similarly thrust their distinctive moor

--no, not
forgotten!--as she chanced to glance in at a store she was just passing,
she saw in the lighted window her own portrait at the side of that of
the emperor.

Overcome by a sweet emotion, Hortense stood still and gazed at these
pictures. The laughing, noisy crowd on the sidewalk passed on, heedless
of the shrouded woman who stood there before the shop-window, gazing
with tearful eyes at her own portrait. "It seems we are still
remembered," whispered she, in a low voice. "Those who wear crowns are
not to be envied, and should not lament their loss; but is it possible
that the love of the people, to receive which is so sweet, has not yet
been wholly withdrawn from us?"

The profound indifference with which France had accepted the exile of
the Bonapartes had grieved her deeply. She had only longed for some
token of love and fidelity in order that she might go back into exile
consoled and strengthened. And now she found it. France proved to her
through these portraits that she was not forgotten.

Hortense stepped with her compan


.