“But what then?”
“For not having looked at him or spoken to him at Gohier’s dinner.”
“I must confess that I did it on purpose. I cannot endure that unfrocked monk.”
Bonaparte perceived, too late, that the speech he had just made was like the sword of the archangel, double-edged; if Sièyes was unfrocked, Talleyrand was unmitred. He cast a rapid glance at his companion’s face; the ex-bishop of Autun was smiling his sweetest smile.
“Then I can count upon him?”
“I will answer for him.”
“And Cambacérès and Lebrun, have you seen them?”
“I took Sièyes in hand as the most recalcitrant. Bruix saw the other two.”
The admiral, from the midst of the group, had never taken his eyes off of the general and the diplomatist. He suspected that their conversation had a special importance. Bonaparte made him a sign to join them. A less able man would have done so at once, but Bruix avoided such a mistake. He walked about the room with affected indifference, and then, as if he had just perceived Talleyrand and Bonaparte talking together, he went up to them.
“Bruix is a very able man!” said Bonaparte, who judged men as much by little as by great things.