"Well," I said, "if danger is threatening France, I remain."
"That is as you please," replied he. "I go."
"But why go so soon? Surely you might wait till events are more assured?"
"Yes," replied he, "and then they would say I had run away. As it is, I do not run away. I simply depart before the event."
"But morally——"
"There are no morals in politics."
The terrible old man was certainly right in that.
I now see what he foresaw. Not only was France not fit for war, but Paris was not fit to meet defeat. He foresaw it all, the Commune, houses torn to pieces, the Column Vendôme lying on the ground, the muffled drums, the firing-parties, the trenches filled with dead. He foresaw it all, yet made one great mistake. He imagined the whole of France to be as rotten as Paris. But then he was a boulevardier, and for him Paris was France.
"Well," I said, "I am not a politician, so the morals of politics do not affect me. France has been my mother: if she is threatened by calamity, I will remain with her. I have eaten her bread; my father and my grandfather fought in her wars; every penny I possess comes to me from her; and were I to leave her now I would feel dishonoured. Besides, I have business to attend to. You remember the appointment I have to meet on the 5th of July."