Gambetta was seated at his desk in a large and handsomely furnished room. He made not the slightest sign of being aware that I was present. He did not even turn his face toward me. I did not learn until afterward that the distinguished Italian-Frenchman had one glass eye, and could see me just as well at an angle as he could full-face. But I grew tired of standing there silent, and was already weary from my long incarceration. I decided, after taking in this strange character, then at the top of the seething pot of French politics, that the best course for me was to put on a bold front.
"When a distinguished stranger calls to see you, M. Gambetta, I think you might offer him a chair."
The great man smiled, and motioned me to a seat with considerable graciousness. I took a chair, and said:
"M. Gambetta, you are the head of France, and I intend to be President of the United States. You can assist me, and I can assist you."
He looked at me with a curious regard, but did not smile.
"Send me to America, and I can help you get munitions of war, and win over the sympathy and assistance of the Americans."
I knew, of course, that he was going to send me out of France in any event, and I wanted to discount his plan.
The Dictator smiled again, and said: "You sent Cluseret to Paris, and bought him a uniform for 300 francs."
"You are only fairly well informed, M. Gambetta. I paid 350 francs for the uniform."
"Cluseret is a scoundrel," he said.