"Hear, hear!" from Mr. Harrison.
"And"—here the Emperor obviously faltered—"don't go for to forget the—old faces. Mr. Harrison——" His voice suddenly burst out in a trumpet-note of forcible resolution.
"Sir!"
"Is the pony-shay at the door?"
"It is, sir! Oh, most decidedly!"
The massive portals were flung open, and outside in the gay summer sunlight there appeared a basket-chaise drawn by a fat white pony, and led by a little groom. The four pugs stood round it barking vociferously. The Emperor threw one last distracted glance around, then shut his eyes, took hold of the Empress, and, pioneered by Mr. Harrison, moved slowly forward. The Empress, as one in a ghastly dream, accompanied him. In a moment she would have been placed in the chaise and driven from the dreadful scene, calm, blank, practically unconscious of her doom. But this was not to be. Fate willed it otherwise. Seized by a sudden, and it must be confessed a very noble, impulse, the powdered Frederick had run like a lamplighter to the purple drawing-room. The orchestrion stood before him. He leaped upon it as the wild beast leaps upon its prey. He caught at it. An instant! Then there was the sound of a click, and suddenly the wild and thrilling uproar of Tosti's "Good-bye!" poured violently through the reverberating palace.
The Empress heard it. She paused. She trembled. She opened her mouth. Something with her brain seemed to go snap. She shrieked aloud. The Emperor saw what was coming.
"Mr. Harrison!" he shouted.
"Sir!"