not shrink from letting the peach-stones grow crooked. But no
matter--what God does is well done," added the emperor, crossing
himself devoutly; "even an emperor must not censure it, and must not
grumble when his cup is not straight because God gave the peach-
stone a hump. Well, perhaps, I may change it yet, and make the cup
straight."

He again took up the little cup, and commenced industriously working
at it with his sharp files, pointed knives, and gimlets. It was hard
work; large drops of sweat stood on the emperor's forehead; his arms
ached, and his fingers became sore under the pressure of the knives
and files; but the emperor did not mind it, only from time to time
wiping the sweat from his brow, and then continuing his labor with
renewed zeal.

Close to the small table containing the tools stood the emperor's
large writing-table. Large piles of documents and papers lay on this
table, and among them were scattered also many letters and
dispatches with broad official seals. But the emperor had not yet
thought of opening these dispatches or unsealing these letters. The
peach-stone had engrossed his attention this morning, and he had
unsealed only one of the papers; the emperor had read only the
report of the secret police on the events of the previous day. These
reports of the secret police and the Chiffre-Cabinet were the
favorite reading matter of the Emperor Francis, and he would have
flown into a towering passion if he had not found them on his
writing-table early every morning.

Thanks to these reports, the emperor knew every morning all that had
occurred in Vienna during the previous day; what the foreign