“_This_, madam, is a petition; this is the memorial of an unfortunate captive!” persisted Teresa, still holding up the handkerchief. But tears of terror and anxiety, flowing down her cheeks, almost concealed the smile which the gracious affability of the Empress had for a moment called into existence. “Rise, my poor girl, rise!” said Josephine, in a tone of compassion. “You appear deeply interested in the welfare of the petitioner!” Teresa blushed, and hung down her head. “I have never even spoken to him, madam,” she replied; “but he is so deserving of pity! If your majesty would deign to read the statement of his misfortunes——” Josephine now unfolded the handkerchief, touched to the heart by the evidence of misery and destitution conveyed in such a substitute for writing-paper. Pausing, however, after she had perused the first line of the petition, she exclaimed, “But this is addressed to the emperor!” “And are you not his wife?” cried Teresa. “Deign, deign to read on! Every moment is of consequence. Indeed, there is no time to be lost!” [Illustration: _Teresa before the Empress._] The fight was now at the hottest. The Hungarian column, though exposed to the severe fire of Marmont’s artillery, was formidable in its movements: Zach and Desaix were face to face; and the result of their encounter was to decide the destinies of the battle. The cannonade became general; the field seemed to vomit flames and smoke; while the clamour of the soldiers, uniting with the clang of arms, and call of trumpets, agitated the air like a tempest. And it was while all this was proceeding around her, that the Empress attempted to give her attention to the following lines: “SIRE: The removal of two stones from the pavement of the court of my prison will scarcely shake the foundation of your empire; and such is the favour I presume to ask of your majesty. It is not for myself I appeal to your protection. But in the stony desert in which I am expiating my offences against your government, a single living thing has solaced my sufferings, and shed a charm over my gloomy existence! A plant—a flower springing spontaneously among the stones of Fenestrella, is the object of my solicitude. Let not your majesty accuse me of folly—of madness; it needs to have been a prisoner, to appreciate the value of such a friend. To this poor flower am I indebted for discoveries which have dispelled the mists of error from my eyes, for my restoration to reason, for my peace of mind, nay, for my very life! It is dear to me, sire, as glory to yourself. [Illustration]