embroideries and the pallid patch of the
face--"yes, General. Take this chair there."

General D'Hubert sat down.

"Yes, General," continued the arch-master in the arts of intrigue
and betrayals, whose duplicity, as if at times intolerable to his
self-knowledge, found relief in bursts of cynical openness. "I did
hurry on the formation of the proscribing Commission, and I took its
presidency. And do you know why? Simply from fear that if I did not
take it quickly into my hands my own name would head the list of the
proscribed. Such are the times in which we live. But I am minister of
the king yet, and I ask you plainly why I should take the name of this
obscure Feraud off the list? You wonder how his name got there! Is it
possible that you should know men so little? My dear General, at the
very first sitting of the Commission names poured on us like rain off
the roof of the Tuileries. Names! We had our choice of thousands. How do
you know that the name of this Feraud, whose life or death don't matter
to France, does not keep out some other name?"

The voice out of the armchair stopped. Opposite General D'Hubert sat
still, shadowy and silent. Only his sabre clinked slightly. The voice in
the armchair began again. "And we must try to satisfy the exigencies
of the Allied Sovereigns, too. The Prince de Talleyrand told me only
yesterday that Nesselrode had informed him officially of His Majesty the
Emperor Alexander's dissatisfaction at the small number of examples the
Government of the king intends to make--especially amongst military men.
I tell you this confidentially."

"Upon my word!" broke out General D'Hubert, speaking through his teeth,
"if your Excellency deigns to favour me with any more confidential
information I don't know what I will do. It's enough to break one's
sword over one's knee, and fling the pieces. . . ."

"What government you imagined yourself to be serving?" interrupted the
minister, sharply.

After a short pause the crestfallen voice of General D'Hubert answered,
"The Government of France."

"That's paying your conscience off with mere words, General. The truth
is that you are serving a government of returned exiles, of men who have
been without country for twenty years. Of men also who have just got
over a very bad and humiliating fright. . . . Have no illusions on that
score."

The Duke of Otranto ceased. He had relieved himself, and had attained
his object of stripping some self-respect