eavor to save the King of Rome,
whose lingering death was perfectly true and well authenticated, the
marshal would consider himself as false to the vow he had sworn to the
emperor. To end these painful hesitations, full of confidence in the
inflexible uprightness of his father's character, the marshal had gone to
ask his advice; unfortunately the old republican workman, mortally
wounded during the attack on M. Hardy's factory, but still pondering over
the serious communication of his son, died with these words upon his
Lips: "My son, you have a great duty to perform, under pain of not acting
like a man of honor, and of disobeying my last will. You must, without
hesitation--"

But, by a deplorable fatality, the last words, which would have completed
the sense of the old workman's thought, were spoken in so feeble a voice
as to be quite unintelligible. He died, leaving Marshal Simon in a worse
state of anxiety, as one of the two courses open to him had now been
formally condemned by his father, in whose judgment he had the most
implicit and merited confidence. In a word, his mind was now tortured by
the doubt whether his father had intended, in the name of honor and duty,
to advise him not to abandon his children, to engage in so hazardous an
enterprise, or whether, on the contrary, he had wished him to leave them
for a time, to perform the vow made to the emperor, and endeavor at least
to rescue Napoleon II. from a captivity that might soon be mortal.

This perplexity, rendered more cruel by certain circumstances, to be
related hereafter, the tragical death of his father, who had expired in
his arms; the incessant and painful remembrance of his wife, who had
perished in a land of exile; and finally, the grief he felt at perceiving
the overgrowing sadness of Rose and Blanche, occasioned severe shocks to
Marshal Simon. Let us add that, in spite of his natural intrepidity, so
nobly proved by twenty years of war, the ravages of the cholera, the same
terrible malady to which his wife had fallen a victim in Siberia, filled
the marshal with involuntary dread. Yes, this man of iron nerves, who had
coolly braved death in so many battles, felt the habitual firmness of his
character give way at sight of the scenes of desolation and mourning
which Paris offered at every step. Yet, when Mdlle. de Cardoville
gathered round her the members of her family, to warn them against the
plot of their enemies, the affectionate tenderness of Adr