“Oh, fear nothing. And that reminds me I have not presented my friend and brother officer: Captain Burke,—Monsieur Jacotot. You may feel assured, Jacotot, I make no mistake in the friends I introduce here.”
The old man gave a smile of pleasure; while, turning to me, he said,—
“He is discretion itself; and I am but too happy to make your acquaintance. And now, Chevalier, one word with you.”
He retreated towards the door, holding Duchesne's arm, and whispering as he went. Duchesne's face, however, expressed his impatience as he spoke; and at last he said,—
“As you please, my worthy friend; I always submit to your wiser counsels. So farewell for the present.”
He looked after the old man as he slowly descended the stairs, and then closing the door and locking it, he exclaimed,—
“Parbleu!I found it very hard to listen to his prosing with even a show of patience, and was half tempted to tell him that the Bourbons could wait, though the soup could not.”
“Then Monsieur Jacotot is a Royalist, I presume?”
“Ay, that he is; and so are all they who frequent this house. Don't start; the police know it well, and no one is more amused at their absurd plottings and conspirings than Fouché himself. Now and then, to be sure, some fool, more rash and brainless than the others, will come up from La Vendée and try to knock his head against the walls of the Temple,—like De Courcelles there, who has no other business in Paris except to be guillotined, if it were worth the trouble. Then the minister affects to stir himself and be on the alert, just to terrify them; but he well knows that danger lurks not in this quarter. Believe me, Burke, the present rulers of France have no greater security than in the contemptible character of all their opponents. There is no course for a man of energy and courage to adopt. But I ask your pardon, my dear friend, for this treasonable talk. What think you of the dinner? The Royalists would never have fallen if they had understood government as well as cuisine. Taste that suprême, and say if you don't regret the Capets,—a feeling you can indulge the more freely because you never knew them.”
“I cannot comprehend, Duchesne, what are the grievances you charge against the present Government of France. Had you been an old courtier of the last reign,—a hanger-on of Versailles or the Tuileries,—the thing were intelligible; but you, a soldier, a man of daring and enterprise—”