The sun was beginning to pour in. The Emperor turned and offered his arm to the Empress. She shrank away with a whimper.
"My darling—my love—be firm! Remember, Henrietta, we are not alone."
He drew her trembling arm through his, and patted it violently with one fat hand.
"It must be done," he said in a heroic voice. "I've give my word. It must be done."
They moved in procession from the private apartments, followed by Mr. Harrison, who threw his feet out on either side as he went with a noble attempt after his habitual dignity. The household, by order of the Emperor, were grouped in the hall in front of the organ. It has not been recorded whether the women were weeping, but no doubt they were. The Emperor and Empress paused at the foot of the grand staircase in a baronial portion of the hall. The Emperor cleared his throat loudly not once nor twice. Between the clearings a pin was heard to drop, so intense was the silence. The third housemaid stooped to pick it up, and keeps it still as a memento of the occasion. Then the Emperor spoke in a sad, and at the same time very angry, manner.
"The time has come," he said, "when we must leave you; when me and Mrs. Lite must go."
There was a subdued murmur of regret from the crowd.
"We go," continued the Emperor, "with breaking hearts."
"We do! we do!" from the Empress.
More murmurs.