the letters that they interchanged, and which Bourrienne,
Bonaparte's secretary, faithfully and discreetly transmitted.

"Nearly every evening," relates Bourrienne, in his Memoires, "I played a
game of billiards with Mademoiselle Hortense, who was an adept at it.
When I said, in a low tone to her, 'I have a letter,' the game would
cease at once, and she would hasten to her room, whither I followed her,
and took the letter to her. Her eyes would instantly fill with tears of
emotion and delight, and it was only after a long lapse of time that she
would go down to the saloon whither I had preceded her[10]."

[Footnote 10: Bourrienne, vol. iv., p. 319.]

Hortense, thus busied only with her young lover and her innocent dreams
of the future, troubled herself but little concerning what was taking
place around her, and did not perceive that others were ready to make
her young heart the plaything of domestic and political intrigue.

Bonaparte's brothers, who were jealous of the sway that the beautiful
and fascinating Josephine still exerted over the first consul, as in the
first days of their wedded life, were anxious, by separating Hortense
from her mother, to deprive Josephine of one of the strongest supports
of her influence, and thus, by isolating Josephine, bring themselves
nearer to their brother. They well knew the affection which Bonaparte,
who was particularly fond of children, entertained for those of his
wife, and they also knew that Eugene and Hortense had, one day, not by
their entreaties or their tears, but by their mere presence, prevented
Josephine and Bonaparte from separating.

This was at the time when the whisperings of his brothers and of Junot
had succeeded in making Bonaparte jealous on his return from Egypt.

At that time, Bonaparte had resolved to separate from a woman, against
whom, however, his anger was thus fiercely aroused, simply because he
was so strongly attached to her; and when Bourrienne implored him, at
least, to hear Josephine before condemning her, and to see whether she
could not clear herself, or he could not forgive her, he had replied:

"I forgive her? Never! Were I not sure of myself this time, I would tear
my heart out and throw it into the fire!" And, as Bonaparte spoke, his
voice trembling the while with rage, he clutched his breast with his
hand as though he would indeed rend it to pieces. This scene occurred in
the evening, but, when Bourrienne came into the office next morni