“Dear Julia! you know how I agree with you in the sentiment!”
“Well—no matter what he’s done. It’s our duty to do what we can for him.”
“I know it is, cousin. I only ask you what can we do?”
“We shall see. We have a Minister here. Not the man he should be: for it’s the misfortune of America to send to European Governments the very men who are not true representatives of our nation. The very opposite are chosen. The third-rate intellects, with a pretended social polish, supposed to make them acceptable at kingly courts—as if the great Republic of America required to be propped up with pretension and diplomacy. Corneel! we’re losing time. The man, to whom we perhaps both owe our lives, may be at this moment in danger of losing his! Who knows where they’ve taken him? It is our duty to go and see.”
“Will you tell aunt?”
“No. She’d be sure to object to our going out. Perhaps take steps to hinder us. Let us steal downstairs, and get off without telling her. We needn’t be long absent. She’ll not know anything about it till we’re back again.”
“But where do you propose going, Julia?”
“First, down to the front of the hotel. There we shall await the commissaire. I told him the Hotel de Louvre; and I wish to meet him outside. He may be there now. Come, Corneel!”
Still in their promenade dresses, there was no need of delay; and the two ladies, gliding down the stone stairway of the Louvre Hotel stood in the entrance below. They had no waiting to do. The commissaire met them on the steps, and communicated the result of his errand.
His account was simple. Accustomed only to speculate upon what he was paid for, he had observed only to the limits of the stipulation. The Zouaves had carried their prisoner to a guardroom fronting the Tuileries Gardens, and there shut him up. So the commissary supposed.