eight years at Oxford. He absorbed Josephine
as the devilfish does its prey. And to get every thought and feeling that
a good woman possesses you must win her completest love. In this close
contact she gives up all--unlike Sapphira--holding nothing back.

Among educated people, people of breeding and culture, Napoleon felt ill
at ease. With this woman at his side he would be at home anywhere. And
feeling at once that he could win her only by honorable marriage he
decided to marry her.

He was ambitious. Has that been remarked before? Well, one can not always
be original--still I think the facts bear out the statement.

Josephine was ambitious, too, but some way in this partnership she felt
that she would bring more capital into the concern than he, and she
hesitated.

But power had given dignity to the Little Man; his face had taken on the
cold beauty of marble. Success was better than sarsaparilla. Josephine was
aware of his growing power, and his persistency was irresistible; and so
one evening when he dropped in for a moment, her manner told all. He just
took her in his arms, and kissing her very tenderly whispered, "My dear,
together we will win," and went his way. When he wished to be, Napoleon
was the ideal lover; he was master of that fine forbearance, flavored with
a