e were exposed the letters
which she had received from Napoleon during his absence, and which she
had evidently been reading. Hortense was standing silently and pensively
in an alcove by the window, half concealed by the curtain. Napoleon
advanced with an irresolute step, hesitated for a moment, and then said,
"Josephine!" She started up at the sound of that well-known voice, and,
her beautiful countenance all suffused with tears, mournfully exclaimed,
"_Mon ami_," in that peculiar tone, so pathetic, so musical, which
ever thrilled upon the heart of Napoleon. "My friend" was the term of
endearment with which she invariably addressed her husband. Napoleon
was vanquished. He extended his hand to his deeply-wronged wife. She
threw herself into his arms, pillowed her aching head upon his bosom,
and in the fullness of blended joy and anguish wept convulsively. An
explanation of several hours ensued. Every shade of suspicion was
obliterated from his mind. He received Josephine again to his entire
confidence, and this confidence was never again interrupted.

When Napoleon landed at Frejus, he was received with the most
enthusiastic demonstration of delight. There was a universal impression
that the hero of Italy, the conqueror of Egypt, had returned thus
unexpectedly to France for the accomplishment of some magnificent
enterprise; yet no one knew what to anticipate. The moment the frigate
dropped anchor in the bay, and it was announced that Napoleon was on
board, thousands surrounded the vessel in boats, and the air was filled
with enthusiastic acclamations. His journey to Paris was one continued
scene of triumph. Crowds gathered around him at every stopping-place,
intoxicated with joy. The bells rang their merriest peals; the booming
of cannon echoed along the hill sides, and brilliant bonfires by night
blazed upon every eminence. Upon his arrival in Paris, the soldiers,
recognizing their leader in so many brilliant victories, greeted him
with indescribable enthusiasm, and cries of "Vive Bonaparte!" resounded
through the metropolis. His saloon, ever thronged with generals and
statesmen, and all who were most illustrious in intellect and rank,
resembled the court of a monarch. Even the most prominent men in the
Directory, disgusted with the progress of measures which they could not
control, urged him to grasp the reins of power, assuring him that there
was no hope for France but in his strong arm. In less than four weeks
from