‘I heartily relieve thee, then, my good Mercia: I care not for the bond one iota, if that be all that’s in thy way. Keep thy post, as thou likest thy work so well, and enjoy the delights of love at the same time,’ reeled out the machine in the Emperor’s most insinuating tones.
Then followed a low cry of joy, in Mercia’s voice, and the sound of a kiss; listening ladies blushed, smart young men sniggered, and elderly men looked as if things were getting serious.
‘Isn’t that machine playing it low on the lady?’ whispered Prince Osbert to Louis, his neighbour.
‘Hush,’ returned the French Emperor—‘listen, there’s a volley of kisses going off—be quiet, pray!’
‘It’s getting beyond a joke—it really is! Just look at the Empress, she’s gone green in the face! Mercia’s looking pretty pink, and altogether the matter is too blue for my modesty!’ exclaimed the Prince, while bursting with suppressed mirth.
All eyes regarded the beautiful culprit seated in the witness box with increased interest. ‘Oh, thou guilty creature—think shame to thyself!’ the ladies’ looks said as plainly as possible.
‘He’s having a good time of it!’ whispered one to his neighbour.
‘She’s no better than she should be, after all!’ muttered another.
‘Such pretty lips were made for kissing!’ remarked another jocularly.
‘So it seems!’ answered his neighbour dryly.