even to have the satisfaction of
showing to her son the palace, sacred to so many memories that had once
been her own! The present owner had given strict orders to give
admission to the palace only upon presentation of permits that must be
obtained of him beforehand, and, as Hortense had none, her entreaties
were all in vain.

She was cruelly repelled from the threshold of the palace in which in
former days she had been so joyfully received by her devoted friends
and servants!

Sorrowfully, her eyes clouded with tears, she turned away and returned
to her hotel, leaning on her son's arm.

In silence she seated herself at his side on the stone bench that stood
before the house, and gazed at the palace in which she had spent such
happy and momentous days, lost in the recollections of the past!

"It is, perhaps, natural," she murmured in a low voice, "that absence
should cause those, who have the happiness to remain in their homes, to
forget us. But, for those who are driven out into foreign lands, the
life of the heart stands still, and the past is all to them; to the
exiled the present and the future are unimportant. In France every thing
has progressed, every thing is changed, I alone am left behind, with my
sentiments of unchangeable love and fidelity! Alas! how sorrowful and
painful it is to be forgotten[73]! How--"

Suddenly she was interrupted by the tones of a piano, that resounded in
her immediate vicinity. Behind the bench on which they were sitting,
were the windows of the parlor of the hotel. These windows were open,
and each tone of the music within could be heard with the greatest
distinctness.

The playing was now interrupted by a female voice, which said: "Sing us
a song, my daughter."

"What shall I sing?" asked another and more youthful voice.

"Sing the beautiful, touching song your brother brought you from Paris
yesterday. The song of Delphine Gay, set to music by M. de Beauplan."

"Ah, you mean the song about Queen Hortense, who comes to Paris as a
pilgrim? You are right, mamma, it is a beautiful and touching song, and
I will sing it!"

And the young lady struck the keys more forcibly, and began to play the
prelude.

Outside on the stone bench sat she who was once Queen Hortense, but was
now the poor, solitary pilgrim. Nothing remained to her of the glorious
past, but her son, who sat at her side! Hand in hand, both breathless
with emotion, both pale and tearful, they listened until the y