s of
the past, had at last exhausted the strength of the delicate woman; the
flush of fever now began to show itself on her cheeks also, and the
physician urged her to take daily exercise in the open air if she
desired to avoid falling ill.

Hortense followed his advice. In the evening twilight, in plain attire,
her face concealed by a heavy black veil, she now daily quitted her
son's bedside, and went out into the street for a walk, accompanied by
the young Marquis Zappi. No one recognized her, no one greeted her, no
one dreamed that the veiled figure that walked so quietly and shyly was
she who, as Queen of Holland, had formerly driven through these same
streets in gilded coaches, hailed by the joyous shouts of the people.

But, in these wanderings through Paris, Hortense also lived in her
memories only. She showed the marquis the dwelling she had once
occupied, and which had for her a single happy association: her sons had
been born there. With a soft smile she looked up at the proud _facade_
of this building, the windows of which were brilliantly illumined, and
in whose parlors some banker or ennobled provision-dealer was now
perhaps giving a ball; pointing to these windows with her slender white
hand, she said: "I wished to see this house, in order to reproach myself
for having been unhappy in it; yes, I then dared to complain even in the
midst of so much splendor; I was so far from dreaming of the weight of
the misfortune that was one day to come upon me[67]."

[Footnote 67: The duchess's own words: see Voyage, etc., p. 225.]

She looked down again and passed on, to seek the houses of several
friends, of whom she knew that they had remained faithful; heavily
veiled and enveloped in her dark cloak she stood in front of these
houses, not daring to acquaint her friends with her presence, contented
with the sweet sense of being near them!

When, after having strengthened her heart with the consciousness of
being near friends, she passed on through the streets, in which she, the
daughter of France, was now unknown, homeless, and forgotten!--no, not
forgotten!--as she chanced to glance in at a store she was just passing,
she saw in the lighted window her own portrait at the side of that of
the emperor.

Overcome by a sweet emotion, Hortense stood still and gazed at these
pictures. The laughing, noisy crowd on the sidewalk passed on, heedless
of the shrouded woman who stood there before the shop-window, gazing
wit