of
a high office and splendid fortune.

The explanation of these refusals is not far to seek if we believe
Arnault's description of Pauline--"An extraordinary combination of the
most faultless physical beauty and the oddest moral laxity. She had no
more manners than a schoolgirl--she talked incoherently, giggled at
everything and nothing, mimicked the most serious personages, put out
her tongue at her sister-in-law.... She was a good child naturally
rather than voluntarily, for she had no principles."

But Pauline was not to wait long, after all, for a husband. Among the
many men who fluttered round her, willing to woo if not to wed the
empty-headed beauty, was General Leclerc, young and rich, but weak in
body and mind, "a quiet, insignificant-looking man," who at least loved
her passionately, and would make a pliant husband to the capricious
little autocrat. And we may be sure Napoleon heaved a sigh of relief
when his madcap sister was safely tied to her weak-kneed General.

Pauline was at last free to conduct her flirtations secure from the
frowns of the brother she both feared and adored, and she seems to have
made excellent use of her opportunities; and, what was even more to her,
to encourage to the full her passion for finery. Dress and love filled
her whole life; and while her idolatrous husband lavishly supplied the
former, he turned a conveniently blind eye to the latter.

Remarkable stories are told of Pauline's extravagant and daring
costumes at this time. Thus, at a great ball in Madame Permon's Paris
mansion, she appeared in a dress of classic scantiness of Indian muslin,
ornamented with gold palm leaves. Beneath her breasts was a cincture of
gold, with a gorgeous jewelled clasp; and her head was wreathed with
bands spotted like a leopard's skin, and adorned with bunches of gold
grapes.

When this bewitching Bacchante made her appearance in the ballroom the
sensation she created was so great that the dancing stopped instantly;
women and men alike climbed on chairs to catch a glimpse of the rare and
radiant vision, and murmurs of admiration and envy ran round the
_salon_. Her triumph was complete. In the hush that followed, a voice
was heard: "_Quel dommage!_ How lovely she would be, if it weren't for
her ears. If I had such ears, I would cut them off, or hide them."
Pauline heard the cruel words. The flush of mortification and anger
flamed in her cheeks; she burst into tears and walked out of the room