“Oh, I don’t know. But that isn’t the question. The question is about the future. You see how things are in France. It is a question of Louis Napoleon or a monarchy—you see that. Unless you stop him he will be Emperor before a year is out, and he will drag France in the gutter. He is less a Bonaparte than you are a Bourbon. You remember that Louis Bonaparte himself was the first to say so. He wrote a letter to the Pope, saying so quite clearly. You will go on with it, of course, Barebone. Say you will go on with it! To turn back now would be death. We could not do it if we wanted to. I have been trying to think about it, and I cannot. That is the truth. It takes one’s breath away. At the mere thought of it I feel as if I were getting out of my depth.”
“We have been out of our depths the last month,” admitted Barebone, curtly.
And he stood reflecting, while Colville watched him.
“If I go on,” he said, at length, “I go on alone.”
“Better not,” urged Colville, with a laugh of great relief. “For you would always have me and my knowledge hanging over you. If you succeeded, you would have me dunning you for hush-money.”
Which seemed true enough. Few men knew more of one side of human nature than Dormer Colville, it would appear.
“I am not afraid of that.”
“You can never tell,” laughed Colville, but his laugh rather paled under Barebone’s glance. “You can never tell.”
“Wise men do not attempt to blackmail—kings.”
And Colville caught his breath.