It is possible—and rather more than probable—that two greater chicanes never sat together in the same room!
I anticipate the start which this statement will call forth—am prepared for the supercilious sneer. It needs experience, such as revolutionary leaders sometimes obtain, to credit the scoundrelism of conspiring crowns; though ten minutes spent in listening to the conversation that followed would make converts of the most incredulous.
There was no lack of confidence between the two men. On the contrary, theirs was the thickness of thieves; and much in this light did they look upon one another.
But they were thieves on a grand scale, who had stolen from France one-half of its liberty, and were now plotting to deprive it of the other.
Touching glasses, they resumed discourse, the Prince speaking first:
“About this purple robe? What step should be taken? Until I’ve got that on my shoulders, I feel weak as a cat. The Assembly must be consulted about everything. Even this paltry affair of restoring the Pope will cost me a herculean effort.”
The English plenipotentiary did not make immediate reply. Tearing a kid glove between his fingers, he sat reflecting—his very common face contorted with an expression that told of his being engaged in some perplexing calculation.
“You must make the Assembly more tractable,” he at length replied, in a tone that showed the joking humour had gone out of him.
“True. But how is that to be done?”
“By weeding it.”