"Here is the letter," he
said. "Do you know your husband's handwriting?"
The princess fixed her eyes, dimmed by tears, on the paper she held in
her trembling hands. She then uttered a cry, so piercing and
heart-rending, that Duroc, who was standing at the door, felt the tears
starting into his eyes. Napoleon himself could not help shuddering.
"It is his handwriting!" muttered the princess, dropping the paper upon
the floor. Her quivering lips had now no longer the strength and courage
to repeat her prayer--her head fell on her breast, and she uttered only
low groans and sobbed.
The emperor seemed to be touched by her wordless yet eloquent grief. His
manner, which had hitherto been stern, became gentle and kind, and he
looked down with an expression of compassion on that kneeling,
despairing form. He stooped, picked up the letter, and placed it in the
hands of the princess. "Madame," he said, "here is the letter. Do with
it what you please. For this letter is the only thing proving his
guilt."
The princess looked up to him with a joyous, surprised glance. The
emperor smiled, and pointed silently to the fire-place. She rose hastily
from her knees, rushed toward the fire, and threw the paper into it.
"It is burning! It is burning!" she joyfully shouted. "My husband is
saved! My husband is free!" and uttering a scream, she tottered back,
and fell in a swoon at the emperor's feet.
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