“Not at all. In fact, I have made up my mind for a bouleversement this spring, as I seriously believe it would tend very much to the respectability of France. It must come sooner or later. Louis Philippe is well up in years, and it cannot make much difference to him. Besides, I am tired of Guizot. He gives himself airs as an historian which are absolutely insufferable, and France can submit to it no longer. The only doubt I entertain is, whether this ought to be a new ministry, or an entire dynastical change.”
“You are the best judge. For my own part, having no interest in the matter further than curiosity, a change of ministers would satisfy me.”
“Ay, but there are considerations beyond that. Much may be said upon both sides. There is danger certainly in organic changes, at the same time we must work out by all means our full and legitimate freedom. What would you do in such a case of perplexity?”
Victor Hugo’s simple and romantic method of deciding between hostile opinions, as exemplified in his valuable drama of Lucrêce Borgia, at once occurred to me.
“Are you quite serious,” said I, “in wishing to effect a change of some kind?”
“I am,” said the Marquis, “as resolute as Prometheus on the Caucasus.”
“Then suppose we toss for it; and so leave the question of a new cabinet or dynasty entirely to the arbitration of fate?”
“A good and a pious idea!” replied the Marquis de la Pailleterie. “Here is a five-franc piece. I shall toss, and you shall call.”
Up went the dollar, big with the fate of France, twirling in the evening air.
“Heads for a new ministry!” cried I, and the coin fell chinking on the gravel. We both rushed up.