"Fate has decreed it, and so has the evil star that arose upon my path when I left you, Josephine! Let this be my farewell. Now, go!"
"No, Bonaparte," she cried, passionately; "tell me not to go if you do not wish me to die! Your misfortunes have pierced my heart. My only hope of life is by your side, for sorrow at the remembrance of your misfortunes will kill me."
A strange smile played around the emperor's lips. "I do not pity those who die," he said; "death is a kind friend, and pray God that He may soon send this friend to me!" He kissed her forehead and conducted her gently to the door. "Go, my Josephine," he said; "this is the last sacrifice which I shall ask of you!"
"I go!" she sighed. "Farewell, Bonaparte, farewell!" She fixed on him a look full of love and grief. "We shall never meet again!"
"Yes," he said, slowly and solemnly, lifting his hand toward heaven, "we shall meet again!"
"I shall await you there!" she said, with an expression of intense love and sorrow.
The door closed; Napoleon was again alone; he stood in the middle of the room, as if still beholding her pale, smiling face, and hearing her sweet voice. "She will await me there!" he murmured. "But why should she await me? Why should she die, and I live? And why must I live?" he asked, in a loud, and almost joyful tone. "Why shall I suffer these mean, cowardly creatures, who formerly lay in the dust before me, now to enjoy their triumph? Why must I live?" He sank into his chair, thinking of the disgrace soon to be brought upon him, remembering that each of the allied sovereigns would send an envoy to Fontainebleau, and that he was to be transported to Elba— escorted, like a caged lion, by Russian, Prussian, and Austrian commissioners! His heart for a moment grew strong in his anguish. He jumped up, rushed to his desk, pulled out the drawers, and opened a secret compartment. There lay a small black silken bag. Taking it out, he cut it open, and drew a package from it. "Ha!" he exclaimed, joyfully, "now I have the kind friend that will deliver me! They want to drag me through the country as a prisoner! But thou, blessed poison, wilt release me!"
In the night of the 13th of April, Constant, Napoleon's valet de chambre, was awakened by an extraordinary groaning proceeding from Napoleon's bedroom, whither Constant hastened. Yes, it was the emperor who was suffering. His face was deadly pale; his limbs were quivering; a paper lay on the floor in front of him; on the table by his side stood a glass, in which were still seen some drops of a whitish color. Constant rushed toward him. He gazed at his servant with fixed looks, and murmured, "I suffer dreadfully! Fire is consuming my bowels; but it does not kill me!"
Uttering a cry, and hastening from the room, Constant went for the domestic surgeon, Dr. Ivan, Maret, and Caulaincourt. They appeared in the utmost consternation, and surrounded the easy-chair on which the emperor still sat. Dr. Ivan felt his forehead, which was covered with clammy perspiration; and his pulse was feeble and sluggish, but still throbbing. He recognized his physician, and his livid lips murmured almost inaudibly, "Ivan, I have taken poison, that which you gave me one day in Russia; but it has lost its efficacy! It does not kill, while it causes me excruciating pain."
Ivan went weeping out of the room to prepare a remedy.