It was the introduction of novelties
every week that kept it on the boards for four hundred years."
"Well--what do you propose?" asked Bonaparte, recognizing the truth
of Fouche's words.
"I--ah--I think you ought to get married," said Fouche.
"We am married, you--you--idiot," cried Bonaparte.
"Well, marry again," said Fouche. "You've been giving other people
away at a great rate for several years--what's the matter with
acquiring a real princess for yourself?"
"You advise bigamy, do you?" asked Bonaparte, scornfully.
"Not on your life," returned Fouche, "but a real elegant divorce,
followed by an imperial wedding, would rattle the bones of this blase
old Paris as they haven't been rattled since Robespierre's day."
Bonaparte reddened, then, rising from the throne and putting his hand
to the side of his mouth, he said, in a low, agitated tone:
"Close the door, Fouche. Close the door and come here. We want to
whisper something to you."
The minister did as he was bidden.
"Fouche, old boy," chuckled the Emperor in the ear of his rascally
aide--"Fouche, you're a mind-reader. We've been thinking of just
that very thing for some time--in fact, ever since We met that old
woman Emperor Francis Joseph.
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