s, that
he had ridden hard and far; but except a chance allusion to the state
of the roads or the weather, it was a topic to which he never referred,
nor, of course, did I ever advert. Meanwhile our intimacy grew closer
and franker. The theme of politics, a forbidden subject between men so
separated, was constantly discussed between us, and I could not help
feeling flattered at the deference with which he listened to opinions
from one so much his junior, and so inferior in knowledge as myself.
Nothing could be more moderate than his views of government, only
provided that it was administered by the rightful sovereign. The claim
of a king to his throne he declared to be the foundation of all the
rights of property, and which, if once shaken or disputed, would
inevitably lead to the wildest theories of democratic equality. 'I don't
want to convert you,' would he say laughingly; 'the son of an old "Garde
da Corps," the born gentleman, has but to live to learn. It may come a
little later or a little earlier, but you'll end as a good Monarchist.'

One evening he was unusually late in returning, and when he came was
accompanied by seven or eight companions, some younger, some older, than
himself, but all men whose air and bearing bespoke their rank in life,
while their names recalled the thoughts of old French chivalry. I
remember among them was a Coigny, a Gramont, and Rochefoucauld--the last
as lively a specimen of Parisian wit and brilliancy as ever fluttered
along the sunny Boulevards.

De Marsanne, while endeavouring to enjoy himself and entertain his
guests, was, to my thinking, more serious than usual, and seemed
impatient at D'Egville's absence, for whose coming we now waited supper.

'I should not wonder if he was lost in the deep mud of those
cross-roads,' said Coigny.

'Or perhaps he has fallen into the Republic,' said Rochefoucauld; 'it's
the only thing dirtier that I know of.'

'Monsieur forgets that I wear its cloth,' said I, in a low whisper to
him; and low as it was, De Marsanne overheard it.

'Yes, Charles,' cried he, 'you must apologise, and on the spot, for the
rudeness.'

Rochefoucauld reddened and hesitated.

'I insist, sir,' cried De Marsanne, with a tone of superiority I had
never seen him assume before.

'Perhaps,' said he, with a half-sneer, 'Monsieur de Tiernay might refuse
to accept my excuses.'

'In that case, sir,' interposed De Marsanne, 'the quarrel will become
mine, for he is my gu