also called by her admirers, “Notre-dame de Thermidor,” felt much nattered at being called on by a real viscountess, who had filled a distinguished position at the court of King Louis.  She therefore received her with great amiability, and endeavored to make the charming and beautiful viscountess her friend.  But Josephine found that estates were more easily lost than recovered.  The republic, one and indivisible, was always ready to take, but not to give; and, even with the kindly offices of Madame Tallien freely exerted in her behalf, it was some time before Josephine succeeded in recovering her estate.  In the mean time, she really suffered want, and she and her children were compelled to bear the hardships and mortifications which poverty brings in its train.  But true friends still remained to her in her misery; friends who, with true delicacy, furnished her with the prime necessities of life—­with food and clothing for herself and children.  In general, it was characteristic of this period that no one felt humiliated by accepting benefits of this kind from his friends.  Those who had lost all had not done so through their own fault; and those who had saved their property out of the general wreck could not attribute their fortune to their own merit or wisdom, but merely to chance.  They therefore considered it a sacred duty to divide with those who had been less fortunate; and the latter would point with pride to the poverty which proved that they had been true to themselves and principle, and accept what friendship offered.  This was the result of a kind of community of property, to which the revolution had given birth.  Those who had possessions considered it their duty to divide with those who had not, and the latter regarded this division rather as a right than as a benefit conferred.

Josephine could, therefore, accept the assistance of her friends without blushing; she could, with propriety, allow Madame de Montmorin to provide for the wardrobe of herself and daughter; and she and Hortense could accept the invitation of Madame Dumoulin to dine with her twice a week.  There, at Madame Dumoulin’s, were assembled, on certain days, a number of friends, who had been robbed of their fortunes by the storms of the revolution.  Madame Dumoulin, the wife of a rich army-contractor, gave these dinners to her friends, but each guest was expected to bring with him his own white-bread.  White-bread was, at that time, considered one of the greatest dainties; for, there being a scarcity of grain, a law had been proclaimed allotting to each section of Paris a certain amount of bread, and providing that no individual should be entitled to purchase more than two ounces daily.  It had, therefore, become the general custom to add the following to all invitations:  “You are requested to bring your white bread with you,” for the reason that no more than the allotted two ounces could be had for money, and that amount cost the purchaser dearly[2].  Josephine, however, had