"My friend," he said, "it would be better if you talked of this matter reasonably. There are other ways of securing the non-continuance of those letters than by purchase."
"Precisely," Julien answered, "but Paris, in its beaten thoroughfares, at any rate, is a law-abiding city. I don't fancy that I shall come to much grief here."
"A brave man," Herr Freudenberg remarked, "seldom believes that he will come to grief."
"If the blow falls, nevertheless, it is at least considerate of you that you bring me warning!"
"Rubbish!" Herr Freudenberg interposed. "Listen, Sir Julien, I ask you to consider this matter as a reasonable person. We don't want war. We don't mean to have war. But the desire of my Ministers—my own desire—really is to inflict a crushing diplomatic humiliation upon the present Government of Great Britain. It is composed of incompetent and objectionable persons. We desire to humiliate them. Yet who is it that we find taking up the cudgels on their behalf? You—the man whom they drove out, the man whom from sheer jealousy they ousted from their ranks. Why, you should be with us, not against us."
"I have no grudge whatever against my party," Julien said. "You seem to have been misinformed upon that subject. Besides, I am an Englishman and a patriot. The whole series of my articles will be written, and I shall do my best to point out exactly the means by which this present coolness between our two countries has been engineered."
"I will give you," Herr Freudenberg offered, "a million francs not to write those articles."
Julien pointed to the door.
"You are becoming offensive!"
Herr Freudenberg rose slowly to his feet. There was a little glitter in his eyes.