the time. At the commencement of this address he said, "I set out this
night to take the command of the army. On quitting the capital I
confidently leave behind me my wife and my son, in whom so many hopes are
centred." I listened attentively to Napoleon's address, and, though he
delivered it firmly, he either felt or feigned emotion. Whether or not
the emotion was sincere on his part, it was shared by many present; and
for my own part I confess that my feelings were deeply moved when he
uttered the words, "I leave you my wife and my son." At that moment my
eyes were fixed on the young Prince, and the interest with which he
inspired me was equally unconnected with the splendour which surrounded
and the misfortunes which threatened him. I beheld in the interesting
child not the King of Rome but the son of my old friend. All day long
afterwards I could not help feeling depressed while comparing the
farewell scene of the morning with the day on which we took possession of
the Tuileries. How many centuries seemed the fourteen years which
separated the two events.

It may be worth while to remind those who are curious in comparing dates
that Napoleon, the successor of Louis XVI., and who had become the nephew
of that monarch by his marriage with the niece of Marie Antoinette, took
leave of the National Guard of Paris on the anniversary of the fatal 21st
of January, after twenty-five years of successive terror, fear, hope,
glory, and misfortune.

Meanwhile, a Congress was opened at Chatillon-sur-Seine, at which were
assembled the Duke of Vicenza on the part of France, Lords Aderdeen and
Cathcart and Sir Charles Stewart as the representatives of England, Count
Razumowsky on the part of Russia, Count Stadion for Austria, and Count
Humboldt for Prussia. Before the opening of the Congress, the Duke of
Vicenza, in conformity with the Emperor's orders, demanded an armistice,