She started from her reverie, as he pronounced her name—for buried in thought, she had not observed his entrance—and bent upon him such a look, full of sweetness and affection, that it disarmed him; he could not proceed. He arose. He folded his arms upon his breast and paced to and fro; his brow was contracted,—his lips compressed; and the unquiet restlessness of his piercing eye, betokened the agitation he could scarce control. He thus continued for some moments. At length he stopped before her, as if his resolution was taken, and then again turned away, continuing to walk up and down the apartment with rapid and hasty strides. After a short time he stopped again.
“It must be done,” he muttered, “I will acquaint her with it at once; delay but makes it still more difficult.”
He made an effort to suppress his emotion, and seated himself beside her. But again his voice failed him, and he could only articulate,—
“Josephine, prepare yourself for sad news.”
Ever on the alarm, the purport of his words seemed anticipated by her, though not to their full extent, and she burst into a flood of tears, scarce knowing why.
Dinner was now announced, and their majesties proceeded to the table. Silence prevailed throughout the meal, and the dishes were scarcely touched. They arose from their seats, and as they did so, the page on duty presented the emperor with his accustomed cup of coffee. He took it, but handed it back scarcely touched. He then proceeded to his chamber; the empress followed.
They seated themselves when they had entered, and remained for some time silent. The emperor at length spoke.
“There is no use in deferring the truth, Josephine,” said he, in a tremulous voice, “it must sooner or later be made known to you, and suspense is more cruel than certainty. The interests of France demand that we separate.”
“What!” she exclaimed, placing both hands on his shoulders, and gazing with an eager and inquiring look in his face, “what? separate!”
“Yes,” he answered, “France demands the sacrifice.”