"A fortnight in Paris! And what of Nap meanwhile?" vivaciously demanded Mrs. Bryce. "What of old Boney? That is the question, my dear sir. What may not that wicked tyrant be after next?"
In those days even old friends and relatives used the terms "sir" and "madam" very often one to another.
"Buonaparte has a good deal to answer for, ma'am, but really I do not imagine that he will have the responsibility of hindering this little scheme of ours," Colonel Baron replied.
Mrs. Bryce turned herself briskly towards the sofa.
"If I were you, Harriette, I'd refuse to go. Then, at least, you wouldn't have it on your conscience if everything gets into a muddle."
Mrs. Baron's large languid grey eyes opened rather more widely than their wont.
"My dear Harriette, wake up, I entreat of you. Pray listen to me. Doubtless all the world is going to France. Nothing more likely, since half the world consists of idiots, and another half of madmen. That is small reason why you two need comport yourselves like either."
"Do you really suppose there will be war again so soon?" asked Mrs. Baron incredulously.
"Do I suppose? Why, everybody knows it. Jim knows it. Your husband knows it. There can't be any reasonable doubt about the matter. The treaty of Amiens is practically at an end already. Nap has broken his pledges again and again. And this last demand of his—why, nothing could be more iniquitous."
"Dear me; has he made any fresh demand?" Mrs. Baron's eyes went in appeal to her husband, for she had no very great faith in Mrs. Bryce's judgment. The Colonel had no chance of responding.