It was evening. The mass had been concluded in the royal chapel, and the Empress Josephine was returning to her apartments through the gallery that led thereto. As she was proceeding along, she felt a touch upon her arm, and, upon looking round, discovered the form of a man beside her. He made his obeisance, and she immediately recognised the Counsellor Fouché.
“What would Monsieur Fouché?” she demanded.
“A few moments private converse with you, if it please your majesty,” he replied, and, at the same time, pointing to the embrasure of a window near by.
Josephine understood the motion, and made a sign that she would follow. He led the way; and when they arrived, she again demanded what he wanted.
“I crave your majesty’s pardon for the liberty I have taken,” said the minister of police respectfully, yet boldly, “but I wish to make a communication, which, though it may not be of the most pleasing nature, yet, demands your majesty’s most serious attention.”
“And what may it be? speak,” said the empress.
“You are aware,” began the minister, “that I am much with the emperor, and have ample opportunity for learning his secret wishes and desires. I have become acquainted with one recently, which, of late, has much occupied his mind, and which he would fain gratify but for the love he bears your majesty. It is this: he wishes for an heir to inherit his title and power. Every man, you know, feels an inherent pride in transmitting his name to posterity; and it is but natural that the emperor should feel such a desire. I would, therefore, suggest to your majesty the necessity of a sacrifice, which will add to the interest of France, make his majesty happy, and which would be as equally sublime as it will be inevitable. Beg him to obtain a divorce.”
During this disclosure, the empress betrayed excessive emotion. Her mild eyes were suffused with tears—her lips swelled—her bosom heaved—her face became deadly pale—and the tremor that took possession of her frame, told how deeply her feelings were agitated. But it was as the momentary cloud that obscures the noonday sun; in a moment it was past, and with a slightly tremulous voice, she asked—
“And what authority has the duke of Otranto for holding such language?”
“None,” he replied, “it is only from a conviction of what must most certainly come to pass, and a desire to turn your attention to what so nearly concerns your majesty’s glory and happiness, that I have dared to speak upon the subject. Nevertheless, if I have offended, I beg your majesty’s forgiveness. Permit me now to depart.”