“Oh!” exclaimed Madame de Montrevel, “you must forgive unpunctuality in a Creole.”
“But I believe you are a Creole also, madame.”
“Madame Bonaparte sees her husband every day,” said Madame de Montrevel, laughing, “whereas I am to see the First Consul for the first time.”
“Come, mother, let us go!” said Edouard.
The secretary drew aside to allow Madame de Montrevel to pass out. Fifteen minutes later they had reached the Luxembourg.
Bonaparte occupied the suite of rooms on the ground floor to the right. Josephine’s chamber and boudoir were on the first floor; a stairway led from the First Consul’s study to her room.
She was expecting Madame de Montrevel, for as soon as she saw her she opened her arms as to a friend. Madame de Montrevel had stopped respectfully at the door.
“Oh! come in, come in, madame!” said Josephine. “To-day is not the first that I know you; I have long known you through your excellent son, Roland. Shall I tell you what comforts me when Bonaparte leaves me? It is that Roland goes with him; for I fancy that, so long as Roland is with him, no harm will befall him. Well, won’t you kiss me?”
Madame de Montrevel was confused by so much kindness.
“We are compatriots, you know,” continued Josephine. “Oh! how well I remember M. de la Clémencière, and his beautiful gardens with the splendid fruit. I remember having seen a young girl who seemed its queen. You must have married very young, madame?”