of the traffic down in
Oxford Street I heard a sound detach itself, and grow louder and louder,
and clearer and clearer with every instant, until two yellow lights came
flashing through the fog, and a light cabriolet whirled up to the door
of the Foreign Minister. It had not stopped before a young fellow
sprang out of it and hurried to the steps, while the driver turned his
horse and rattled off into the fog once more.

"Ah, it is in the moment of action that I am best, monsieur. You, who
only see me when I am drinking my wine in the Cafe de Provence, cannot
conceive the heights to which I rise. At that moment, when I knew that
the fruits of a ten years' war were at stake, I was magnificent. It was
the last French campaign and I the general and army in one.

"'Sir," said I, touching him upon the arm, 'are you the messenger for
Lord Hawkesbury?'

"'Yes,' said he.

"'I have been waiting for you half an hour,' said I. 'You are to follow
me at once. He is with the French Ambassador.'

"I spoke with such assurance that he never hesitated for an instant.
When he entered the hackney coach and I followed him in, my heart gave
such a thrill of joy that I could hardly keep from shouting aloud.
He was a poor little creature, this Foreign Office messenger, not much
bigger than Monsieur Otto, and I--monsieur can see my hands now, and
imagine what they were like when I was seven-and-twenty years of age.

"Well, now that I had him in my coach, the question was what I should do
with him. I did not wish to hurt him if I could help it.

"'This is a pressing business,' said he. 'I have a despatch which I
must deliver instantly.'

"Our coach had rattled down Harley Street now, in accordance with my
instruction, it turned and began to go up again.

"'Hullo!' he cried. 'What's this?'

"'What then? 'I asked.

"'We are driving back. Where is Lord Hawkesbury?'

"'We shall see him presently.'

"'Let me out!' he shouted. 'There's some trickery in this. Coachman,
stop the coach! Let me out, I say!'

"I dashed him back into his seat as he tried to turn the handle of the
door. He roared for help. I clapped my palm across his mouth. He made
his teeth meet through the side of it. I seized his own cravat and
bound it over his lips. He still mumbled and gurgled, but the noise was
covered by the rattle of our wheels. We were passing the minister's
house, and there was no candle in the window.

"The messenger sat qu