declined to reveal these. A similar
question as to the "Gazette" met a similar reply. Undeterred by these
refusals, he asked me my opinion of these writers' abilities, and the
likelihood of their being available to the cause of the Government,
under suitable circumstances.

I spoke half slightingly of their talents, but professed implicit trust
in their integrity. He turned the conversation then towards politics,
and discussed with me the questions on which I had been writing so
earnestly, both for and against, in the two opposing journals. The tone
of virulent abuse of both was great; and I half hinted that a personal
_amende_ was perhaps the point to which my opponent and as well myself
were tending. He smiled slightly, but meaningly.

"That opinion is not yours, then, sir?" asked I.

"Certainly not," said he, blandly. "Monsieur Bertin of the 'Presse' will
not seek satisfaction from Monsieur Bertin of the Drapeau,' still
less of Monsieur Bertin of the 'Gazette,' whom he holds in such slight
esteem."

"How, sir! Do you mean to imply that I am the writer in all these
journals?"

"You have just told me so, sir," said he, still smiling; "and I respect
the word of a gentleman. The tone of identity assumed on paper is
exactly that you have yourself put on when advocating any of these lines
of policy. I suspected this from the first; now I know it. Ah, Monsieur
Bertin, you are in the mere nursery of craftiness,--not but I must admit
you are a very promising child of your years."

Far from presuming on his discovery, he spoke more kindly and more
confidentially than ever to me; asked my reasons for this opinion and
for that, and seemed to think that I must have studied the questions I
wrote on deeply and maturely. There was nothing like disparagement
in his tone towards me, but, on the contrary, an almost flattering
appreciation of my ingenuity as a writer.

"Still, Monsieur Bertin," said he, with affected gravity, "the 'Drapeau'
went too far,--that you must allow; and, for your sake as for ours, it
is better it should be suppressed. The fine shall be paid, but it must
appear to have come from the royalists. Can I trust you for this?"

He looked at me calmly, but steadily as he spoke; and certainly I felt
as if any deceit, should I desire it, were perfectly impossible before
him. He did not wait for my reply, but, with a seriousness that savored
of sincerity, said,--

"The press in France at this moment is the expr