wholly enamoured of ----,
did not even take pains to hide her ridiculous partiality for him. The
handwriting of the letter was disguised, yet not so much but that I was
able to discover whose it was. I found; however, in the manner in which
the secret was expressed a warmth of zeal and a picturesque style that
did not belong to the author of the letter. While reading it, I all of a
sudden suspected it was a counterfeit, and intended to mislead the
Emperor. I communicated his idea to him, and the danger I perceived in
this fraud. As I grew more and more animated I found plausible reasons
enough to throw the Emperor himself into some uncertainty. 'How is it
possible,' I said, 'that ----- should have been imprudent enough to write
such things to me, who am not his friend, and who have had so little
connection with him? How can one suppose that the Empress should forget
herself, in such circumstances, so far as to manifest aversion to you,
and, still more, to cast herself away upon a man who undoubtedly still
possesses some power to please, but who is no longer young, whose face is
disfigured, and whose person, altogether, has nothing agreeable in it?'
'But,' answered the Emperor, ----- is attached to me; and though he is
not your friend, the postscript sufficiently explains the motive of the
confidence he places in you.' The following words were, in fact, written
at the bottom of the letter: 'I do not think you ought to mention the
truth to the Emperor, but make whatever use of it you think proper.'
I persisted, however, in maintaining that the letter was a counterfeit;
and the Emperor then said to me, 'Go to Caulaincourt. He possesses a
great many others in the same handwriting. Let the comparison decide
between your opinion and mine.'

"I went to Caulaincourt, who said eagerly to me, 'I am sure the letter is
from -----, and I have not the least doubt of the truth of the
particulars it contains. The best thing the Emperor can do is to be
comforted; there is no help to be expected from that side.'

"So sad a discovery was very painful to the Emperor, for he was sincerely
attached to the Empress, and still hoped again to see his son, whom he
loved most tenderly.'

"Fouche had been far from wishing the return of the Emperor. He was long
tired of obeying, and had, besides, undertaken another plan, which
Napoleon's arrival had broken off. The Emperor, however, put him again
at the head of the police, because Savary was worn