‘Before the decree is signed, I wish it to be known that I impute no fault, nor lack of love, to the Empress; nor do I mean her any disfavour. The only fault that has brought us to this unfortunate decision lies in the failure of nature to provide us with an heir to succeed me to the imperial throne.’

He could no longer deny the need to look at her, and his gaze fixed on hers. Fresh tears glistened in her eyes. She quickly raised a hand and dabbed them away.

Napoleon breathed in deeply, then stood up and signalled to Fouché, the Minister of Police and one of Napoleon’s closest advisors, to bring forward the decree. Fouché strode up on to the dais with a small writing case. Flipping it open, he revealed the document, and held the case in front of Napoleon. Taking up the pen inside the case, Napoleon opened the inkwell, dipped the nib inside and then moved his hand towards the bottom of the decree. He paused for a moment, looking past his brother towards Josephine. She gave the faintest shake of the head as she stared at him pleadingly. He looked down and quickly signed his name before returning the pen to its holder.

Fouché retreated two paces and turned to approach Josephine. He addressed her coldly.

‘If you would sign the decree, your imperial majesty, then it is all over.’

Josephine stared at the document as if it were a poisonous snake, and then slowly raised a trembling hand to reach for the pen. She picked it up and charged the nib before preparing to sign her name next to Napoleon’s. She started to write, and then shook her head.

‘I-I can’t.’ Her voice caught on a sob. ‘I can’t do this.’

‘You must,’ Fouché urged her quietly. ‘You have no choice.’

She shook her head, blinking back more tears.

Napoleon could bear it no more and rose from his throne and crossed to her side.‘Josephine, my dearest love, you must sign the decree, or all that I have worked for can come to nothing. Sign it, I beg you, for me. Sign it out of the love you have for me.’

Josephine nodded, held the pen ready again and then, slowly and deliberately, signed her name. As soon as she had finished, Fouché took the pen from her hand and closed the writing case.

‘It is done,’ he announced to the people standing in the audience chamber. ‘The decree is signed and the divorce is official.’