of the Department it was his intention to give up his share in
it and to cross over to England as soon as possible, so as to take up
the first commission in the new army that he could get. England would be
wanting soldiers more urgently than she had ever done before: mother and
sisters would be well looked after: he--Bobby--had earned a fortune for
them, and they no longer needed a bread-winner now: whilst England
wanted all her sons, for she would surely fight.

Clyffurde, who had seen the English papers that morning--as they were
brought over by an Intelligence courier--had realised that the debates
in Parliament could only end one way.

England would not tolerate Bonaparte; she would not even tolerate his
abdication in favour of his own son. Austria had already declared her
intention of renewing the conflict and so had Prussia. England's
decision would, of course, turn the scale, and Bobby in his own mind had
no doubt which way that decision would go.

The man whom the people of France loved, and whom his army idolised, was
the disturber of the peace of Europe. No one would believe his
protestations of pacific intentions now: he had caused too much
devastation, too much misery in the past--who would believe in him for
the future?

For the sake of that past, and for dread of the future, he must go--go
from whence he could not again return, and Bobby Clyffurde--remembering
Grenoble, remembering Lyons, Villefranche and Nevers--could not
altogether suppress a sigh of regret for the brave man, the fine genius,
the reckless adventurer who had so boldly scaled for the second time the
heights of the Capitol, oblivious of the fact that the Tarpeian Rock was
so dangerously near.

VI

At this same hour when Bobby Clyffurde finally bade adieu to all the
vague hopes of happiness which his love for Crystal de Cambray had
engendered in his heart, his whilom companion in the long ago--rival and
enemy now--Victor de Marmont, was laying a tribute of twenty-five
million francs at the feet of his beloved Emperor, and receiving the
thanks of the man to serve whom he would gladly have given his life.

"What reward shall we give you for this service?" the Emperor had
deigned to ask.

"The means to subdue a woman's pride, Sire, and make her thankful to
marry me," replied de Marmont promptly.

"A title, what?" queried the Emperor. "You have everything else, you
rogue, to please a woman's fancy and make her thankful to marry you