His wife had been reared in the court of Louis XVI., and had adorned
that of the emperor. Cultivated in her mind, accomplished in her
manners, and elegant in all she said or did, her society was courted on
all sides. Her habits were expensive; luxury reigned throughout her
apartments, and presided at her board; and to all this display of
elegance and pomp of show, the military simplicity, not to say the
coarseness, of the marshal, furnished a striking contrast. His good
nature offered no other obstacle to the gratification of her wishes than
the occasional expression of a fear that his circumstances might be
deranged by them. But if he would not oppose, neither could he join in
her extravagance. While she was presiding at a numerous and brilliant
party of guests, he preferred to remain alone in a distant apartment,
where the festive sounds could not reach him. On such occasions he
almost always dined alone.

Ney seldom appeared at court. He could neither bow nor flatter, nor
could he stoop to kiss even his sovereign's hand without something like
self-humiliation. To his princess, on the other hand, the royal smile
was as necessary as the light of the sun; and unfortunately for her, she
was sometimes disappointed in her efforts to attract it. Her wounded
vanity often beheld an insult in what was probably no more than an
inadvertence. In a word she ere long fervently regretted the court in
which the great captains had occupied the first rank, and their families
shared the almost exclusive favour of the sovereign. She complained to
her husband; and he, with a calm smile, advised her never again to
expose herself to such mortifications if she really sustained them. But
though he could thus rebuke a woman's vanity, the haughty soldier felt
his own wounded through hers. To escape from these complaints, and from
the monotony of his Parisian existence, he retired to his country-seat,