"Hush! Fouche, I will tell him myself," interrupted Josephine. "Sire, when your beautiful, exalted mother was still living in Versailles, I had the honor to be presented to her, both at the grand receptions and at the minor ones. One day—it was already in the unhappy Reign of Terror—when the queen had left Versailles and Trianon, and was already living in the Tuileries, I went thither to pay my respects."
"That is to say, madame," cried Louis, "you were a brave and loyal woman, for only the brave and the loyal ventured then to go to the Tuileries. Oh, speak on! speak on! You wanted to pay your respects to the queen, you were saying; she received you, did she not? You were taken into the little saffron saloon?"
"No, sire, the queen was not there, she was in the little music- hall; and, because at that time etiquette was no longer rigidly enforced, I was allowed to accompany the Marchioness de Tourzel into the music-room. The queen did not notice our entrance, for she was singing. I remained standing at the door, and contemplated the wondrous picture that I saw there. The queen, in a simple white dress, her light brown, slightly powdered hair concealed by a black lace head-dress, sat at the spinet on which her white hands rested. Near her in the window-niche sat madame, engaged with her embroidery. Very near her sat, in a little arm-chair, a boy of five years, a lovely child, with long golden locks, with large blue eyes, and looking like an angel. The little hands, surrounded by lace wristbands, leaned on the support of the chair, while his looks rested incessantly upon the countenance of the queen, and his whole child's soul was absorbed in the gaze which he directed to his mother. The queen was singing, and the tones of her soulful voice resound still in my heart. The song was this:
'Dors, mon enfant, clos ta paupiere, Tes cris me dechirent le coeur:
Dors, mon enfant, ta pauvre mere A bien assez de sa douleur.'
And while she sang she turned her head toward her son, who listened to her motionless and as if enchanted. 'See,' cried madame, the sister of the pretty boy, 'I believe Louis Charles has fallen asleep.' The child started up, and a glowing redness suffused his cheeks. 'Oh! Theresa,' he cried, 'how could any one go to sleep when my mamma queen was singing'?' His mother stooped down to him, pressed a long kiss upon his brow, and a tear fell from her eyes upon his golden hair. I saw it, and involuntarily my eyes filled; I could not hold back my tears, aud went softly out to compose myself. Sire, I see you still before me—this beautiful queen and her children—and it is with me to-day as then, I must weep."
"And I!—oh, my God!—and I!" whispered Louis, putting both his hands before his quivering face. Even Fouche seemed moved, his lips trembled and his cheeks grew pale.
A long pause ensued. Nothing was heard but the convulsive sobbing of the young man, who still held his hands before his face, and wept so violently that the tears poured down in heavy drops between his fingers.
"Sire," cried Josephine, with supplicatory voice—" sire, by the recollection of that hour, I conjure you, forgive me that I now live in those rooms which Marie Antoinette once inhabited. Ah! it has not been my wish, and I have done it only with pain and grief. Believe me, sire, and forgive me that I have been compelled to live in the palace of the kings."
He took his hands from his face, and gazed at her.
"You live in the Tuileries? Who are you? Madame, who are you?"