the Emperor's task, yet
craftily made success appear simple and easy. The forces of "the
arch-rebel Benito Juarez" were concentrated in "a horde of impious
thieves calling themselves the Army of the North." But Miramon, His
Majesty's own general, was hastening to meet them. One decisive battle,
and there would be no more rebels. The nation must then recognize that
the Empire had sustained itself without French aid.

"Of course a few lives will be lost," he quietly sneered, "and we who do
not understand may grieve for them, but the ways of Heaven, for its own
ends, are inscrutable. Your Majesty knows that others before him, his
ancestors, have had to wade through the blood of God's enemies. But Your
Majesty's glorious ancestors were fulfilling their destiny. And why
should not you, also, sire, you who are the child of destiny?"

It was a magic word. Fischer knew his man devilishly well.

"But how can I tell," Maximilian demanded petulantly, "that my destiny
really lies in Mexico?"

"Then your destiny, sire, must lie in Europe, in Austria," was the
priest's astounding concession. "After all, a prince's intuitions, being
given him by divine revelation, can alone be his guide."

Maximilian's eyes flashed.

"Then I abdicate--herewith!"

Fischer meekly assented.

"There are rumors, nay, more than rumors," he mused aloud, "that a
strong hand is needed in Austria. I repeat only what all Europe says
boldly, that Franz Josef cannot long hold his throne. Yes, yes, sire,
but do not stare so!--Yet the crown prince is a child. Who then shall be
regent? Who but----"

"Enough, enough, I say! Now look to my orders. We start to-morrow."

The secretary beamed unctious joy that his master had so decided, and
was bowing himself out, when abruptly he paused, "Oh, I forgot, a packet
for Your Majesty."

Maximilian took the missive. It was not heavy. It did not seem as heavy
as Fate, not as heavy as a coffin.

"This is an old date," he said in a puzzled way. "See, the postmark,
'Brussels, Sept. 17.'"

"It just came by courier from Vera Cruz, being sent via New York no
doubt accounts for the delay."

Maximilian sighed. Even the post no longer considered royalty. Packets
had taken on leisurely habits since the Empire's crumbling--or since the
secretary's ascendancy. He broke the seal with tremulous fingers. The
thing must tell him of Charlotte.

"From Monsieur Eloin," he said.

"But he--he does not send bad news, nothing, si