"I forgot to bring it," I said. "but my sister is the wife of the Emperors brother."
"Arent you glad, Pierre?" I said. Then I asked the old lady: "Can he walk to the front door if this officer helps him? I have a carriage outside."
The old lady took my arm and led me down the stairs. "Go with God. my child," she said. "dont cry. You arent Madame Bernadotte any longer. Youre the Crown Princess of Sweden. You must help your new people to live in peace."
They wrapped Pierre in the rugs, like a parcel. Then the coachman carried him downstairs. His cries of pain made me feel terrible. But I had to take him; they could do no more for him there.
"Poor Marie!" I was thinking. "Youve been my sweet friend and servant all mylife. What comfort can I give you now?"
"He has found Maries Pierre," I said to Rosen. "The boy has been wounded. Hes in an army hospital, here in Paris. I want to bring him here, so that we can look after him properly."
"Im looking for a wounded man, called Pierre Dubois. I want to take him home to his mother. Will you show me where he is, please?"
"We dont know their names," she said. "There are hundreds of wounded men here. We try to nurse them; but we havent time for anything else. If you go from bed to bed, perhaps youll find him. "
He said: "Yes, Madame Bernadotte." But he didnt smile.
"Im sorry, Your Highness," said Rosen. "Im going to be sick." And he was.
"No visitors!" he said fiercely, and he shut the door.
We went in my carriage to the hospital. Rosen knocked on the door. A soldier opened it and looked at me. He had only one arm.
"Good evening, Pierre," I said. "dont you recognize me? Im going to take you home to your mother. To old Marie."
At the end of one room, a woman was sitting beside a table. I asked her: "Where can I find a man called Pierre Dubois?"
Before I left the room, another wounded man spoke to me. "Youre Madame Bernadotte?" he said weakly. "Please give your husband a message from his men. Tell him they fought many battles for him. They always trusted him. But they died in the Russian snow because he was helping their enemy. Tell him that, madame."
When he felt better, we went on. In the next room, there was a very old woman. She was reading a small black book. When I spoke to her, she said: "Pierre Dubois? Yes. There are two men here with that name."
"I know you, madame. Youre the wife of Marshal Bernadotte," he said coldly.
This evening I had a letter from Villatte.
She took my hand led me to a bed. The face was dead, but it wasnt his. Then she took me to another bed, in the farthest corner. This time it was Pierre. His eyes were open but he didnt seem to see me. There was blood on his lips.
I felt so weak that I almost fell. Only Rosens arm saved me. I asked him to go down to the carriage. I wanted the coachman, and two rugs.
The man didnt move. Hewas staring at me angrily. If Rosen hadnt been there, Id have been afraid. "Lend me your candle," I said. "Well find our way."
The old lady looked at me sadly. Then she lifted the blanket--- and I saw that Pierre had no legs.
Rosen knocked again, several times. At last the door opened once more. "I have permission to visit the hospital," I lied. And I went in with Rosen before the man could stop me.
Rosen took the candle from him. We went up some stairs and along a passage. There were open doors on each side. Every room was filled with bodies on low beds. Everywhere there were cries of pain, and the smell of blood.
So we went from bed to bed. Some men were dead, and others were dying. Some asked for water. Some asked for their wives. They all wanted help --- but I couldnt stop. I looked at every face in that room. Then we went out into the passage.
"Is he seriously wounded?" Rosen asked.
"Villatte doesnt say. So I havent told Marie anything yet."
Rosen was waiting for me outside. I got into the carriage and sat down beside the parcel that used to be Pierre.
"Where is the letter of permission?" he asked.
