the people around her carriage murmured,
"Napoleon is dead!"

Hortense reclined in her carriage, pale and motionless. Her thoughts
were confused, her heart scarcely beat.

At last she reached her destination; her carriage drove up to the house
in Pesaro, where her sons were awaiting her.

At this moment a young man, his countenance of a deathly pallor, and
flooded with tears, rushed out of the door and to her carriage. Hortense
recognized him, and stretched out her arms to him. It was her son Louis
Napoleon, and on beholding his pale, sorrowful countenance, and his
tear-stained eyes, the unhappy mother learned the truth. Yes, it was not
her heart, it was the people who had uttered the fearful words:
"Napoleon is dead! Poor mother! Napoleon is dead!"

With a heart-rending cry, Hortense sank to the ground in a swoon.



CHAPTER VI.

THE FLIGHT FROM ITALY.

But Hortense now had no leisure to weep over the son she had so dearly
loved; the safety of the son who remained to her, whom she loved no
less, and on whom her whole love must now be concentrated, was at stake.

She still had a son to save, and she must now think of him--of Louis
Napoleon, who stood in sorrow at her side, lamenting that Fate had not
allowed him to die with his brother.

Her son must be saved. This thought restored Hortense to health and
strength. She is informed that the authorities of Bologna have already
tendered submission to the Austrians; that the insurgent army is already
scattering in every direction; that the Austrian fleet is already to be
seen in the distance, a