e the honour of your company at
dinner--shall we say Tortoni's?--we will on our way step round to my
hotel, the Quatre Saisons, behind the Hotel de Ville, and order a
_caleche_ and four to be in readiness."

CHAPTER XXXVI

I GO TO CLAIM FLORA

Behold me now speeding northwards on the wings of love, ballasted by Mr.
Romaine. But, indeed, that worthy man climbed into the _caleche_ with
something less than his habitual gravity. He was obviously and
pardonably flushed with triumph. I observed that now and again he smiled
to himself in the twilight, or drew in his breath and emitted it with a
martial _pouf_! And when he began to talk--which he did as soon as we
were clear of the Saint-Denis barrier--the points of the family lawyer
were untrussed. He leaned back in the _caleche_ with the air of a man
who had subscribed to the Peace of Europe, and dined well on top of it.
He criticised the fortifications with a wave of his toothpick, and
discoursed derisively and at large on the Emperor's abdication, on the
treachery of the Duke of Ragusa, on the prospects of the Bourbons, and
on the character of M. Talleyrand, with anecdotes which made up in
raciness for what they lacked in authenticity.

We were bowling through La Chapelle, when he pulled out his snuff-box
and proffered it.

"You are silent, Mr. Anne."

"I was waiting for the chorus," said I. "'Rule, Britannia! Britannia
rules the waves: and Britons never, never, never----' Come, out with
it!"

"Well," he retorted: "and I hope the tune will come natural to you
before long."

"O, give me time, my dear sir! I have seen the Cossacks enter Paris, and
the Parisians decorate their poodles with the Cross of the Legion of
Honour. I have seen them hoist a wretch on the Vendome column, to smite
the bronze face of the man of Austerlitz. I have seen the _salle_ of the
Opera rise to applaud a blatant fat fellow singing the praises of the
Prussian--and to that tune of _Vive Henri Quatre_! I have seen, in my
cousin Alain, of what the best blood in France is capable. Also, I have
seen peasant boys--unripe crops of the later levies--mown down by
grapeshot--raise themselves on their elbows to cheer for France and the
little man in grey. In time, Mr. Romaine, no doubt my memory will
confuse these lads with their betters, and their mothers with the ladies
of the _salle de l'Opera_: just as in time, no doubt, I shall find
myself Justice of the Peace, and Deputy-Lieutenant of t