erfere with his
arrangements. You will remain here with me till intelligence be received
from the allied sovereigns; they will respect her who was the wife of
Napoleon."

She was, indeed, remembered by them. The magnanimity of her conduct
under the deep wrongs of the divorce had filled Europe with admiration.
The allied sovereigns sent her assurances of their most friendly
regards. They entreated her to return to Malmaison, and provided her
with an ample guard for her protection. Her court was ever crowded with
the most illustrious monarchs and nobles, who sought a presentation to
do homage to her virtues. The Emperor Alexander was one of the first to
visit her. He said to her on that occasion, "Madam, I burned with the
desire of beholding you. Since I entered France, I have never heard your
name pronounced but with benedictions. In the cottage and in the palace
I have collected accounts of your angelic goodness, and I do myself a
pleasure in thus presenting to your majesty the universal homage of
which I am the bearer."

Maria Louisa, thinking only of self, declined accompanying Napoleon to
his humble retreat. Josephine, not knowing her decision, wrote to the
emperor:

"Now only can I calculate the whole extent of the misfortune
of having beheld my union with you dissolved by law. Now do
I indeed lament being no more than your _friend_, who can
but mourn over a misfortune great as it is unexpected. Ah!
sire, why can I not fly to you? Why can I not give you the
assurance that exile has no terrors save for vulgar minds,
and that, far from diminishing a sincere attachment,
misfortune imparts to it a new force? I have been upon the
point of quitting France to follow your footsteps, and to
consecrate to you the remainder of an existence which you
so long embellished. A single motive restrained me, and that
you may divine. If I learn that I am _the only one_ who will
fulfill her duty, nothing shall detain me, and I will go to
the only place where, henceforth, there can be happiness for
me, since I shall be able to console you when you are there
isolated and unfortunate! Say but the word, and I depart.
Adieu, sire; whatever I would add would still be too little.
It is no longer by _words_ that my sentiments for you are to
be proved, and for _actions_ your consent is necessary."

A few days after this letter was written, the Em