“No, my dear fellow,” returned the young man, seating himself on the divan; “reassure yourself; we are tottering always, but we never fall, and I begin to believe that we shall pass into a state of immobility, and then the affairs of the Peninsula will completely consolidate us.”
“Ah, true; you drive Don Carlos out of Spain.”
“No, no, my dear fellow, do not confound our plans. We take him to the other side of the French frontier, and offer him hospitality at Bourges.”
“At Bourges?”
“Yes, he has not much to complain of; Bourges is the capital of Charles VII. Do you not know that all Paris knew it yesterday, and the day before it had already transpired on the Bourse, and M. Danglars (I do not know by what means that man contrives to obtain intelligence as soon as we do) made a million!”
“And you another order, for I see you have a blue ribbon at your button-hole.”
“Yes; they sent me the order of Charles III.,” returned Debray carelessly.
“Come, do not affect indifference, but confess you were pleased to have it.”
“Oh, it is very well as a finish to the toilet. It looks very neat on a black coat buttoned up.”
“And makes you resemble the Prince of Wales or the Duke of Reichstadt.”