“Rights of labour!” exclaimed Bagsby. “Hanged if I think labour has got any rights at all. Blow all protection! say I. Look after the interests of the middle classes, and let capital have its swing. As for those confounded working fellows, who cares about them? We don’t, I can answer for it. When I was in the League, we wanted to bring corn down, in order to get work cheaper; and, now that we’ve got it, do you think we will stand any rubbish about rights? These French fellows are a poor set; they don’t understand sound commercial principles.”
“Ha! Lamoricière!” said our host, accosting a general officer who just then entered the apartment; “how goes it? Any result from to-day’s demonstration at the Chamber?”
“Ma foi! I should say there is. The banquets are forbidden. There is a talk about impeaching ministers; and, in the meantime, the artillery-waggons are rumbling through the streets in scores.”
“Then our old friend Macaire is likely to make a stand?”
“It is quite possible that the respectable gentleman may try it,” said the commandant, regaling himself with a pinch. “By the way, the National Guard must turn out to-morrow early. The rappel will be beat by daybreak. There is a stir already in the Boulevards; and, as I drove here, I saw the people in thousands reading the evening journals by torch-light.”
“Such is liberty!” exclaimed a little gentleman, who had been listening eagerly to the General. “Such is liberty! she holds her bivouac at nightfall by the torch of reason; and, on the morrow, the dawn is red with the brightness of the sun of Austerlitz!”
A loud hum of applause followed the enunciation of this touching sentiment.
“Our friend is great to-night,” whispered Monte-Christo; “and he may be greater to-morrow. If Louis Philippe yields, he may be prime minister—if firing begins, I have a shrewd notion he won’t be any where. Ah, Monsieur Albert! welcome from Cannes. We have been expecting you for some time, and you have arrived not a moment too soon!”
The individual thus accosted was of middle height, advanced age, and very plainly dressed. He wore a rusty gray surtout, trousers of plaid check, and the lower part of his countenance was buried in the folds of a black cravat. The features were remarkable; and, somehow or other, I thought that I had seen them before. The small gray eyes rolled restlessly beneath their shaggy pent-house; the cheek-bones were remarkably prominent; a deep furrow was cut on either side of the mouth; and the nose, which was of singular conformation, seemed endowed with spontaneous life, and performed a series of extraordinary mechanical revolutions. Altogether, the appearance of the man impressed me with the idea of strong, ill-regulated energy, and of that restless activity which is emphatically the mother of mischief.
Monsieur Albert did not seem very desirous of courting attention. He rather winked than replied to our host, threw a suspicious look at Bagsby, who was staring him in the face, honoured me with a survey, and then edged away into the crowd. I felt rather curious to know something more about him.