"That I was a fool—and I must say you have done so to my entire satisfaction," he added, in a tone of complete good humour. "But however unpleasant the shock is to my self-love, I am delighted at what has happened."
"How so?" asked the outlaw, in the same tone.
"Because the ice is broken between us, and we can come to an understanding; the more readily," he added, "that the matters I have to speak of are the same as before."
"If that be so," said the outlaw, "we can easily come to terms."
"Is it not so? Now here is the affair in two words. The revolution is over in France. Beneath the hand of the mighty man of genius whose talent and patriotism have raised him to power, Government has recovered its strength, society begins to breathe, the nation is once more rising to its proper position amidst the people; New France has entire faith in the man whose every step has hitherto been marked by victory, which has definitively declared on his side."
"I presume," said the outlaw, quietly, "that you are speaking of the General Bonaparte."
"Of no other. This great, this extraordinary man has, with his mighty hand, put down the Jacobins and the mob, driving them back to their original nothingness. He has chained forever the awful hydra of revolution. You have, then, heard of him?"
"Most certainly," said the son of Maillard, coldly.
"I am glad to hear it. This great man, who is as mighty a politician as he is a successful general, has followed, while slightly modifying it, the line traced by the national convention of execrable memory with regard to the Spanish colonies."
"Sir," said the son of the regicide, "you are hard upon fallen men, upon vanquished enemies, who, if they were guilty of faults—of crimes if you will—did very great and glorious things, giving the first signal for social regeneration over the world."