elieve that I wish it.

"NAPOLEON."

After the departure of the Emperor, at eleven o'clock in the morning all
the household of the Tuileries were assembled upon the grand staircase,
to witness the retirement of their beloved mistress from the scenes
where she had so long been the brightest ornament. Josephine descended
from her apartment veiled from head to foot. Her emotions were too deep
for utterance. Silently she waved an adieu to the affectionate and
weeping friends who surrounded her. A close carriage with six horses was
before the door. She entered it, sank back upon the cushions, buried her
face in her handkerchief, and, sobbing bitterly, left the Tuileries
forever.

After the divorce, Josephine spent most of her time at the beautiful
chateau of Malmaison, which had been assigned to her, or at the palace
of Navarre, which was embellished for her at an expense of two hundred
thousand dollars. She retained the title of Empress, and received a
jointure of about six hundred thousand dollars a year. Almost daily
letters were exchanged between her and the Emperor, and he frequently
visited her. But from motives of delicacy he never saw her alone. We
know of nothing more pathetic in history than the gleams we get of these
interviews, as revealed in the "Confidential letters of Napoleon and
Josephine," whose publication was authorized by Queen Hortense, after
the death of her mother. Josephine, in the following words, describes
one of these interviews at Malmaison. It was after the marriage with
Maria Louisa.

"I was one day painting a violet, a flower which recalled to my memory
my more happy days, when one of my women ran towards me and made a sign
by placing her finger upon her lips. The next moment I was
overpowered--I beheld Napoleon. He threw himself with transport into the
arms of his old friend. Oh, then I was convinced that he could still
love me; for that man really loved me. It seemed impossible for him to
cease gazing upon me, and his look was that of tender affection. At
length, in a tone of deepest compassion and love, he said:

"'My dear Josephine, I have always loved you. I love you still. Do you
still love me, excellent and good Josephine? Do you still love me, in
spite of the relations I have again contracted, and which have separated
me from you? But they have not banished you from my memory.'

"'Sire,' I replied--

"'Call me Bonaparte,' said he; 'speak to me, my beloved, w