“You honor me too highly, madame!” said the old courtier, bending to his knees before he assumed the place of distinction. “I should have at least run the gantlet with the plague to deserve to be so favored. You are aware,” he continued in a more serious tone, “that it was raging furiously at Amiens. The townspeople became so panic-stricken that the victims were deserted the moment they were seized. Every house was closed. No one walked abroad for fear of rubbing against some infected thing or person. Except the sisters of charity going in and out of the condemned houses and hospitals, there was hardly a soul to be seen in the streets. In fact, it threatened to be a second edition of the plague in Milan. The Empress, hearing all this, suddenly announced her intention of visiting the city. The Emperor strongly opposed the project, and her ladies seconded him, being very loth to run the risk of accompanying her majesty. The Empress, however, held her own against them all, like a Spaniard and a woman, said she would have no one run any risk on her account, and declared herself determined to go alone. Two of her ladies, to save their credit, thereupon volunteered to go with her. They started by the first train next day, and returned the same evening, not at all the worse for the journey.” “I dare say,” remarked a young _crévé_, a furious Legitimist, who always spoke of the Emperor as _ce gaillard là_, and who would have as soon dined with his _concierge_ as at the Tuileries. “They made a tour in a close carriage round the town, and took precious care to keep clear of the dangerous quarters.” “I have the word of her majesty to the contrary, monsieur. She visited the wards, inquired minutely into their organization, and spoke to several of the sufferers. The equerry who accompanied her told me that she held the hand of one poor fellow who was dying, and stooped down, putting her ear close to his lips to hear something he had to say about his little children: there were three of them, their mother had died that morning, and now they were going to be quite destitute. The Empress sent for them, embraced them in the presence of the father, and promised to take care of them. He expired soon after blessing her, as you may imagine.” “She has a noble heart!” murmured Berthe, while a tear stood in her eye. “Comédie, haute comédie!” sneered the _crévé de faubourg_. “A stroke of policy, rather,” observed a Deputy du Centre, stroking his beard. “A comedian’s policy!” said a Deputy de la Gauche; “but it is time and trouble lost, the people are no longer duped by that sort of charlatanism.” “Say, rather, the people are tired of peace and prosperity, and want a change at any cost,” said the Princess de M----. “You are the most unmanageable people under the sun. The wonder is, how any one can be found willing to govern you.”