Napoleon had retired to his apartments. His valet was about to be dismissed for the night when the door opens, and upon the threshold stands Josephine!—more irresistible in her infinite sorrow than in her most imperial robes of dazzling splendor. Her tender eyes are glistening through her tears; her hair falls in disordered locks around her quivering face; her hands are clasped in agonizing despair. For one moment she gazes upon the face of him who has been her life and happiness;—then, forgetting all but her overpowering love, she throws herself into his arms, exclaiming, in tones of commingled tenderness and heart-broken anguish,—“My husband!—My husband!” Napoleon was overpowered at last. With streaming eyes he beckoned to his valet to retire, and the husband and wife were left alone for their last sad interview. When an hour afterwards Josephine retired from the apartment, still sobbing with irresistible emotion, the valet entered to remove the lights, and found Napoleon with face buried in the pillow and form convulsed with choking sobs. The next morning, at eleven o’clock, Josephine was to bid a last adieu to the Tuileries. At the appointed hour she appeared, heavily veiled and leaning upon the arm of one of her lady attendants. Silently she walked through the spacious halls, where all the household had assembled to take final leave of their loved mistress. Not a word was spoken; and as Josephine entered the close carriage she waved an adieu to the weeping friends around her, and without another glance at the grand palace which had witnessed her proud happiness and unutterable woe, she was driven rapidly to her future sad retreat at Malmaison. But the envious hate of the Bonaparte family received its just reward on the occasion of the marriage of Napoleon to Maria Louisa; and they were then obliged to swallow a more bitter pill of mortified pride than any which had been administered to them during the reign of Josephine. _Madame Mère Bonaparte_ and the queens of Holland and Naples, the princesses Eliza and Pauline, and the kings Louis and Jerome, were gathered to discuss the coming marriage ceremony of the future empress. Murat, the handsome king of Naples, entered, attired in his rich gala dress of fawn-colored satin embroidered with silver, and wearing a purple mantle lined with ermine and clasped with jewels. The hilt and sheath of his sword sparkled with gems, and his belt was covered with rubies. He wore a sort of cap, of purple, surrounded by an open crown of precious stones, while his boots were of purple velvet edged with fur, and his knee-breeches and vest were of white satin. As he entered the apartment, so proud and so handsome, all of his family exclaimed: “What a handsome dress!”