“And these gentlemen,—am I to conclude that they cherish disaffection to the present Government, or harbor a hope of its downfall?”
Whether some accidental expression of disdain escaped me as I said this, I cannot say; but Madame de Langeao quickly replied,—
“They are good Frenchmen, sir, and loyal gentlemen; what they hope must be a matter for their own hearts.”
“I entreat your pardon, Madame, if I have said one syllable which could reflect upon their motives.”
“I forgive you readily,” said she, smiling courteously; “he who has worn a sabre so long, may well deem its influence all-powerful. But believe me, young man, there is that within the heart of a nation against which mere force is nothing; opposed to it, armed squadrons and dense ranks are powerless. Devotion to a sovereign, whose claim comes hallowed by a long line of kings, is a faith to which religion lends its sanction and tradition its hope. Look on these very persons here; see, has adversity chilled their affection, or poverty damped their ardor? You know them not; but I will tell you who they are.
“There, at the fire, that venerable old man with the high, bold forehead, he is Monsieur de Plessis (Comte Plessis de Riancourt). His grandfather entertained Louis the Fourteenth and his suite within his château; he himself was grand falconer to the king. And what is he now? I shame to speak it,—a fencing-master at an humble school of the Faubourg.
“And the other opposite to him (he is stooping to pick something from the floor), I myself saw him kneel at the levée of his Majesty, and beheld the king assist him to rise, as he said, 'Monsieur de Maurepas, I would make you a duke, but that no title could be so dear to a Maurepas as that his ancestors have borne for six hundred years.' And he, whose signature was but inferior to the royal command, copies pleadings of a lawyer to earn his support.
“And that tall man yonder, who has just risen from the table,—neither years nor poverty have erased the stamp of nobility from his graceful figure,—Comte Felix d'Ancelot, captain of the Gardes du Corps; the same who was left for dead on the stairs at Versailles pierced by eleven wounds. He gives lessons in drawing! two leagues from this, at the other extremity of Paris.
“You ask me if they hope; what else than hope, what other comforter, could make such men as these live on in want and indigence, declining every proffer of advancement, refusing every temptation that should warp their allegiance? I have read of great deeds of your Emperor,—I have heard traits of heroism of his generals, compared to which the famed actions of the Crusaders paled away; but tell me if you think that all the glory ever won by gallant soldier, tried the courage or tested the stout heart like the long struggle of such men as these? And here, if I mistake not, comes another, not inferior to any.”
As she spoke, the steps of a calèche at the door were suddenly lowered, and a tall and powerfully built man stepped lightly out. In an instant we heard his footstep in the hall, and in another moment the door of the salon opened, and M. Rubichon announced “Le Général Count Burke.”