“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.” He stood silent for a few minutes, as if waiting for her assent. She waved her hand, and the boldest political intriguer of his time departed, conscious of having done that which none other in France would have presumed. Josephine turned away with a beating heart. She reached her apartments, and throwing herself on a sofa, gave vent to her over-burthened soul in a flood of tears. It was not long before dinner was announced; but she refused to appear at the table, on a plea of indisposition, and retired to her chamber. It was a short time afterward that the door of the chamber opened, and the emperor entered. He approached Josephine. Her eyes were red with weeping, and the tears yet moistened those bright orbs, in defiance of her efforts to appear calm. He seated himself beside her, and put his arm around her waist. “Josephine,” said he, in an affectionate tone, “what is the cause of this emotion?” “Nothing,” she answered, in a faltering voice, and scarcely audible. “Something has occurred to bring forth those tears. Tell me, what is it?” and he looked tenderly in her face. “I cannot,” she said, bitterly, whilst she leaned her head upon his shoulder, and gave vent to another flood of tears. “No, I cannot speak those fearful words.” “What words, Josephine? speak; what words?” She hesitated, and then faltered out, “That—that you—you do not love me as you used to.” “’Tis false!” he exclaimed.