Francis looked up and gazed wonderingly upon his son-in-law.
Napoleon smiled; it was a triumphant smile. "I, and I alone, am the
founder of Napoleon's family," he said, slowly and solemnly. "I am
the ancestor of those who bear my name. The King of Rome needs no
other, unless it be that your majesty should count every victory
which his father gained an ancestor, and compose his pedigree from
the laurels I have obtained in Europe and Africa. My son has a right
to despise ancestors invisible in the darkness of by-gone centuries,
whom history does not mention, while the vainest genealogy can
scarcely discover that they lived and died. My grandsons and great-
grandsons need not seek the name of the founder of their family on
decayed parchments and confused pedigrees; they only need read the
pages of history. They will also find it at night in the marshalled
host of heaven, where twinkles a star which science names Napoleon.
I think, sire, that star will never set; it will illuminate the path
of your grandson better than the lamp flickering in the tombs of
mouldering ancestors."
Maria Louisa at the first words of Napoleon withdrew her hands from
the pedigree, and stood half sullen and ashamed by the side of her
husband. The royal couple of Saxony hastened to roll up the pedigree
as quickly as possible, and put it back into the golden box.
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