‘"Well, what is it, in the name of mercy? Out with it, and name your price.”
‘"I can make him a very charming green! un beau vert, monsieur.”’
When the baronet had ceased to laugh at the anecdote, Purcell resumed: ‘And now for the application. It is always a good thing in life to be able to become un beau vert, even though the colour should not quite suit you. I say this, because for the present project I can augur no success. The world has lived wonderfully fast, Sir Capel, since you and I were boys. That same Revolution in France that has cut off so many heads, has left those that still remain on men’s shoulders very much wiser than they used to be. Now nobody in Europe wants this family again; they have done their part; and they are as much bygones as chain-armour or a battle-axe.’
‘The rightful and the legitimate are never bygone—never obsolete,’ said the other resolutely.
‘A’n’t they, faith! The guillotine and the lantern are the answers to that. I do not mean to say it must be always this way. There may, though I see no signs of it, come a reaction yet; but for the present men have taken a practical turn, and they accept nothing, esteem nothing, employ nothing that is not practical. Mirabeau’s last effort was to give this colour to the Bourbons, and he failed. Do not tell me, then, that where Gabriel Riquetti broke down, a Jesuit father will succeed!’
The other shook his head in dissent, but without speaking.
‘Remember, baronet, these convictions of mine are all opposed to my interest. I should be delighted to see your fairy palace made habitable, and valued for the municipal taxes. Nothing could better please me than to behold your Excellency Master of the Horse except to see myself Chancellor of the Exchequer. But here we are, and a fine princely-looking pile it is!’
They both stopped suddenly, and gazed with wondering admiration at one noble façade of the palace right in front of them. A wide terrace of white marble, ornamented with groups or single figures in statuary, stretched the entire length of the building, beneath which a vast orangery extended, the trees loaded with fruit or blossom, gave but slight glimpses of the rockwork grottoes and quaint fountains within.
‘This is not the Cardinal’s property,’ said Purcell. ‘Nay, I know well what I am saying; this belongs, with the entire estate, down to San Remo, yonder, to the young Countess Ridolfi. Nay more, she is at this very moment in bargain with Cæsare Piombino for the sale of it. Her price is five hundred thousand Roman scudi, which she means to invest in this bold scheme.’
‘She, at least, has faith in a Stuart,’ exclaimed the baronet eagerly.