Leaving the wreck of his army to Carrascosa, he made his way into Naples as the sun was dropping over the hills, and hurried by roundabout ways towards the Palace. He was in civilian dress, having discarded his uniform when he left the army, but he was recognized and, to his surprise, treated by those whom he met with all the respect which had been his as a king. In the harbour he could see the British fleet lying at anchor, and perhaps the sight was not altogether an unwelcome one, for he had learned of Caroline’s treaty with Campbell, and, little as the English might be to his taste, at least they had been worthy and steadfast enemies and infinitely better company for him than the Bourbons.
A little pleased, even through the fogs of his depression, at the manner in which he had been received by the people, he ran into the palace, seeking for his wife. He found her in her own apartment, in the same room where they had first heard of Napoleon’s departure from Elba, two short months before, and in which he had left her to depart upon this last disastrous campaign.
It must have been rather dark in there now that the twilight had come down, and the memories of the past must have crowded thickly about him as he entered. He found Caroline alone, save for a lady-in-waiting, and he went straight to her and caught her in his arms, his voice, at first, too choked for utterance.
At last, when he could master his voice, he spoke calmly enough, and his tremendous self-restraint was worthy of the old Murat of Jena and Eylau.
“We are betrayed by fortune, my dear,” he said, “and all is lost!”
Caroline was even steadier than he, and she smiled into his eyes.
“Not all,” she answered quickly, “if we preserve our honour and our constancy!”
CAROLINE, QUEEN OF NAPLES.
From a photo by Mansell after the picture by Madame Lebrun.