“Well, does that concern you?” asked Napoleon, smiling. “You are jealous, perhaps? This lady is said to be very beautiful.”
“Sire,” said Duroc, solemnly, “even though she were as beautiful as Cleopatra, your majesty ought not to receive her.”
“I ought not?” asked Napoleon, sternly. “What should prevent me from doing so?”
“Sire, the sacred duty to preserve yourself to your people, to your empire. This lady who tries to penetrate with so much passionate violence to your majesty is a dangerous intriguer, a mortal enemy of France and your majesty.”
Napoleon cast a triumphant glance on Constant, who, pale and trembling, was leaning against the wall.
“Well,” he asked, “will you defend her still?”
Without waiting for Constant’s reply, he turned again to the grand-marshal.
“Whence did you obtain this information?”
“Sire, the governor of Vienna, M. de Vincennes, has just arrived here in the utmost haste. His horse fell half dead to the ground when he entered the courtyard. He feared that he might be too late.”
“How too late?”