Rulers of Kings by Gertrude Atherton

The Emperor of Austria, the Emperor of Germany, Mr. Abbott, and Fessenden Abbott sat in secret and informal conclave in a small audience-chamber in the Hofburg. The host sat behind a table between two high and heavy golden candlesticks. The Emperors, erect in their uniforms, were imposing figures. They had the free supple upright carriage of men whose lives have been more than half passed in the saddle, and their eyes sparkled with the evidence of exercise and fresh air, regular habits, and systematic care. Mr. Abbott, in a frock-coat, was huddled in a perpendicular chair of crimson velvet and gilded oak, in a vain endeavor to make himself comfortable, and surreptitiously consuming tabloids; suffering in the stomach he had failed to treat as a brother the tortures of the damned.

He looked with envy at the older Emperor who had been born some twenty years before himself, had endured enough public cares and private castigations to kill half a dozen Americans, and looked more vigorous than many in their youth. It was even possible that he might outlive the young man who aspired to be his son-in-law; toward whom his eyes, in spite of his will, wandered in the fascination of a shock from which he found himself unable to recover.