"Oh! Fouche, how sly you are!" said Josephine, sadly.
"You want my handwriting, in order to justify yourself to the First
Consul in case of emergency, very good. I will write the billet."
She hastened to her table, dashed a few words upon paper, and then passed the note to Fouche. "Read it," she said; "it contains all that is necessary, does it not?"
"Yes, madame; and you have written in such beautiful and moving words, that the young man will be melted, and will obey you. Will you now have the goodness to put the note in an envelope and to address it?"
She folded it, and put it into an envelope. "To whom shall I address it?" she then asked.
"Address it to King Louis XVII."
She did so with a quick stroke of the pen and handed the letter to Fouche. "Take it," she said, "it is your justification. And in order that you may be entirely secure," she continued, with a slight smile, "retain this letter yourself. What I would say to this young man I would rather communicate by word of mouth."
"How," cried Fouche, " you want—"
"To see and speak with the king," she said, sorrowfully, "to beg his forgiveness for myself and Bonaparte. Hush! do not oppose me, I am resolved upon it. I want to see the young man."
"But he cannot come here, madame—here, into the very den of the lion."