"Yes, you are right," exclaimed Josephine. "It is just like a fairy-story. Some poor, disowned princess is met on her journey by a handsome son of a king, who takes her in his arms, gives her magnificent dresses, and marries her. I thank you, my friend, and now I will attend to my toilet."
"I hope not here in the carriage?" asked Napoleon, in surprise.
"We shall have the trunk carried into the house; I believe the postmaster has a room where you can dress, and a servant-girl who can assist you."
"But, Bonaparte," exclaimed Josephine, "do you not see that that is impossible? It is daylight; is, then, the carriage to open and the empress to alight with one slipper on her feet, to be triumphantly conducted into the house? Ah, my friend, all Europe would smile at the idyllic empress who accompanied her husband on his journey in such a dishabille."
"It is true," said Napoleon, moodily, "it would be a fine anecdote for the so-called legitimate princes, and they would proudly laugh at the violation of the dehors committed by imperial upstarts. As though it were so difficult to learn the ridiculous rules of their etiquette, if one should deem it worth while!"
Josephine gently patted the emperor's forehead with her white hand. "No clouds must darken my morning sun," she said, "for they would foretell a gloomy day. I wish you could transform yourself into my maid."
"What!" exclaimed the emperor, laughing. "Transform myself into your maid?"
"And why not, Bonaparte?" asked Josephine. "Did not your brother, the great Jove, transform himself into an ox for the sake of Europa? The carriage is moving again! Draw the curtains, and then, my dear maid, we shall commence dressing." She hastily opened the small travelling-trunk, which had carefully been filled with every thing required for her toilet—small velvet gaiters, a comfortable velvet cloak, one of her large cashmere shawls, and a beautiful red satin dress with lace trimmings.
"You will have but little trouble with me," said the empress, busily examining the contents of the trunk. "Dear Madame Rémusat has arranged every thing as judiciously as possible, and forgotten nothing. There are warm gloves, embroidered handkerchiefs—in short, all I need. Ah! there is but one thing she has forgotten."
"Well, and what is that?"