THE KING OF ROME.
The emperor, with a joyful exclamation, turned toward the door. On
its threshold stood a boy of remarkable beauty, such as Correggio or
Murillo would have selected as a cherub model. His slender but
vigorous form was clothed in sky-blue velvet, embroidered with
silver, and his fairy-like feet wore shoes of the same color. His
dimpled arms were bare, and a fleece of golden ringlets fell on his
fair neck and shoulders. An ingenuousness, undeformed by bad
training, increased the charm of his natural beauty. There was
nothing affected in his blooming face; and, while a happy temper
played about his lips, there was a light in his large blue eyes,
reminding the beholder of his great father, from whom he also
inherited a forehead which, when the attractions of his childhood
had passed away, would at once assert his manly gravity and thought.
Behind the boy appeared the dignified form of Madame de Montesquiou,
his governess, who seemed to take pains to keep back the boy, and,
seizing his hand, hastily whispered a few words to him. But he
forcibly disengaged himself, and, without noticing any one but the
emperor, rushed toward him with open arms. "Papa," he cried, in an
imploring tone--"papa, have you not given me permission to come to
you at any time?"
"Yes, sire," said the emperor, tenderly, lifting him into his arms,
"and the proof of it is that you are here.
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