could have taken the principal part in a scene which I
will describe presently. But she was vindictive also, and, what was
worse, blindly vindictive. Though firmly convinced that she reigned by
right divine, she had felt more than once that private revenge on "the
people" who abused her was beyond her power. She not only fretted
accordingly, but often vented her wrath on the first victim that came to
hand, albeit that the latter was generally the mere innocent conveyance
through which the voice of "the people" reached her. M. Hyrvoix, in
virtue of his functions, often found himself the echo of that voice. He
was generally the first of all the officials to present his daily
report. The Emperor gave him his cue by asking, "What do the people
say?"

On that particular morning, after the death of Maximilian had become
known, the answer came not as readily as usual; for the chief of the
secret police was not in the habit of mincing matters. This time,
however, M. Hyrvoix kept silent for a while, then replied, "The people
do not say anything, sire."

Napoleon must have noticed the hesitating manner; for he said at once,
"You are not telling me the truth. What do the people say?"

"Well, sire, if you wish to know, not only the people, but every one is
deeply indignant and disgusted with the consequences of this unfortunate
war. It is commented upon everywhere in the selfsame spirit. They say it
is the fault of ----"

"The fault of whom?" repeated Napoleon.

Whereupon M. Hyrvoix kept silent once more.

"The fault of whom?" insisted Napoleon.

"Sire," stammered M. Hyrvoix, "in the time of Louis XVI. people said,
'It is the fault of the Austrian woman.'"

"Yes, go on."

"Under Napoleon III. people say, 'It is the fault of the Spanish
woman.'"

The words had scarcely left M. Hyrvoix' lips, when a door leading to the
inner apartments opened, and the Empress appeared on the threshold. "She
looked like a beautiful fury," said M. Hyrvoix to his friend, from whom
I have got the story. "She wore a white dressing-gown, her hair was
waving on her shoulders, and her eyes shot flames. She hissed, rather
than spoke, as she bounded towards me; and, ridiculous as it may seem, I
felt afraid for the moment. 'You will please repeat what you said just
now, M. Hyrvoix,' she gasped in a voice hoarse with anger.

"'Certainly, madame,' I replied, 'seeing that I am here to speak the
truth, and, as such, your Majesty will pardon me. I tol