upright and conscientious servant. Unfortunately for himself
and his Imperial masters, his position was a difficult one; for though
professedly employed to gauge public opinion with regard to the dynasty,
his reports to that effect were not always received with the
consideration due to honest truth, at any rate by the Empress.
Throughout these pages, I have endeavoured as far as possible to jot
down my recollections in a kind of chronological order, rather than in
the order they occurred to me; but in this, as in many other instances,
I have been obliged to anticipate the course of events lest they should
slip my memory, for I had no documents to go by, and also to avoid
unnecessary repetitions. This particular part of my somewhat disjointed
narrative was meant to deal with the festivities at Compiegne and the
company there; on reading it over, I find that it has developed into a
fragment of biography of the Emperor and his Consort. As such, the
following stories will throw a valuable side light on their different
dispositions.

When the news of Emperor Maximilian's death reached Paris, there was the
rumbling of a storm which foreboded no good. For days before, there had
been vague rumours of the catastrophe. It had been whispered at the
annual distribution of prizes at the College de France, where one of
the young Cavaignacs had refused to receive his reward at the hands of
the Prince Imperial. In short, indignation was rife among all classes.
The Empress, on hearing of the insult, had burst into hysterical tears,
and been obliged to leave the reception-rooms. In short, a dark cloud
hung over the Tuileries. I have spoken elsewhere of the Mexican
expedition, so need not enlarge upon it here. We will take it that both
Napoleon and his wife were altogether blameless in the affair--which was
by no means the case,--but a moment's reflection ought to have shown
them that appearances were against them, and that the discontent
expressed was so far justified. I am under the impression that Napoleon
himself looked at it in that way; he bowed to the storm; he regretted,
but did not resent people speaking ill of him. Not so the Empress; the
truth was only welcome to her when it flattered her; she really fancied
herself an autocrat by the Grace of God, as the previous Bourbons
interpreted the term. In spite of all that has been said about her
amiability, about her charity, Eugenie was in reality cruel at heart. No
woman, not cruel,