"Not so today, Thérèse," the Duke interposed. "His Majesty's tastes differ, perhaps, from yours, from ours; but when he beholds the ship of state in danger, then does he recover his spirit, rather then does he seem to, for in reality he never loses it. Because of his artistic and philosophical pre-occupations and of his adherence to certain doctrines—which, to be frank, are not to my liking,—because of these, he regards at times indifferently what he eventually realizes to be of supreme importance. There are times when his imagination dominates him, but he has too great a mind to permit such impressions to be more than transitory. Do you remember the recent episode of the visionary Martin? Well, for a while the King was greatly troubled. He believed his end to be near."
"It is," she observed with no trace of emotion. "His infirmities increase rapidly."
"All the more reason," he rejoined, "that we should live cautiously. His Majesty's ill health may cause complications."
"And how does that fear affect your attitude with regard to—imposters?"
"Very closely. Old Martin insisted that one of the imposters was in reality your brother. May God preserve us from beholding the King a victim to that illusion. All imposters shall be rebuffed if we stand our ground. Their multitude and diverse origins destroy whatever advantage any one of them may have gained. Tho human credulity is infinite, it seems to me impossible that they should make a lasting impression on the public or cause any of the European Cabinets to lose confidence in the government. This last consideration is of the greatest importance. Europe is at enmity with France, but the Holy Alliance has sustained us, teas steadied the tottering throne, because we are the principle. Insidious rumors regarding your brother are being carried to the ears of European sovereigns. It is insistently claimed that he lives. The intervention of some foreign cabinet is imminent, which would carry in train disastrous results. Can we contemplate another invasion of France? How avoid it if the stigma of usurpers be attached to us?"
The Duchess's eyes were riveted on the carpet.
"Let us thank God," continued the Duke, "that amid the cohort of adventurers, charlatans and self-deluded fools which is recruited from all quarters, there is not one whose ability and certificates differentiate him sufficiently from the others to claim the attention of Europe. Should such a one arise and triumph over us, the Revolution which we have crushed would break forth with redoubled fury. Thérèse, to outward appearance, we lie on a bed of roses; in reality, a volcano rumbles beneath our feet. We have to act with the greatest circumspection. We are watched, we are hounded. We, the men and women of the House Regnant of France, must be wise as the serpent and gentle as the dove; we must even make compromises. That is why I spoke (in my proclamation of Saint Jean de Lumière) of crushing tyranny and breaking chains. That is why I have through the columns of the Meridien prescribed limits to the zeal of our partizans, who demand blood in the celebration of our triumph. The King, therefore, would warn you that a false step, an impulse of generosity from your noble heart might—"
"Do I constitute so great a peril?" she sardonically asked.
"An immense peril,—that of your generous nature, your excessive,—no, I should not say excessive,—conscientiousness; but, Thérèse, it is so easy to be misled by our rectitude. Will you believe that my brother Ferdinand, in whom our hopes of succession lie, (here the Duchess winced)—for although his children have been girls, a boy may be born to him,—I repeat that Ferdinand inclines favorably toward the impostors—that is to say, not all of them, but one in particular."
She revealed her displeasure. Nothing so much irritated her as allusion to her sterility.