"Talleyrand said it was not the planning of future battles, but that you were mourning for the little son of the King of Holland."
"Ah, indeed, Talleyrand is not altogether mistaken," exclaimed Napoleon, heaving a sigh; "my heart is mourning for young Napoleon. He was my darling, and I had accustomed myself to regard him as my heir. He was blood of my blood, and there was something shining in his eyes that seemed to me to be a beam of my own mind. I loved the boy. And now—what did Talleyrand say besides, Duroc?" asked Napoleon, interrupting himself. "You are silent. Be frank; I want to know it all!"
"Sire," said Duroc, timidly, "the Prince de Benevento lamented the fate of the empress, for he believes the death of little Prince Napoleon Louis to be a mournful—nay, a fatal event for her, inasmuch as your majesty would now be under the necessity of having a successor to the noble and adored Empress Josephine, and an heir-apparent to your empire."
"And he was impudent enough to lament her fate!" exclaimed Napoleon, "he who has striven for years to overthrow her—he who always united with my family to prove to me the right of disowning her. Ah, poor dear Josephine! I ought never to have thought of listening to their insinuations; I was hitherto her most faithful defender, for I love her, and know that she is a sincere friend."
"An empress, sire," said Duroc, "who would be an ornament to any throne, and whose grace, amiability, and kind-heartedness, have won as many subjects for your majesty as your battles. Sire, all France loves and worships the Empress Josephine; all France would weep with her if her enemies succeed in removing her from her throne, and from the side of her adored husband, and the tears and imprecations of a whole people would be the festive welcome with which France would receive a new empress!"
"You paint in very glaring colors," exclaimed Napoleon, gloomily, "but, then, I know you to be one of Josephine's admirers. She is really a good wife, and I never had room for complaint. But for one consideration, I should never think of separating from her. Fate is against her, and I am afraid it will compel me—ah, let us not dare to pry into the future. Let us rather attend to the present. You have told me the suppositions of Lannes and Talleyrand, but not your own. What did you say?" He looked at Duroc with his eagle eyes, and repeated, "What did you say?"
"Sire," replied Duroc, "I said nothing."
"You said nothing, because you know what ails me," said Napoleon, vehemently, "because you can fathom the pain, the anger, and grief of my heart!"
He rose from his easy-chair, and paced the room, with his arms behind him. "Duroc," he said, after a long pause, and in a husky, tremulous voice, "is it not a disgrace that this should happen? The world is bowing to me, and recognizing me as its master, and a woman dares resist me—a fair, delicate little creature that I could crush, as it were, in my hands—that an angry breath from my mouth could destroy as a lily in the blast of the desert. Duroc, she dares resist me, and opposes a cold, stubborn silence to my request—nay, to my fervent supplications!"
"Sire, she is married," said Duroc, timidly, "she is married, and—"