“Let him come in,” said Bonaparte.
“Come in, Sir John,” cried Roland, turning round.
Lord Tanlay appeared on the threshold. Bonaparte had only to glance at him to recognize a perfect gentleman. A trifling emaciation, a slight pallor, gave Sir John the characteristics of great distinction. He bowed, awaiting the formal introduction, like the true Englishman he was.
“General,” said Roland, “I have the honor to present to you Sir John Tanlay, who proposed to go to the third cataract for the purpose of seeing you, but who has, to-day, obliged me to drag him by the ear to the Luxembourg.”
“Come in, my lord; come in,” said Bonaparte. “This is not the first time we have seen each other, nor the first that I have expressed the wish to know you; there was therefore positive ingratitude in trying to evade my desire.”
“If I hesitated,” said Sir John, in excellent French, as usual, “it was because I could scarcely believe in the honor you do me.”
“And besides, very naturally, from national feeling, you detest me, don’t you, like the rest of your countrymen?”
“I must confess, general,” answered Sir John, smiling, “that they have not got beyond admiration.”
“And do you share the absurd prejudice that claims that national honor requires you to hate to-day the enemy who may be a friend to-morrow?”
“France has been almost a second mother country to me, and my friend Roland will tell you that I long for the moment when, of my two countries, the one to which I shall owe the most will be France.”