We, however, preceded His Majesty, more happy than many of
our companions. Believing further resistance to be useless; dazzled,
perhaps, by the brilliancy of that genius which restored order,
submitted Europe, and governed France; M. de Florac, in the first days,
was reconciled to the Conqueror of Marengo and Austerlitz, and held a
position in his Imperial Court. This submission, at first attributed to
infidelity, has subsequently been pardoned to my husband. His sufferings
during the Hundred Days made to pardon his adhesion to him who was
Emperor. My husband is now an old man. He was of the disastrous campaign
of Moscow, as one of the chamberlains of Napoleon. Withdrawn from the
world, he gives his time to his feeble health--to his family--to Heaven.

"I have not forgotten a time before those days, when, according
to promises given by my father, I became the wife of M. de Florac.
Sometimes I have heard of your career. One of my parents, M. de F.,
who took service in the English India, has entertained me of you; he
informed me how yet a young man you won laurels at Argom and Bhartpour;
how you escaped to death at Laswari. I have followed them, sir, on the
map. I have taken part in your victories and your glory. Ah! I am not
so cold, but my heart has trembled for your dangers; not so aged, but I
remember the young man who learned from the pupil of Frederick the first
rudiments of war. Your great heart, your love of truth, your courage
were your own. None had to teach you those qualities, of which a good
God had endowed you, My good father is dead since many years. He, too,
was permitted to see France before to die.

"I have read in the English journals not only that you are married,
but that you have a son. Permit me to send to your wife, to your
child, these accompanying tokens of an old friendship. I have seen that
Mistress Newcome was widow, and am not sorry of it. My friend, I hope
there was not that difference of age between your wife and you that I
have known in other unions. I pray the good God to bless yours. I hold
you always in my memory. As I write, the past comes back to me. I see a
noble young man, who has a soft voice, and brown eyes. I see the
Thames, and the smiling plains of Blackheath. I listen and pray at my
chamber-door as my father talks to you in our little cabinet of studies.
I look from my window, and see you depart.

"My son's are men: one follows the profession of arms, one has embraced
the ec