“You never will remember that I am the child of destiny,” said Prince Florestan. “That destiny will again place me on the throne of my fathers. That is as certain as I am now speaking to you. But destiny for its fulfilment ordains action. Its decrees are inexorable, but they are obscure, and the being whose career it directs is as a man travelling in a dark night; he reaches his goal even without the aid of stars or moon.”
“I really do not understand what destiny means,” said Mr. Wilton. “I understand what conduct means, and I recognise that it should be regulated by truth and honour. I think a man had better have nothing to do with destiny, particularly if it is to make him forfeit his parole.”
“Ah! sir, I well know that on that head you entertain a great prejudice in my respect. Believe me it is not just. Even lawyers acknowledge that a contract which is impossible cannot be violated. My return from America was inevitable. The aspirations of a great people and of many communities required my presence in Europe. My return was the natural development of the inevitable principle of historical necessity.”
“Well, that principle is not recognised by Her Majesty’s Ministers,” said Mr. Wilton, and both himself and the prince seemed to rise at the same time.
“I thank you, sir, for this interview,” said his royal highness. “You will not help me, but what I require will happen by some other means. It is necessary, and therefore it will occur.”
The prince remounted his horse, and rode off quickly till he reached the Strand, where obstacles to rapid progress commenced, and though impatient, it was some time before he reached Bishopsgate Street. He entered the spacious courtyard of a noble mansion, and, giving his horse to the groom, inquired for Mr. Neuchatel, to whom he was at once ushered,—seated in a fine apartment at a table covered with many papers.
“Well, my prince,” said Mr. Neuchatel with a smiling eye, “what brings such a great man into the City to-day? Have you seen your great friend?” And then Prince Florestan gave Mr. Neuchatel a succinct but sufficient summary of his recent interview.
“Ah!” said Mr. Neuchatel, “so it is, so it is; I dare say if you were received at St. James’, Mr. Sidney Wilton would not be so very particular; but we must take things as we find them. If our fine friends will not help us, you must try us poor business men in the City. We can manage things here sometimes which puzzle them at the West End. I saw you were disturbed when you came in. Put on a good countenance. Nobody should ever look anxious except those who have no anxiety. I dare say you would like to know how your account is. I will send for it. It is not so bad as you think. I put a thousand pounds to it in the hope that your fine friend would help us, but I shall not take it off again. My Louis is going to-night to Paris, and he shall call upon the ministers and see what can be done. In the meantime, good appetite, sir. I am going to luncheon, and there is a place for you. And I will show you my Gainsborough that I have just bought, from a family for whom it was painted. The face is divine, very like our Miss Ferrars. I am going to send the picture down to Hainault. I won’t tell you what I gave for it, because perhaps you would tell my wife and she would be very angry. She would want the money for an infant school. But I think she has schools enough. Now to lunch.”
On the afternoon of this day there was a half-holiday at the office, and Endymion had engaged to accompany Waldershare on some expedition. They had been talking together in his room where Waldershare was finishing his careless toilette, which however was never finished, and they had just opened the house door and were sallying forth when Colonel Albert rode up. He gave a kind nod to Endymion, but did not speak, and the companions went on. “By the by, Ferrars,” said Waldershare, pressing his arm and bubbling with excitement, “I have found out who your colonel is. It is a wondrous tale, and I will tell it all to you as we go on.”