Alas! one day, the dog, who had eaten too plentifully of _zoobrême_ (chicken stewed with truffles), was seized with apoplexy and died; though not without suspicion of having been poisoned by the prime minister, a piece of whose leg he had digested the day before. The Empress sighed far more over the loss of her dog, than she would have done for that of the minister. The one might have been easily replaced: she knew at least twenty waiting open-mouthed for the vacancy. But who could replace her four-footed friend!--she mourns him as a loss utterly irreparable. She orders the greatest mark of affectionate respect it is possible to show to be performed on the dead terrier. The scene changes; it is night. The fortunate banker is seated at dessert, after an excellent dinner of "mutton rosbif," and "hot-a-meale pour-ridges, and patatas," indispensable to a North Briton; his legs are crossed, his feet rest upon a monstrous fender, which he takes care to inform us he has received from England, as he sits sipping his "sherri port bier," and soliloquizing pleasantly over the various chances of his life. He is just about to finish his evening with some "croc," the English name for the pleasant invention of Admiral Grogram; his servant enters, to announce that the chief executioner with a file of soldiers have just dropped in, to say a word on a matter of business from the Empress. The awful functionary, on stalking into the room, exclaimed, "I am come--" "Well, I see you are," replied the banker, trying to be facetious, but feeling like a man with a sudden attack of ague. "By command of the Empress!" "Long may she live!" ejaculates Sutherland, heartily. "It is really a very delicate affair," says the executioner; who, like the French Samson, is a humane man; "and I do not know how to break it to you." "Oh, pray, don't hesitate. What would you like to take?" asked the banker, spilling the grog he tried to hand to the horrid functionary, from sheer fright. The Envoy shakes his head grimly. "It is what we must all come to some day," he adds, after a short pause. "What is? In Heaven's name do not keep me longer in suspense!" cries the banker, his very visible knees knocking together with agonizing rapidity. "I have been sent," answers the awful messenger; again he stops--looks compassionately at his destined victim. "Well!" "By the Empress--" "I know!" "To have you--" "What?" "Stuffed!" said the Executioner mournfully. The banker shrieked. "Stuffed!" repeats the man, laconically, pointing to a bird in a glass case, to prevent there being any mistake in Sutherland's mind as to the nature of the operation he is to be called upon to undergo. The Executioner now lays his hand significantly on poor Sutherland's collar, and looks into his face, as if to inquire if he had any particular or peculiar fancy as to the mode in which he would like to go through the preparatory operation of being killed.