The valet bowed, and Gerald was once more alone.
It was near midnight when the door again opened, and Mr. Purcell was introduced. Making a low and deep obeisance, but without any other demonstration of deference for Gerald’s rank, he stood patiently awaiting to be addressed.
‘We have met before, sir,’ said Gerald, flushing deeply.
‘So I perceive, sir,’ was the quiet reply given with all the ease of one not easily abashed, ‘and the last time was at a pleasant supper-table, of which we are the only survivors.’
‘Indeed!’ sighed Gerald sadly, and with some astonishment.
‘Yes, sir; the “Mountain” devoured the Girondists, and the reaction devoured the “Mountain.” If the present people have not sent the reactionnaires to the guillotine, it is because they prefer to make soldiers of them.’
‘And how did you escape the perils of the time?’ asked Gerald eagerly.
‘Like Monsieur de Talleyrand sir, I always treated the party in disgrace as if their misfortune were but a passing shadow, and that the day of their triumph was assured. For even this much of consideration men in adversity are grateful.’
‘How heartily you must despise humanity!’ burst out Gerald, more struck by the cold cynicism of the other’s look than even by his words.
‘Not so,’ replied he, in a half careless tone; ‘Jean Jacques expected too much; Diderot thought too little of men. The truth lies midway, and they are neither as good nor as bad as we deem them.’