There was a touch of humour in that; and I could not help laughing, as I turned home, at this man, so great in some ways, so little in others, so kind, so heartless, so bad, so good; and such a perfect "shuffler." He was by nature, above all things, an escaper from difficulties. I could not help remembering how he had shuffled out of the painful duty of breaking the news of my father's death to me; how he had shuffled out of the responsibility of my education and bringing up; a hundred other instances occurred to me, leading up to this last business of shuffling out of France at the first scent of disaster. I am nearly sure that had he been with the army he would have found some means of shuffling it out of the trap at Sedan; at all events, I am perfectly certain he would have escaped himself.
What perplexed me was the problem as to how he had obtained his news from the German Foreign Office. Little as I knew of the methods of the Chancelleries of Europe, a fool would understand that such vital, such awful information could not escape from the innermost sanctum of the Berlin Chancellerie—that is to say, if it were real. I was thrown back on the hypothesis that it was false—a canard let escape purposefully, one of Bismarck's wild ducks that were always stringing in flight across Europe, set free by that marvellous man, the only man of his age, or any other, perhaps, who could bring his country in touch with war for some political reason, and then fend her off unhurt.
I returned to the Place Vendôme, where I found Joubert in a despondent mood. The departure of Beril had taken from him one of his interests in life. He had come to look upon his daily fight with Beril as an accompaniment to the digestion of his daily bread. The two old fellows had grown almost like man and wife, as far as nagging goes; they had hurled boots at each other, squabbled perpetually, vilified each other, and once had come to blows. Now that the separation had occurred, the great blank caused by it appeared in Joubert's face.
Joubert had many good qualities; among others, he was a born and perfect swordsman. When quite young, and stationed in Paris, he had put in a good deal of his spare time at Carduso's School of Arms, then situated near the Chinese Baths. He made a little money this way, instructing young bloods in the art of self-defence; and he had learnt many tricks from Carduso, that magician of whom it has been said that he was born with a rapier in his hand. I owed a good deal of my own proficiency with the sword to Joubert, who, even when I was a child, had shown me the difference of carte and tierce with my little cane.
To-day an idea struck me.
"Joubert," said I.
"Monsieur!" replied Joubert.
"Attention."
"Ah, oui, attention," grumbled Joubert, going on with his business, which happened to be the brushing of a coat. "I'm attending to the moths that have got in your overcoat."
"Leave them alone, and see here." I took a pair of foils from the wall, and presented one of them by the hilt.