two remained
behind in the dark.

Bolingbroke always spoke freely when he had drunk freely. His enemies
could get any secret out of him in that condition; women were even
employed to ply him, and take his words down. I have heard that my Lord
Stair, three years after, when the secretary fled to France and became the
pretender's minister, got all the information he wanted by putting female
spies over St. John in his cups. He spoke freely now:--"Jonathan knows
nothing of this for certain, though he suspects it, and by George, Webb
will take an archbishopric, and Jonathan a--no, damme--Jonathan will take an
archbishopric from James, I warrant me, gladly enough. Your duke hath the
string of the whole matter in his hand," the secretary went on. "We have
that which will force Marlborough to keep his distance, and he goes out of
London in a fortnight. Prior hath his business; he left me this morning,
and mark me, Harry, should fate carry off our august, our beloved, our
most gouty and plethoric queen, and defender of the faith, _la bonne cause
triomphera. A la sante de la bonne cause!_ Everything good comes from
France. Wine comes from France; give us another bumper to the _bonne
cause_." We drank it together.

"Will the _bonne cause_ turn Protestant?" asked Mr. Esmond.

"No, hang it," says the other, "he'll defend our faith as in duty bound,
but he'll stick by his own. The Hind and the Panther shall run in the same
car, by Jove. Righteousness and peace shall kiss each other; and we'll
have Father Massillon to walk down the aisle of St. Paul's, cheek by jowl,
with Dr. Sacheverel. Give us more wine; here's a health to the _bonne
cause_, kneeling--damme, let's drink it kneeling." He was quite flushed and
wild with wine as he was talking.

"And suppose," says Esmond, who always had this gloomy apprehension, "the
_bonne cause_ should give us up to the French, as his father and uncle did
before him?"

"Give us up to the French!" starts up Bolingbroke; "is there any English
gentleman that fears that? You who have seen Blenheim and Ramillies,
afraid of the French! Your ancestors and mine, and brave old Webb's
yonder, have met them in a hundred fields, and our children will be ready
to do the like. Who's he that wishes for more men from England? My cousin
Westmoreland? Give us up to the French, pshaw!"

"His uncle did," says Mr. Esmond.

"And what happened to his grandfather?" broke out St. John, filling out
another bumper. "