CHAPTER II.
Among things indescribable is that which is called “Agitation” in Paris—“Agitation” without riot or violence—showing itself by no disorderly act, no turbulent outburst. Perhaps the cafes are more crowded; passengers in the streets stop each other more often, and converse in small knots and groups; yet, on the whole, there is little externally to show how loudly the heart of Paris is beating. A traveller may be passing through quiet landscapes, unconscious that a great battle is going on some miles off, but if he will stop and put his ear to the ground he will recognise by a certain indescribable vibration, the voice of the cannon.
But at Paris an acute observer need not stop and put his ear to the ground; he feels within himself a vibration—a mysterious inward sympathy which communicates to the individual a conscious thrill—when the passions of the multitude are stirred, no matter how silently.
Tortoni’s cafe was thronged when Duplessis and Frederic Lemercier entered it: it was in vain to order breakfast; no table was vacant either within the rooms or under the awnings without.
But they could not retreat so quickly as they had entered. On catching sight of the financier several men rose and gathered round him, eagerly questioning:
“What do you think, Duplessis? Will any insult to France put a drop of warm blood into the frigid veins of that miserable Ollivier?”
“It is not yet clear that France has been insulted, Messieurs,” replied Duplessis, phlegmatically.
“Bah! Not insulted! The very nomination of a Hohenzollern to the crown of Spain was an insult—what would you have more?”
“I tell you what it is, Duplessis,” said the Vicomte de Breze, whose habitual light good temper seemed exchanged for insolent swagger—“I tell you what it is, your friend the Emperor has no more courage than a chicken. He is grown old, and infirm, and lazy; he knows that he can’t even mount on horseback. But if, before this day week, he has not declared war on the Prussians, he will be lucky if he can get off as quietly as poor Louis Philippe did under shelter of his umbrella, and ticketed ‘Schmidt.’ Or could you not, M. Duplessis, send him back to London in a bill of exchange?”