The pugs sat down. Frederick obeyed orders, and in a moment the big room was crammed with the beautiful and classical strains of the song already alluded to, given out by the expensive instrument with an unflinching power and a stentorian sweetness that must surely have compelled the most unmusical person to do homage, if not to melody, at least to strength. Frederick made his exit, and the Bun Emperor collapsed in silence by his wife's side. He looked less violent than usual, and, indeed, the expression upon his face might almost have been called an expression of apprehension. The song ran on. The pugs declined from a sitting into a sidelong posture, and with four simultaneous sighs gave way to the charms of snoring with open eyes. The Emperor's two thumbs began rapidly to revolve one over the other.
"Don't do that, Perry," said the Empress; "it spoils the music."
The Emperor desisted, apparently very much to his wife's vexation, for she pursed her lips, screwed her brow, and arranged her curls with a trembling hand. "For they nev-arr do that to me!" shouted the orchestrion for the dozenth time.
"D'you hear that, Perry?" said the Empress viciously.
The Emperor jerked an affirmative with his head.
"And d'you feel it?" pursued the Empress. "D'you feel it as you ought?"
"My dear!" said the Emperor. "My dear!"
"Oh, I daresay," said the Empress, flaunting her head passionately sideways. "I daresay. But what's the good of that? What's the good of affection, and 'my dear' this, and 'my dear' that, when it's done and can't be undone?"
"I can't go back upon my word, Henrietta."