Fouche understood the language of this look perfectly, and a smile played over his features. Then Josephine turned again to the young man.
"You did not know that Toulan was dead?" she asked, softly.
"How could I know it?" he cried, bitterly. "I was taken at that time to a solitary castle, where I remained several years, and then I went to Germany, and from that time I have always lived in foreign parts. Since I have been in Paris I have made the effort to learn something about him, but no one could inform me, and so I solaced myself with the hope that he had really gone to America, for that was his object, as the other gentleman who assisted me in my release informed me at that time."
"This other gentleman," said Josephine, softly, "was the Baron de
Jarjayes, and the child who was carried into the Temple was the—"
"The son of the Count de Frotte," rejoined Louis.
"Fouche, it is he!" cried Josephine. "It is the son of my noble, unfortunate Queen Marie Antoinette.—Oh, sire, let me testify my homage to you, as becomes a subject when she stands before her king. Sire, I bow my knee before you, and I would gladly pour out my whole life in tears, and with each of these tears beg your forgiveness for France, for us all."
And the beautiful, passionate creole sank upon her knee, and raised her tearful eyes to the young man who, perplexed and blushing, gazed at her, then hastily stooped to her and conjured her to rise.
"Not, sire," she cried, "until you tell me that you have forgiven me—that you have forgiven us all."
"I forgive you? What have I to forgive in you? Monsieur Fouche, who is this lady who knows me and my destinies, and who brings me greetings from Fidele? What have I to forgive in her? Who is she? Tell me her name?"
"Monsieur," said Fouche, slowly approaching, "this lady is—"