ever to
forget the mother of his son, the young wife who had given him a
paradise in a strange land.... The princess was not pretty; she seldom
smiled; her expression was haughty.... Her complexion was fair and
fresh, hair light, eyes blue, teeth very white.... As the princess had
made up her mind to give her hand to Jerome, it was desirable that she
should please him, as he certainly regretted his wife; and Miss
Patterson was really his wife and a charming woman.... Her dress was in
uncommon bad taste--the gown of bluish-white _moire_, trimmed in front
with badly-worked silver embroidery in a forgotten style; a little train
resembling the round tail of a beaver; tight, flat sleeves, pressing the
arm above the elbow like a bandage after blood-letting. Her pointed
shoes belonged to the era of King John, the hair old-fashioned in style.
About her neck were two rows of very fine pearls, to which was suspended
the portrait of the prince set in diamonds, and much too large to be
ornamental, as it dangled from her neck and bestowed heavy blows at
every step.... Marshal Bessieres had espoused the princess by proxy....
As Jerome entered she advanced two steps and made him her compliments
with grace and dignity.... Jerome seemed to be there because he had been
told 'You must go.' After Jerome retired the princess fainted."

The duke of Wuertemberg was a mere tool in Napoleon's hands, and his
pliancy was rewarded. In 1809 the emperor greeted him as _mon
frere_.--"Comment, Sire? No longer your cousin?"--"You _were_ mon
cousin: you are _now_ Monsieur mon frere!" And yet the domestic tragedy
of this new _frere_ was known to the imperial king-maker! In 1780 the
duke had married Princess Caroline of Brunswick, young and beautiful,
who was accused of regarding too favorably a page in her service.
Letters inculpating them were found, a family and state council was
convened, and the page sentenced to death, while all concurred in the
guilt of the duchess. A divorce was proposed, but finally her death was
decreed. The page lodged in the palace, his door opening on a corridor
beneath which were similar corridors, in each of which a trapdoor was
now arranged, one below the other, a slight flooring concealing the one
immediately above the apartment of the duchess. As the unsuspicious page
stole at midnight to the rendezvous, the trap yielded, and from floor to
floor he was dashed, mangled and dead, to the feet of the duchess. The
infatuated