Legitimist cause."

"True; it cannot be the policy of any party to forget that between the
irrevocable past and the uncertain future there intervenes the action of
the present time."

"Should you, as an impartial bystander, consider it dishonourable in me
if I entered the military service under the ruling sovereign?"

"Certainly not, if your country needed you."

"And it may, may it not? I hear vague rumours of coming war in almost
every salon I frequent. There has been gunpowder in the atmosphere
we breathe ever since the battle of Sadowa. What think you of German
arrogance and ambition? Will they suffer the swords of France to rust in
their scabbards?"

"My dear Marquis, I should incline to put the question otherwise. Will
the jealous amour propre of France permit the swords of Germany to
remain sheathed? But in either case, no politician can see without grave
apprehension two nations so warlike, close to each other, divided by a
borderland that one covets and the other will not yield, each armed
to the teeth,--the one resolved to brook no rival, the other equally
determined to resist all aggression. And therefore, as you say, war is
in the atmosphere; and we may also hear, in the clouds that give no sign
of dispersion, the growl of the gathering thunder. War may come any day;
and if France be not at once the victor--"

"France not at once the victor?" interrupted Alain, passionately; "and
against a Prussian! Permit me to say no Frenchman can believe that."

"Let no man despise a foe," said Graham, smiling half sadly. "However, I
must not incur the danger of wounding your national susceptibilities. To
return to the point you raise. If France needed the aid of her best
and bravest, a true descendant of Henri Quatre ought to blush for his
ancient noblesse were a Rochebriant to say, 'But I don't like the colour
of the flag.'"

"Thank you," said Alain, simply; "that is enough." There was a pause,
the young men walking on slowly, arm in arm. And then there flashed
across Graham's mind the recollection of talk on another subject in that
very path. Here he had spoken to Alain in deprecation of any possible
alliance with Isaura Cicogna, the destined actress and public; singer.
His cheek flushed; his heart smote him. What! had he spoken slightingly
of her--of her? What if she became his own wife? What! had he himself
failed in the respect which he would demand as her right from the
loftiest of his high-born kindred?