A Woman of Thirty | Page 4

feature. A
mischievous sweetness lighted up the beautiful, almond-shaped dark
eyes, bathed in liquid brightness, shaded by the long lashes and curving
arch of eyebrow. Life and youth displayed their treasures in the
petulant face and in the gracious outlines of the bust unspoiled even by
the fashion of the day, which brought the girdle under the breast.
The young lady herself appeared to be insensible to admiration. Her
eyes were fixed in a sort of anxiety on the Palace of the Tuileries, the
goal, doubtless, of her petulant promenade. It wanted but fifteen
minutes of noon, yet even at that early hour several women in gala
dress were coming away from the Tuileries, not without backward
glances at the gates and pouting looks of discontent, as if they regretted
the lateness of the arrival which had cheated them of a longed-for
spectacle. Chance carried a few words let fall by one of these

disappointed fair ones to the ears of the charming stranger, and put her
in a more than common uneasiness. The elderly man watched the signs
of impatience and apprehension which flitted across his companion's
pretty face with interest, rather than amusement, in his eyes, observing
her with a close and careful attention, which perhaps could only be
prompted by some after-thought in the depths of a father's mind.

It was the thirteenth Sunday of the year 1813. In two days' time
Napoleon was to set out upon the disastrous campaign in which he was
to lose first Bessieres, and then Duroc; he was to win the memorable
battles of Lutzen and Bautzen, to see himself treacherously deserted by
Austria, Saxony, Bavaria, and Bernadotte, and to dispute the dreadful
field of Leipsic. The magnificent review commanded for that day by
the Emperor was to be the last of so many which had long drawn forth
the admiration of Paris and of foreign visitors. For the last time the Old
Guard would execute their scientific military manoeuvres with the
pomp and precision which sometimes amazed the Giant himself.
Napoleon was nearly ready for his duel with Europe. It was a sad
sentiment which brought a brilliant and curious throng to the Tuileries.
Each mind seemed to foresee the future, perhaps too in every mind
another thought was dimly present, how that in the future, when the
heroic age of France should have taken the half-fabulous color with
which it is tinged for us to-day, men's imaginations would more than
once seek to retrace the picture of the pageant which they were
assembled to behold.
"Do let us go more quickly, father; I can hear the drums," the young
girl said, and in a half-teasing, half-coaxing manner she urged her
companion forward.
"The troops are marching into the Tuileries," said he.
"Or marching out of it--everybody is coming away," she answered in
childish vexation, which drew a smile from her father.
"The review only begins at half-past twelve," he said; he had fallen half
behind his impetuous daughter.
It might have been supposed that she meant to hasten their progress by
a movement of her right arm, for it swung like an oar blade through the
water. In her impatience she had crushed her handkerchief into a ball in
her tiny, well-gloved fingers. Now and then the old man smiled, but the

smiles were succeeded by an anxious look which crossed his withered
face and saddened it. In his love for the fair young girl by his side, he
was as fain to exalt the present moment as to dread the future. "She is
happy to-day; will her happiness last?" he seemed to ask himself, for
the old are somewhat prone to foresee their own sorrows in the future
of the young.
Father and daughter reached the peristyle under the tower where the
tricolor flag was still waving; but as they passed under the arch by
which people came and went between the Gardens of the Tuileries and
the Place du Carrousel, the sentries on guard called out sternly:
"No admittance this way."
By standing on tiptoe the young girl contrived to catch a glimpse of a
crowd of well-dressed women, thronging either side of the old marble
arcade along which the Emperor was to pass.
"We were too late in starting, father; you can see that quite well." A
little piteous pout revealed the immense importance which she attached
to the sight of this particular review.
"Very well, Julie--let us go away. You dislike a crush."
"Do let us stay, father. Even here I may catch a glimpse of the Emperor;
he might die during this campaign, and then I should never have seen
him."
Her father shuddered at the selfish speech. There were tears in the girl's
voice; he looked at her, and thought that he saw tears