To sustain the character of wealth and fortune, I not only toiled without ceasing, but I entered on a career of extravagance almost as distasteful to me. Margot loved display of every kind. The theatrical passion seemed to suggest a desire for every species of notoriety; and to please her I set up a costly equipage, with showy liveries and magnificent horses. The dinners I gave were of the most extravagant kind; the bouquets I presented to her each evening at the theatre would have in their price supported a family. My earnings could never have compassed such outlay, and to meet it I became a gambler,—a practised, a professional gambler,—playing with all the calm-headed skill of a deep calculator. Fortune vacillated; but, on the whole, I was a large winner. The fine decreed against the “Drapeau” was fifteen thousand francs,—a large sum for me, and far above what any effort at accumulation could possibly compass. So, indeed, Sanson told me, and laughed at the bare thought of my attempting it. There was, however, he said, a possibility—a mere possibility—of a way to meet this, and he would think over it. I gave him a day or two, and at the end of that time he told me his plan. It was this. There was a certain minister high in the confidence of Bonaparte, whose counsels had not been always followed, nor even listened to at times. These counsels had been founded on the assumption that certain views and intentions of a particular kind were maintained by the royalists,—secretly maintained, but still occasionally shadowed forth in such a way as to be intelligible to all in the secrets of the party. To be plain, the suspected plan was neither more nor less than a union of the royalist with the republican faction to overthrow the Bonapartists. This idea seemed so chimerical to Bonaparte that to broach it was at once to lose character with him for acuteness or political foresight. Not so to him of whom Sanson spoke, and whom I at once pronounced to be Fouché.
“Then you are mistaken,” said he; “but to any other guess I will make no reply, nor, if you press me on this subject, will I consent to continue the negotiation.”
I yielded to his terms; and after a brief interval came an order for me to hold myself in readiness on a particular evening, when a carriage would be sent to fetch me to the house of the minister. At eight, the hour indicated, I was ready; and scarcely had the clock struck when the carriage rolled into the courtyard.
I have been led, as it were by accident, into the mention of this little incident, which had no bearing nor influence on my future; but now that I have touched upon it, I will finish it as briefly as I can.
I was received in a small office-like chamber by a man somewhat past middle life, but whose appearance gave him the look of even age. He was short, broad-shouldered, and slightly stooped; the figure altogether vulgar, but the bead massive and lofty, and the face the strangest mixture of dignity and cunning—a blending of the high-bred gentleman with the crafty pettifogger—I ever beheld. He received me courteously, and at once opened the business for which we met. After some compliments on the vigor of my articles in the “Presse,” he proceeded to ask what my peculiar opportunities might be for knowing the secret intentions of the two great parties who opposed the government.
My replies were guarded and reserved; seeing which, he at once said,—
“This information is to be recompensed.”
I bowed coldly, and only replied that, if he would put distinct questions to me, I should endeavor to answer them.
After some little fencing on both sides, he asked me for the writer of the leading articles in the “Drapeau”—his name and position in life.
For reasons that may be guessed, I declined to reveal these. A similar question as to the “Gazette” met a similar reply. Undeterred by these refusals, he asked me my opinion of these writers' abilities, and the likelihood of their being available to the cause of the Government, under suitable circumstances.