"Yes, you imperial beggar, you may."
"Well, then, give me the government claims upon the four lower classes."
The empress looked aghast. "Is it money you desire?" said she. "Say how much, and you shall have it from my private purse. But do not rob the poor! The claim that you covet is the tax levied upon all the working classes, and you know how numerous they are."
"For that very reason, I want it. It is a princely gift. Shall I have it?"
The empress reflected for a few moments. "I know," said she, looking up with one of her sweetest smiles, "I know that you will not misuse your power; for I remember the fate of your father's legacy, the three millions of coupons. You shall have the claim, my son. It is yours."
"Will your majesty draw out the deed of gift?"
"I will, my son. It is YOUR wedding-gift from our darling Antoinette. But you will acquaint me, from time to time, with the use you are making of your power over the poor classes?"
"I will render my account to your majesty. But first draw out the deed."
The empress stepped to her escritoire and wrote a few lines, to which she affixed the imperial signature and seal.
"There it is," said she. "I bestow upon my son, the emperor, all the government claims to the impost levied upon the four lower classes. Will that do?"