‘Felicitas hasn’t bad taste!’ cried another.
‘He knows how to do it!’ was the rejoinder.
‘Most entertaining, truly,’ remarked a lady sarcastically.
‘Entertaining isn’t the word for it—’tis scrumptious!’ returned her husband. ‘One hears the kisses, and sees the lady; ’tis a treat for the gods!’
‘Oh, the hussy! Don’t look at her. What a cheek, to face it out like this!’
These various remarks, and many more besides, occupied but a few seconds for delivery, for the Usher calling out silence, on hearing the low murmur of voices, the machine began talking again.
‘What means the Emperor by this unheard-of liberty? What have I done that I should be treated as a courtesan by my Sovereign?’ cried the machine, in a voice choked with pain and indignation.
‘A courtesan!’ repeated the Emperor’s voice, ‘I would give thee a crown if I could! Thy queenly brow was truly made for one. And by the stars, thou shalt have it yet! Yes, dear Mercia, thou shalt share my throne, and rule me, my sweet, together with mine Empire.’
‘Share thy throne and rule thine Empire! Surely, Sire, thou hast gone mad!’
‘Yes, truly, I am mad—mad with love for thee, and thou knowest it, Mercia, else wouldst thou have kissed my hand in acknowledgment of it?’