“This is interesting,” broke in Sybella. “It is an extract from a private letter of some one high in command. It says: 'The discontent of our allies increases every day; and as every post from France only repeats how unpopular the war is in that country, I foresee that nothing short of some great fait d'armes, in which the French shall have all the glory, will induce the Imperial Government to continue the struggle. The satisfaction felt in France at the attacks of the English journals on our own army, its generalship, and its organization, are already wearing out, and they look now for some higher stimulant to the national vanity.'”
“Who writes this?” cried Lord Glengariff, eagerly.
“The name is not given,” said she. “The despatch goes on merely to say, 'Your Lordship would do well to give these words the consideration they seem to deserve.' But here again, 'the coolness of the Marshal increases, and our intercourse is neither frank nor confidential.'”
“All this sounds badly,” said Lord Glengariff. “Our only progress would seem to be in ill-will with our ally. I suppose the end of it will be, we shall be left to continue the struggle alone.”
“Would that it were so!” burst in Sybella. “A great orator said t' other day in the House, that coalitions were fatal; Englishmen never liked them. He only spoke of those alliances where parties agree to merge their differences and unite for some common object; but far more perilous are the coalitions where nations combine, the very contest that they wage being a field to evoke ancient rivalries and smouldering jealousies. I 'd rather see our little army alone, with its face to the foe and its back to the sea, than I 'd read of our entrance into Sebastopol side by side with the legions of France.”
The passionate enthusiasm of the moment had carried her away, and she grew pale and heart-sick at her unwonted boldness as she finished.
“I hope Mr. Dunn may be able to benefit by your opinions on strategy,” said Lady Augusta, as she rose from the table.
“What was it Lady Augusta said?” cried Lord Glengariff, as she left the room.
“I scarcely heard her aright, my Lord,” said Sybella, whose face was now crimson.
It was the first moment in her life in which dependence had exposed her to insult, and she could not collect her faculties, or know what to do.