"Without doubt that was their plan, but the other side of the house got ahead of them. It is to prevent just such an alliance, I believe, that the wily old duchesse is planning this marriage with the chevalier. He is too far down in the royal ranks to be a dangerous parti."
"Have her estates been restored, do you know?"
"I am not sure, but I think not. I have heard that Bonaparte is making this marriage a condition. He, too, wants to prevent anything that will strengthen the power of the Bourbons."
"Oh, then the marriage is assured, and the duchesse has accomplished her purpose. I am sorry. I wish the comtesse had remained a little longer in America."
"I am not quite so sure about it. It seems the comtesse herself is making difficulties. Perhaps, now that she has discovered her true rank, she does not consider the chevalier sufficiently noble."
"It will make no difference what she thinks or feels, poor child; with the duchesse and the First Consul both against her, she is as helpless as a bird in the snares of the fowler."
I was one of the group where this conversation took place, and so, though I had no part in it, I could not be considered an eavesdropper (for I had sworn that, rather than listen again to what was not intended for my hearing, I would go about with my ears stuffed with wax and be deaf to the whole world). No name had been mentioned, yet I knew well it was of the Comtesse de Baloit they were speaking, and every word pierced my soul like a knife.
A stir at the upper end of the grand salon put a stop to the conversation. Every voice was hushed, and all eyes were turned to where Madame Bonaparte and the First Consul were making a grand entry. They were followed by a throng of ladies and gentlemen in attendance, and the scene could not have been more magnificent had they been king and queen holding royal court, with lords and ladies in waiting.
I had eyes at first for no one but Madame Bonaparte (since coming to live at the Tuileries she was no longer called Citizeness Bonaparte), whom I had not yet seen, this being my first levee, and of whom I had heard almost as much as of the First Consul. I had heard that she was not faultlessly beautiful, but of great charm, and I could see at once that this was true. I do not know why she was not perfectly beautiful—perhaps her features were a little heavy, her nose a little long, her cheek-bones a little high, which just prevented her face from being faultless; but her eyes were large and lustrous and beaming with kindness, and her hair was soft and dark and abundant and gathered under a Grecian filet in rich waves and curls, and her skin was of that creamy whiteness so often seen in creoles, and which sets off so well dark hair and eyes. I have never seen more beautiful neck and shoulders and arms; they looked to me more like some of those beautiful figures in marble in the Louvre Museum, that Bonaparte brought back with him from Italy, than like real flesh and blood.
She was dressed all in white, and my aunt whispered to me that the First Consul liked her best in white, and that it was said when Madame Bonaparte (who was herself fond of more gorgeous costumes) appeared in white, it was a sign either that she was jealous of her husband and was trying to win back his straying affections, or that she wanted some special favor granted. Very likely this was only idle court gossip, but it might easily be true, for I could hardly think her so nearly beautiful in any other dress as in that softly falling white, with high girdle of gold, richly jeweled, and her dark waves of hair caught in a golden net under the Grecian filet.