The door of the little room opened. Gustave had long since had my hair arranged to his satisfaction, and I had been sitting in silence I know not how long. But with the draught of air from the hallway I turned my head and saw a small dwarf of a man, who was a sort of a servant and boots in the house, standing there with the morning paper. I took it—the London Times—and read the head-lines in the first column, "England's Disgrace," in big black letters. And below it, "Has Another Vessel Been Lost in Single Action to the United States?" Hastily I read the reported rumor (pity 'twas nothing else) of the capture of another forty-four-gun frigate by the Constitution. I laughed aloud at the Times's expressions of astonishment that such things should be, and then I threw the paper down and burst into a loud huzza.
Gustave had been watching me as if he thought I had suddenly turned madman.
"Is Napoleon defeated?" he inquired.
"No, no; not that," I answered, smiling to myself, and I think truly that the old man gave a sigh of relief. At this moment there was a tap on the door, and the old servant laid down the fine plum-colored coat that he had been preparing for my wearing, and Monsieur de Brissac was ushered in by him with a low bow. The nobleman closed the door behind him. "Mon ami," he said, hurriedly, "I would speak to you alone." Gustave (he had been "loaned" to me by De Senez) was too old a servant to be told. He picked up a pair of boots and went out into the hallway.
"It is arranged!" cried Monsieur de Brissac, speaking quickly and excitedly. "Three of us must leave for Paris. A cipher letter has been received. The time is most opportune, my dear Blondin."
He gave me an embrace, to which I confess I replied, because he was my friend, and then he continued. "You are the one to go with us," he said. "De Senez and you and myself. We can face the danger bravely, mon ami. Consider the reward!"
Ay, there it was again, "the reward." What did I really care for it?
"I have an invitation for you to be one of a little partie carrée this evening," Monsieur de Brissac went on. "I judge it is best that you attend. Eh, what's the matter?"
I was standing with my back to him looking out of the window, when he approached and placed his hand upon my shoulder. I turned, and his eyes met mine. I was constrained to speak at once of what was uppermost in my thoughts. It required some courage.
"Monsieur de Brissac," I asked, "what do you really think of me?"