I have sufficient reason to be so.
That dignified and pensive gentleman
Was a bold bravo, waiting for his chance.
He sketched a scheme for murdering Bonaparte,
Either--as in my haste I understood--
By shooting from a window as he passed,
Or by some other wry and stealthy means
That haunt sad brains which brood on despotism,
But lack the tools to justly cope therewith!...
On later thoughts I feel not fully sure
If, in my ferment, I did right in this.
No; hail at once the man in charge of him,
And give the word that he is to be detained.

[The secretary goes out. FOX walks to the window in deep
reflection till the secretary returns.]

SECRETARY

I was in time, sir. He has been detained.

FOX

Now what does strict state-honour ask of me?--
No less than that I bare this poppling plot
To the French ruler and our fiercest foe!--
Maybe 'twas but a hoax to pocket pay;
And yet it can mean more...
The man's indifference to his own vague doom
Beamed out as one exalted trait in him,
And showed the altitude of his rash dream!--
Well, now I'll get me on to Downing Street,
There to draw up a note to Talleyrand
Retailing him the facts.--What signature
Subscribed this desperate fellow when he wrote?

SECRETARY

"Guillet de la Gevrilliere." Here it stands.

FOX

Doubtless it was a false one. Come along. [Looking out the window.]
Ah--here's Sir Francis Vincent: he'll go with us.
Ugh, what a twinge! Time signals that he draws
Towards the twelfth stroke of my working-day!
I fear old England soon must voice her speech
With Europe through another mouth than mine!

SECRETARY

I trust not, sir. Though you should rest awhile.
The very servants half are invalid
From the unceasing labours of your post,
And these cloaked visitors of every clime
That market on your magnanimity
To gain an audience morning, night, and noon,
Leaving you no respite.

FOX

'Tis true; 'tis true.--
How I shall love my summer holiday
At pleasant Saint-Ann's Hill!

[He leans on the secretary's arm, and they go out.]

SCENE II

THE ROUTE BETWEEN LONDON AND PARIS

[A view now nocturnal, now diurnal, from on high over the Straits
of Dover, and stretching from city to city. By night Paris and
London seem each as a little swarm of lights surrounded by a halo;
by day as a confused