, of supplicating your august father to unite his efforts with
yours, in order to have Napoleon confided to his charge, if policy did
not permit him to be restored to liberty; and how great would be your
Majesty's own happiness: It would be said, the sovereigns of Europe,
after having vanquished the great Napoleon, abandoned him to his most
cruel enemies, they conducted him towards his grave by the most
prolonged and barbarous torments, the continuation of his agony urged
him even to demand more active executioners; he seemed forgotten, and
without hope of aid; but Marie Louise remained to him, and he was
restored to life."

Whether this letter ever reached its address is not clear; but if it
did, it produced no discoverable effect.

But the absence of those confidants increased the troubles of the
unlucky Montholon in a formidable degree, and Napoleon's habit of
dictating his thoughts and recollections, (which he frequently continued
for hours together, and sometimes into the middle of the night,) pressed
heavily on the Count and Bertrand; the latter being excluded after six
in the evening, when the sentinels were posted for the night, as he
resided with his family, and thus devolving the task of the night on
Montholon. Those dictations were sometimes on high questions of state,
and on theories of war; sometimes on matters of the day, as in the
following instance.

The death of the Princess Charlotte, which threw the mind of England
into such distress, had just been made known at St Helena. Napoleon
spoke of it as reminding him of the perilous child-birth of Marie
Louise. "Had it not been for me," said he, "she would have lost her
life, like this poor Princess Charlotte. What a misfortune! young and
beautiful, destined to the throne of a great nation, and to die for want
of proper care on the part of her nearest relations! Where was her
husband? where was her mother? why were they not beside her, as I was
beside Marie Louise? She, too, would have died, had I left her to the
care of the professional people. She owes her life to my being with her
during the whole time of danger; for I shall never forget the moment
when the accoucheur Dubois came to me pale with fright, and hardly able
to articulate, and informed me that a choice must be made between the
life of the mother and that of the child. The peril was imminent; there
was not a moment to be lost in decision. 'Save the mother,' said I--'it
is her right. Proceed j