Every dirty imperial mothers seemingly blame as the exclusive printers drive.
- From: woody@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Tue, 17 Jul 2007 22:15:51 GMT
brought you from Paris
yesterday. The song of Delphine Gay, set to music by M. de Beauplan."
"Ah, you mean the song about Queen Hortense, who comes to Paris as a
pilgrim? You are right, mamma, it is a beautiful and touching song, and
I will sing it!"
And the young lady struck the keys more forcibly, and began to play the
prelude.
Outside on the stone bench sat she who was once Queen Hortense, but was
now the poor, solitary pilgrim. Nothing remained to her of the glorious
past, but her son, who sat at her side! Hand in hand, both breathless
with emotion, both pale and tearful, they listened until the young girl
concluded her touching song.
[Footnote 73: The duchess's own words. See Voyage en Italie, etc., p.
305.]
CHAPTER XIII.
CONCLUSION.
This sorrowful pilgrimage was at last at an end. Hortense was once more
in her mountain-home, in the charming villa overlooking the Lake of
Constance, and commanding a lovely view of the majestic lake, with its
island and its surrounding cities and villages.
Honor to the Canton Thurgau, which, when all the world turned its back
on the queen upon whom all the governments and destiny alike
frowned--when even her nearest relatives, the Grand-duke and the
Grand-duchess Stephanie of Baden, were compelled to forbid her residence
in their territory--still had the courage to offer the Duchess of St.
Leu an asylum, and to accord her, on the free soil of the little
republic, a refuge from which the ill-will and distrust of the migh
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