s of that
great man, evidently raised up by Providence to efface the evils of a
terrible revolution, and restore the altar, the throne, and social
order. I know," she went on to say, "what this act, commanded by policy
and exalted interests, has cost his heart; but we both glory in the
sacrifice which we make to the good of our country. I feel elevated by
giving the greatest proof of attachment and devotion _that ever was
given upon earth_."

It was not till Josephine heard the fatal words which were to part her
from the object of her affection for ever, that her courage seemed for a
moment to forsake her; but hastily brushing away her tears that forced
their way, she took the pen which was handed to her, and signed the act;
then taking the arm of Hortense, and followed by Eugene, she left the
saloon, and hurried to her own apartment, where she shut herself up
alone for the remainder of the day.

It is well known that, notwithstanding the courage with which the
imperial family came forward before the public on this occasion, they
gave way to the most passionable grief in private. Napoleon had retired
for the night, and had gone to his bed in silence and sadness, when the
private door opened, and Josephine appeared. Her hair fell in wild
disorder, and her countenance bore the impress of an incurable grief.
She advanced with a faltering step; then paused; and bursting into an
agony of tears, threw herself on Napoleon's neck, and sobbed as if her
heart were breaking. He tried to console her, but his own tears fell
fast with hers. A few broken words--a last embrace--and they parted. The
next morning, the whole household assembled to pay the last tribute of
respect to a mistress whom they loved and revered. With streaming eyes,
they saw her pass the gates of the Tuileries, never to return.

The feelings with which Josephine took up her residence at Malmaison,
amidst the scenes so dear to her, may be conceived; but true to the
wishes of the Emperor, and to the dictates of her own elevated mind, she
bore up under her trying situation with exemplary dignity; but grief had
done its part; and no one could look into her face, or meet the sweet
melancholy smile with which she welcomed them, without being moved.
Happy days, which she had enjoyed amidst these scenes with many of those
who waited on her, were sadly contrasted with her forlorn feelings; and
though she strove to speak cheerfully, and never complained, the tears
which