“Ah, she is delightful!” interrupted the prefet.
“So thinks your chief, at least, Askoff,” said De Beauvais, turning to the Russian. “He sat on the sofa beside her for a good hour and a half.”
“Who sat near him on the other side?” slyly asked the other.
“On the other side? I forget: no, I remember it was Monsieur de Talleyrand and Madame Bonaparte. And, now I think of it, he must have overheard what they said.”
“Is it true, then, that Bonaparte insulted the English ambassador at the reception? Askoff heard it as he left the Rue St. Honoré.”
“Perfectly true. The scene was a most outrageous one; and Lord Whitworth retired, declaring to Talleyrand—at least, so they say—that without an apology being made, he would abstain from any future visits at the Tuileries.”
“But what is to come of it?—tell me that. What is to be the result?”
“Pardieu! I know not. A reconciliation to-morrow; an article in the 'Moniteur;' a dinner at the Court; and then another rupture, and another article.”
“Or a war,” said the Russian, looking cautiously about, to see if his opinion met any advocacy.
“What say you to that, mon ami?” said De Beauvais, turning to me. “Glad enough, I suppose, you 'll be to win your epaulettes as colonel.”