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.” Her hands dropped heavily—her bosom heaved—and hot, burning tears, such only as flow from a surcharged heart, gushed forth in torrents from her eyes. “And I—oh! God!” she exclaimed, “I who have shared your joys and sorrows—who have been your companion for years—who loved you through weal and woe—who—but I will not upbraid you, Napoleon. Yet she who supplants me, Maria Louise, the daughter of the Emperor Francis, can never love you as I have done,—oh! no!” She buried her face in her hands; the emperor remained silent. “But,” she continued, starting suddenly, and throwing her arms around his neck, “you do not mean it. Oh! no! say you do not! speak,—you cannot mean it. Tell me, quick—say it is not so—that it cannot, must not be. Speak, Napoleon, and the blessing of God rest upon you!” “Alas! it is too true,” he said, his eyes suffused with tears. Oh! how keen was the pang of conscience that shot through his guilty heart. “True!” she exclaimed, “and you confirm it? Then Fouché was right. But I will never survive it—no! I will never survive it. Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” She uttered a piercing scream, and reeled backward, for she had risen from her seat in her excitement. Napoleon caught her in his arms, and laid her gently upon the carpet. Her agony was too deep for words, and she could only weep and groan in bitterness of spirit. He stepped to the door and called de Bausset. They raised her in their arms, and bore her to her chamber. Her women were immediately summoned, and she was resigned to their care. Napoleon retired, greatly agitated. De Bausset followed; tears were also in his eyes; for Josephine, by her goodness, won all hearts. Napoleon stopped a moment outside to listen to her groan of anguish. He related what had occurred.