“I see by the paper that Miss Ethel Rowrer is in Paris,” the empress said one day to her dame de compagnie. “Is it the granddaughter of the Rowrer I knew? The emperor had great esteem for him; I remember him well. Mr. Rowrer was charged by the government at Washington with a report on the Exposition of 1867. My husband loved to look into everything himself. Social questions were near to his heart, and it happened that in the evenings he would receive Mr. Rowrer in his private cabinet. The extreme simplicity and moral robustness of the man struck the emperor. He found him full of new ideas which he would have wished to apply in France. I was present at one of their conversations. My little son was playing around them. Ma chère ami,” Eugénie continued, “I remember it as if it were yesterday. I beg of you to find out if Miss Rowrer is the granddaughter of that man.” The next day she learned that this was the fact.
“I should have been astonished if it were not so,” said Eugénie. “The emperor foresaw the success of Mr. Rowrer; he knew men.” She at once made known to Miss Rowrer that she would be happy to receive her; and Ethel came. Entering, she saw but one thing: in an arm-chair by the window a lady, with her head covered by a black mantilla, sat in the clear sunlight like a dark figure of sorrow.
“Madame,” said the lady in waiting, “I present to you Miss Ethel Rowrer.”
Ethel saw the dark figure rise from the chair.
“Thank you for coming!” Eugénie said. “I am glad when people come to see me,” and she held out her hand.
Ethel bore the hand to her lips and bowed with a grace which charmed Eugénie.
“Be seated, Miss Rowrer,” said the empress; “here, beside me,” and she pointed with the slender hand of an aged woman to a seat.
Ethel sat down. She was in the presence of Eugénie de Guzman and Porto-Carrero, Countess of Teba, Marquise of Mopa and Kirkpatrick, Empress of the French—Eugénie the beautiful, the beloved; and it was an old lady warming herself in the sun and looking around timidly.
“How happy I am, madame,” said Ethel, “to thank you for the kindnesses shown long ago to my grandfather! His Majesty the Emperor loaded him with favors.”
The empress was greatly touched by the sincere accents of Ethel and her faithful remembrance. No one thanked her, now that she was nothing; and this daughter of a milliardaire had not forgotten slight kindnesses done long ago to her grandfather.