"O, give me time, my dear sir! I have seen the Cossacks enter Paris, and the Parisians decorate their poodles with the Cross of the Legion of Honour. I have seen them hoist a wretch on the Vendôme Column to smite the bronze face of the man of Austerlitz. I have seen the salle of the Opera rise to applaud a blatant fat fellow singing the praises of the Prussian—and to the tune of 'Vive Henri Quatre!' I have seen, in my cousin Alain, of what the best blood in France is capable. Also I have seen peasant boys—unripe crops of the later levies—mown down by grape-shot, raise themselves on their elbows to cheer for France and the little man in gray. In time, Mr. Romaine, no doubt my memory will confuse these lads with their betters, and their mothers with the ladies of the salle de l'opera, just as in time, no doubt, I shall find myself Justice of the Peace and Deputy Lieutenant of the shire of Buckingham. I am changing my country, as you remind me, and, on my faith, she has no place for me. But for the sake of her I have explored and found the best of her—in my new country's prisons. And I repeat, you must give me time."
"Tut, tut!" was his comment, as I searched for tinderbox and sulphur match to relight my cigar. "We must get you into Parliament, Mr. Anne. You have the gift."
As we approached Saint Denis the flow of his discourse sensibly slackened, and, a little beyond, he pulled his travelling-cap over his ears and settled down to slumber. I sat wide-awake beside him. The spring night had a touch of chill in it, and the breath of our horses streaming back upon the lamps of the calèche kept a constant nimbus between me and the postilions. Above it, and over the black spires of the poplar avenues, the regiments of stars moved in parade. My gaze went up to the ensign of their
