The morning of the 29th
of March was fixed for the departure. The travelling-carriages,
loaded with baggage, stood in the court-yard of the Tuileries; but
Maria Louisa still hesitated. Her travelling-toilet was completed;
her ladies were with her in the reception-room, filled with persons
forming the cortege of the empress. All entered in mournful silence,
and to their bows the empress responded only with a nod. Her eyes,
red with weeping, were fixed on the door; she awaited in suspense
the return of King Joseph, who had left the Tuileries at daybreak,
and had gone to the gates of Paris to reconnoitre the enemy's
position. At first the departure was to have taken place at eight in
the morning; now it was past nine, and King Joseph had not yet
returned.
This unexpected delay increased the anxiety. None dared interrupt
the breathless silence reigning in the apartment; only here and
there some one whispered, and, whenever a door opened, all started
and turned anxiously toward it, as if expecting a bearer of sad
tidings. The face of the empress was pale and agitated; her form
trembled; at times she turned toward her ladies, who stood behind
her, and addressed to them some almost inaudible question, not
waiting for a reply, but looking again toward the door, or inclining
her head on her bosom.
Suddenly the door was opened, and on the threshold appeared the
little King of Rome, followed by his governess, Madame de
Montesquieu.
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