“No, parbleu! he lives about a league from his old home,—the very house we spent our Christmas at eighteen years ago. They have made a barrack of his château, and thrown his park into a royal chasse; but he has built a hut on the river-side, and walks every day through his own ground, which he says he never saw so well stocked for many a year. He is as happy as ever, and loves to look out on the Seine before his door when the bright stream is rippling through many a broad leaf; ay, Messieurs, of good augury, too,—the lilies of France.” He lifted a bumper to his lips as he spoke, and drank the toast with enthusiasm.
This sudden return to loyalty, so boldly announced, served to reinstate him in their estimation; and once again all their former pleasure at his appearance came back, and again the questions poured in from every quarter.
“And the abbé,” said one; “what of him? Has he made up his mind yet?”
“To be sure he has, and changed it too, at least twice every twenty-four hours. He is ever full of confidence and brimming with hope when the wind is from the eastward; but let it only come a point west, his spirits fall at once, and he dreams of frigates and gunboats, and the hulks in the Thames; and though they offered him a cardinal's hat, he 'd not venture out to sea.”
The warning looks of the bystanders, and even some signals to be cautious, here interrupted the speaker, who paused for a few seconds, and then fixed his eyes on me.
“I have no fears, gentlemen, on that score. I know my countrymen well, though I have lived little among them. My namesake here may like the service of the Emperor better than that of a king,—he may prefer the glitter of the eagle to the war-cry of Saint Louis,—but he 'll never betray the private conversations nor expose the opinions expressed before him in all the confidence of social intercourse.
“We are speaking, Mr. Burke, of an abbé who is about to visit Ireland, and whose fears of the English cruisers seem little reasonable to some of my friends here, though you can explain, perhaps, that they are not groundless. I forgot,—you were but a boy when you crossed that sea.”
“But he will go at last,” said Madame de Langeac; “I suppose we may rely on that?”
“We hope,” said the general, shrugging his shoulders with an air of doubt, “because, when we can do nothing else, we can always hope.” And so saying he arose from the table, and taking a courteous leave of each person in turn, pleading the fatigue of his journey, he retired for the night.
I left the saloon soon after, and went to my room full of all I had heard, and pondering many thoughts about the abbé and his intended voyage. I spent a sleepless night. Thoughts of home, long lost in the excitement of my career, came flocking to my brain, and a desire to revisit my country—stronger, perhaps, because undefined in its object—made me restless and feverish. It was with delight I perceived the day dawning, and dressing myself hastily, I descended into the garden. To my surprise, I found General Burke already there. He was sauntering along slowly by himself, and seemed wrapped in meditation. The noise of my approach startled him, and he looked up.