"And now, madame," said Fouche, with a smile, "you will speak with the last King of France."
"Does he know who I am?"
"No, madame; I have left it to you to inform him. Here we are at the saloon—he is within!"
"Wait only a moment, Fouche. I must collect myself. My heart beats dreadfully. Now, now you may open the door!"
They entered the little saloon. Josephine stood still near the door, and while she hastily removed her bonnet and the thick veil and handed them to Fouche, her large, brilliant, brown eyes were turned to the young man who stood in the window-niche, his hands calmly folded over his breast. In this attitude, with the calm look of his face, the gentle glance of his blue eyes, he bore so close a resemblance to the pictures which represented Louis XVI. in his youth, that Josephine could not repress a cry of surprise, and hastened forward to the young man, who now advanced out of the window recess. "Madame," he said, bowing low before this beautiful and dignified lady whom he did not know, but whose sympathizing face made his heart tremble—"madame, doubtless you are the lady whom M. Fouche said I might expect to meet here."
"Yes, I am she," replied Josephine, with a voice trembling with emotion, her eyes, flooded with tears, all the while being fixed on the grave, youthful face which brought back so many memories of the past. "I have come to see you and to bring you the greetings of a man whom you loved, who revered you, and who died blessing you."
"Of whom do you speak?" asked Louis, turning pale.
"Men called him Toulan," whispered Josephine. "Queen Marie
Antoinette termed him Fidele."
"Fidele!" cried Louis, in a tone of anguish. "Fidele is dead!—my deliverer, he whose fidelity and bravery released me from my dreadful prison. Oh, madame, what sad thoughts do you bring back with his name!"
Josephine turned with a triumphant look to Fouche, who was still standing behind her in the neighborhood of the door. Her look said, "You see he is no traitor, he has stood the proof."