'“That's one of your people,” said I carelessly, as Guillemain drew up the glass, and sat back in the carriage.
'“Yes, and a thorough scoundrel he is—capable of anything.”
'“He's not French,” said I, with the same indifference of manner I had feigned at first.
'Guillemain started as I spoke; and I half feared I had destroyed all by venturing too much. At length, after a short pause, he replied: “You're right, he's not French; but we have them of all nations—Poles, Swedes, Germans, Italians, Greeks. That fellow is English.”
'“Say Irish, rather,” said I, determining to risk all, to know all.
'“You know him, then?” said Guillemain hurriedly; “where did you see Fitzgerald?”
'“Fitzgerald!” said I, repeating the name after him; and then affecting disappointment, added, “That's not the name.”
'“Ha! I knew you were mistaken,” said Guillemain, with animation; “the fellow told me he defies recognition; and I certainly have tried him often among his countrymen, and he has never been detected. And yet he knows the English thoroughly and intimately. It was through him that I first found out these very people we are going to.”
'Here, Jack, he entered upon a long account of our worthy hosts, who with great wealth, great pretensions, and as great vulgarity came to Paris some weeks ago in that mighty flood of all sorts of people that flocked here since the peace. Their desire to be ranked among the fashionable entertainers of the day was soon reported to the minister of police, who, after considering how far such a house might be useful, where persons of all shades of political opinion might meet—friends of the Bourbons, Jacobites, Napoleonists, the men of '88, and the admirers of the old régime—measures were accordingly taken that their invitations should go out to the first persons in Paris, and, more still, should be accepted by them.
'While these worthy people are therefore distributing their hospitalities with all the good faith imaginable, their hotel is nothing more nor less than a cabinet de police, where Fouché and his agents are unravelling the intrigues of Paris, or weaving fresh ones for their own objects.'