He calls upon Talleyrand. That ingrate and congenital traitor skulks out of an interview. Aaron smiles as he recalls the skulking, limping one fawning upon him aforetime at Richmond Hill.
Talleyrand puts Aaron in mind of Jerome Bonaparte, now King of Westphalia, made so by that kingmonger, his brother. His Royal Highness of Westphalia was, like Talleyrand, a guest at Richmond Hill. He, too, has nibbled American crusts, and was thankful for American crumbs in an hour when his official rating, had he been given one, could not have soared above that of a vagrant out of Corsica by way of France. Aaron applies for an interview.
“His Royal Highness is engaged; he cannot see Colonel Burr,” is the response.
“I am not surprised,” says Aaron. “He who will desert a wife will desert a friend, and I am not to suppose that one can remember friendship who forgets love.”
Official France shuts and bolts its doors in the face of Aaron to please the Man of Monticello. Thereupon Aaron demands his passports of the American minister.
Armstrong, minister, is out of Paris for the moment, and Aaron goes to Consul McRae. That official, feeling the pressure of the Monticello thumb, replies:
“My knowledge of the circumstances under which Colonel Burr left the United States, render it my duty to decline giving him a passport.”
Five weeks eaten up in disappointment!
Aaron, who intended remaining but a month in Paris, finds his money running out. He confides to his diary:
“Behold me, a prisoner of state, and almost without a sou.”