"Now, sire," said Napoleon, turning toward the child, now "let us
play."
But the little king, who always received these words with
exultation, remained silent, and when the emperor bent over him, he
saw that he had fallen asleep. "Happy king!" murmured Napoleon,
"happy king! who can fall asleep in the midst of state business!"
Softly and cautiously drawing the boy closer to his breast, and
taking pains not to disturb his slumber, he sat still and
motionless, scarcely breathing, although sad thoughts oppressed his
mind. It was an interesting spectacle--this lovely boy leaning his
head in smiling dreams on the breast of his father, who was looking
down on him with grave and tender eyes.
The emperor sat thus a long time. Strange and wonderful thoughts
stole upon him--thoughts of past happiness, of past love. He thought
of how long he had yearned to possess a son, and how many tears his
first consort shed--how ardently he had been loved by the noble and
beautiful Josephine, whom, in his pride, which demanded an heir-
apparent, he had thrust into solitude. Providence had given
Bonaparte all that his heart had longed for--a beautiful young wife,
who loved him, and who was the daughter of an emperor; and a sweet,
lovely child that was to be the heir of his imperial throne. But
Providence, by giving him all, had taken all from Josephine--the
heart and hand of her husband, her dignity and authority as an
empress and sovereign.
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