Hortense, who had been ailing for some time, that he particularly
desired her to be present.

Hortense had been too long accustomed to obey her step-father's
requests, to venture a refusal. She rose, therefore, from her couch on
which she had been in the habit, for weeks past, of reclining, busied
with her own dreams and musings, and bade her waiting women prepare her
attire for the ball. Still she felt unwell, and seriously burdened by
this festive attire, which harmonized so little with her feelings, and
was so far from becoming to her figure, for she was only a few weeks
from her confinement; but with her gentle and yielding disposition she
did not venture, even in thought, to murmur at the compulsion imposed
upon her by her step-father's command. She therefore repaired, at the
appointed hour, to the ball at St. Cloud. Bonaparte stepped forward to
meet her with a friendly smile, and, instead of thanking her for coming
at all, earnestly urged her to dance.

Hortense gazed at him with amazement. She knew that hitherto Bonaparte
had always sought to avoid the sight of a woman in her condition; he had
frequently said that he thought there was nothing more indecent than for
a female to join in the dance under such circumstances, and now it was
he who asked her to do that very thing.

For this reason Hortense hesitated at first to comply, but Bonaparte
grew only the more pressing and vehement in his request.

"You know how I like to see you dance, Hortense," he said, with his
irresistible smile; "so do this much for me, even if you take the floor
only once, and that for but a single _contredance_."