this fatherland, had electrified him; he
entertained but one wish: to remain in France, and to serve France,
although in the humble capacity of a private soldier.

One day Louis Napoleon entered his mother's room with a letter in his
hand, and begged her to read it. It was a letter addressed to Louis
Philippe, in which Louis Napoleon begged the French king to annul his
exile, and to permit him to enter the French army as a private soldier.

Hortense read the letter, and shook her head sadly. It wounded her just
pride that her son, the nephew of the great emperor, should ask a favor
of him who had not hesitated to make the most of the revolution for
himself, but had nevertheless lacked the courage to help the banished
Bonapartes to recover their rights, and enable them to return to their
country. In his ardent desire to serve France, Louis Napoleon had
forgotten this insult of the King of France.

"My children," says Hortense, in her memoirs, "my children, who had been
cruelly persecuted by all the courts, even by those who owed every thing
to the emperor, their uncle, loved their country with whole-souled
devotion. Their eyes ever turned toward France, busied with the
consideration of institutions that might make France happy; they knew
that the people alone were their friends; the hatred of the great had
taught them this. To conform to the will of the people with resignation
was to them a duty, but to devote themselves to the service of France
was their hearts' dearest wish. It was for this reason that my son had
written to Louis Philippe hoping to be permitted to make himself useful
to his country in some way."

Hortense advised against this venturous step; and when she saw how much
this grieved her son, and observed his eyes filling with tears, she
begged that he would at least wait and reflect, and postpone his
decision until their arrival in Paris.

Louis Napoleon yielded to his mother's entreaties, and in silence and
sadness these two pilgrims continued their wandering through the country
and cities, that to Hortense seemed transformed into luminous monuments
of departed glory.

In Fontainebleau Hortense showed her son the palace that had been the
witness of the greatest triumphs and also of the most bitter grief of
his great uncle. Leaning on his arm, her countenance concealed by a
heavy black veil, to prevent any one from recognizing her, Hortense
walked through the chambers, in which she had once been in