"You can learn something about that point to-morrow, when he dines
here."

"He'll not be our guest to-morrow, Morlache. I must continue to
occupy him for a day or two. He shall be invited to dine at court
to-morrow,--the request is a command,--so that you will not see him.
Receive Midchekoff if he calls, for I want to hear what he is about
here; his money requirements will soon give us the clew. And I, too,"
said he, stretching and speaking languidly,--"I, too, would be the
better of some repose; it is now thirty-six hours, Morlache, since I
closed my eyes in sleep. During that space I have written and dictated
and talked and argued, urging on the lukewarm, restraining the rash,
giving confidence to this one, preaching caution to that; and here I am,
at the end of all, with my task as far as ever from completion. Events
march faster than we, do what we will; and as the child never comes
up with the hoop he has set in motion till it has fallen, so we rarely
overtake the circumstances we have created till they have ceased to
be of any value to us. Now, at this precise moment I want to be in
the Vatican, at the camp of Goito, in the council-chamber at
Schoenbrunn,--not to speak of a certain humble homestead in a far-away
Irish county; and yet I have nothing for it but to go quietly off to
bed, leaving to fortune--I believe that is as good a name for it as any
other--the course of events which, were I present, I could direct at
will. Napoleon left a great example behind him; he beat his enemies
always by rapidity. Believe me, Morlache, men think very much upon a par
in this same world of ours; the great difference being that some take
five minutes where others take five weeks: the man of minutes is sure to
win."

Just as the Abbe had spoken, Norwood returned, saying,----

"By the way, can either of you tell me if Jekyl is here now?"

"I have not seen him," said Morlache, "which is almost proof that he is
not His first visit is usually to me."

The streets were silent. A few stray lamps yet flickered over the
spacious cupola of the Duomo, and a broken line of light faintly tracked
one angle of the tower of the Piazza Vecchia; but except these last
lingering signs of the late rejoicings, all Florence lay in darkness.

"How quiet is everything!" said Morlache, as he took leave of his guests
at his door.' "The streets are empty already."

"Ay," muttered the Abbe, "the rejoicing, like the victory, was but
short-lived. Do