For Love of a Bedouin Maid

by Voleur

The Marshal rode away and Tremeau withdrew.

Napoleon re-entered his tent, and St. Just, from the outside, saw him bring the portrait of the Austrian Arch-duchess to his lips, while the Frenchwoman's lay shattered at his feet.

Then Josephine's envoy moved away. He was sick at heart, chafing at Napoleon's contemptuous words, and despondent at the utter failure of his mission. How he should break the news to Josephine, he scarce durst think.

Meanwhile, the Emperor rode forth to beat the Austrians. History tell us how, throughout that long and hard fought day, wherever the fight was thickest and the danger greatest, he was to be found. Perchance, he hoped that some stray bullet would still that conscience that was vainly telling him that what he meditated against Josephine was a hideous crime.

CHAPTER V.

Nearly five months had passed since the battle of Wagram had been fought and won; since the momentous interview between the Emperor and St. Just that had resulted so disastrously for Josephine. Then it had been warm, sunny June, the sky one sheet of azure; now it was the last day in November, when all was chill and dreary, and a dark pall hung over everything. It was a day on which even a Mark Tapley would have found it hard to preserve his spirits.

The action of the drama had been shifted from Austria to France, and the scene on which the curtain was now to rise was the Palace of Fontainebleau.

Here, on the evening of the aforesaid day in November, Josephine, still Empress, but not long to be, was pacing, restlessly and with agitated mien, the floor of her private apartment. She was still beautiful, but the sadness of her face, and the look almost of terror in it were painful to behold. Just so might have looked Mary, Queen of Scots, on her way to execution. She was royally attired, and the aid of every feminine art had been invoked to enhance the many charms she had, and to create the few she lacked. A diamond tiara sparkled on her head, and over her shoulders, to protect them from the draughts, was thrown a violet velvet mantle studded with the imperial bees, the Emperor affected.

The infinite pains to make herself attractive, had been taken for him, for he was momentarily expected. He had arrived some hours before from Paris, but they had not yet met.

Prepared by St. Just, as she had been, for the last three months for the coming interview—he had informed her of the failure of his errand to her husband—now that the moment for it was close at hand, she was filled with trepidation; and, though she had been anxiously looking forward to it with increasing hope, she would now have postponed it, if she could. She had remarked but now, on meeting some of the ministers returning from an audience with the Emperor, how curt had been their salutations, how they had hurried away from her after the barest ceremonious courtesy, as though fearing to be questioned by her; how even the officers of her own household looked furtively at her, and the people outside the palace regarded her with coldness, as though guessing that her reign was almost at an end. Even in her Maids of Honor she thought she saw a change; they seemed less respectful, less observant of the Court etiquette, that Napoleon made de rigueur; more familiar in their manner. Poor woman, no wonder she was sad; every friend seemed to have deserted her; save only St. Just, who was now a Captain of her Guard, and on his fidelity she knew she could rely; but then he was flattered by her marked notice of him, and nursed a sort of languid passion for her.