The First Consul was very magnificent also; I think he likes dress as well as his wife. When I had looked well at these two, I had leisure to look at their retinue; and I looked first at the gentlemen, many of whom were wearing the brilliant uniforms of army officers. To my chagrin, my eyes fell almost instantly upon the Chevalier Le Moyne, wearing the very gorgeous uniform of aide to General Bonaparte. As I looked at him his eye caught mine, and I saw him start, turn pale, and then color violently. In a moment he forced a quick smile to his lips (to his teeth, I had almost said, for there was always something wolfish to me in his smile), and then he bowed. I returned his bow very coldly, and his presence there suggesting to me that I might possibly find Pelagie among the court ladies (for so 'tis the fashion to call them in jest), I turned to look for her. Yes, she was there, and, like Madame Bonaparte, all in white. Only Pelagie's white was filmy and lacy, and fuller and more flowing than madame's, with jewels shining in its folds and in her waving hair. And whereas Madame Bonaparte made me think of a Greek goddess, Pelagie reminded me of one of Mr. Shakspere's fairies, sparkling, graceful, exquisite.
She did not seem to see me, and I could gaze at her no longer, for the First Consul was already moving about from group to group of the assembled guests, saying a few words to each, and he was just approaching our party. He greeted my aunt and uncle and those standing with us, whom he knew, very affably; then he turned his quick glance on me, and my uncle presented me.
"Ah," he said, "I was not mistaken. I thought you were from America when I saw you in church on Easter morning"; and, turning to my uncle, he added:
"We do not grow such great fair men in France, Citizen Minister."
"No," said my uncle, quickly; "we have small dark great men in France, Citizen First Consul."
Bonaparte laughed, pleased both with the play on words and my uncle's compliment, and turned quickly to the next group before I had time to stammer out how flattered I felt at his remembering me.
The next group happened to be the English ambassador, Lord Whitworth, and his friends. The Consul had been very affable with us, and I had discovered that his smile was of rare sweetness and gave great beauty to his face. But as he turned to Lord Whitworth the smile vanished and his brows were drawn together in a dark frown. Without the slightest word of greeting, he spoke to him abruptly and harshly:
"I find your nation wants war again."
Lord Whitworth bowed low, and a dull red slowly spread over his face as he answered:
"No, sir; we are very desirous of peace."