intercede for these
ladies. They were as isolated and desolate as I had been a few clays
before, and I know how sad it is to be in such a state!"

But Hortense's present state was a very different one. She was now no
longer the Duchess of St. Leu, but the queen and the ornament of the
court once more; all heads now bowed before her again, and the high-born
ladies, who had seemed oblivious of her existence during the past year,
now hastened to do homage to the queen.

"Majesty," said one of these ladies to the queen, "unfortunately, you
were always absent in the country when I called to pay my respects
during the past winter."

The queen's only response was a gentle "Indeed madame," which she
accompanied with a smile.

Hortense, as has before been said, was now again the grand point of
attraction at court, and, at Napoleon's command, the public officials
now also hastened to solicit the honor of an audience, in order to pay
their respects to the emperor's step-daughter. Each day beheld new
_fetes_ and ceremonies.

The most sublime and imposing of all these was the ceremony of the
_Champ de Mai_, that took place on the first of June, and at which the
emperor, in the presence of the applauding populace, presented to his
army the new eagles and flags, which they were henceforth to carry into
battle instead of the lilies of the Bourbons.

It was a wondrous, an enchanting spectacle to behold the sea of human
beings that surged to and fro on this immense space, and made the welkin
ring with their "_Vive l'empereur_!"--to behold the proud, triumphant
soldiers receiving from Napoleon the eagles consecrated by the priests
at the altar that stood before the emperor. It was a wondrous spectacle
to behold the hundreds of richly-attired ladies glittering with
diamonds, who occupied the tiers of seats that stood immediately behind
the emperor's chair, and on which Hortense and her two sons occupied the
first seats.

The air was so balmy, the sun shone so lustriously over all this
splendor and magnificence, the cannon thundered so mightily, and the
strains of music resounded so sweetly on the ear; and, while all were
applauding and rejoicing, Hortense sat behind the emperor's chair
covertly sketching the imposing scene that lay before her, the grand
ceremony, which, a dark foreboding told her, "might perhaps be the last
of the empire[50]."

[Footnote 50: Cochelet, vol. iii., p. 97.]

Hortense alone did not allow herself to