h she,
the loving and beloved, occupied by her husband's side was to be filled
by another! Though doubts had arisen in her mind--though she knew the
influence of those who feared the sceptre might pass into the hands of
another dynasty--still, the hope never forsook her, that affection would
triumph over ambition, till Napoleon himself communicated the cruel
determination. With what abandonment of self she was wont to cast her
whole dependence on Napoleon, may be seen in a letter addressed to Pope
Pius VII. In it she says: "My first sentiment--one to which all others
are subservient--is a conviction of my own weakness and incapacity. Of
myself I am but little; or, to speak more correctly, my only value is
derived from the extraordinary man to whom I am united. This inward
conviction, which occasionally humbles my pride, eventually affords me
some encouragement, when I calmly reflect. I whisper to myself, that the
arm under which the whole earth is made to tremble, may well support my
weakness."

Hortense's promising child was dead; Napoleon and Josephine had shed
bitter tears together over the early grave of their little favorite; and
there was now not even a nominal heir to the throne. The machinations of
the designing were in active motion. Lucien introduced the subject, and
said to Josephine that it was absolutely necessary for the satisfaction
of the nation that Napoleon should have a son, and asked whether she
would pass off an illegitimate one as her own. This proposal she refused
with the utmost indignation, preferring any alternative to one so
disgraceful.

On Napoleon's return from the battle of Wagram, Josephine hastened to
welcome him. After the first warm greetings and tender embraces, she
perceived that something weighed upon his mind. The restraint and
embarrassment of his manner filled her with dread. For fifteen days she
was a prey to the most cruel suspense, yet she dreaded its termination
by a disclosure fatal to her happiness. Napoleon, who loved her so much,
and who had hitherto looked to her alone for all his domestic felicity,
himself felt all the severity of the blow which he was about to inflict.
The day at length came, and it is thus affectingly described by Mr.
Alison:--

"They dined together as usual, but neither spoke a word during the
repast; their eyes were averted as soon as they met, but the countenance
of both revealed the mortal anguish of their minds. When it was over, he
dismissed