"Yes; go for the names, and go out of the home!" cried the Empress. "Oh, Perry, Perry!"
The orchestrion drowned her wail, but the Emperor felt it, divined it, nevertheless. He was sincerely moved.
"Don't, my dear, don't!" he ejaculated.
"I will! I must!" said the Empress. "To leave the old home at our time of life! To be turned out into the streets! Oh! oh!"
This statement of the Empress contained at least two fallacies, which might almost be called thumping lies. For Ribton Marches was only about five years old, and the fishing-cottage to which Mr. Rodney had persuaded the worthy couple presently to retire was backed by a pine wood and fronted by a charming little pond, generally called "the lake." However, the Emperor did not contradict his spouse. He only patted her gently on her heaving back, while his own features became contorted with agitation at the prospect conjured up by her pictorial remarks.
"And these Londoners," continued the Empress, very nearly qualifying them with the contemptuous epithet "'ere,"—"these Londoners! Oh, what may they not do to the home! What may they not do! I can't bear it! No, I can't!"
The Emperor's face assumed an expression such as may well have been observed upon Napoleon's immediately before the battle of Waterloo.
"Do to the home!" he said, striking one fat hand down upon his knee. "Let them try it on! Mr. Harrison has his orders."
The Empress looked up.