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"A pleasant journey to him!" said la Vieuville.

"And the ladies, where are they?"

"At Trieste."



"And la Vieuville exclaimed: "Oh, this republic! What havoc to so little purpose! To think that this revolution has come about from the deficit of a few millions!"

"Look out for insignificant beginnings."

"Everything is going wrong," replied la Vieuville.

"Yes, la Rouarie is dead; du Dresnay, an idiot. What melancholy leaders all these bishops are: this Coucy, bishop of la Rochelle; this Beaupoil Saint-Aulaire, bishop of Poitiers; this Mercy, bishop of Luçon, Mme. de l'Eschasserie's lover—"

"Her name is Servanteau, you know, commander: l'Eschasserie is the name of her estate."

"And that false bishop of Agra, who is the curate of I don't know what!"

"Of Dol. His name is Guillot de Folleville. He is brave, however, and he fights."

"Priests when we want soldiers! Bishops, who are no bishops! Generals who are no generals!"

La Vieuville interrupted Boisberthelot.

"Commander, have you the Moniteur in your cabin?"


"What are they playing in Paris, now?"

"'Adèle,' 'Paulin' and the 'Cavern.'"

"I should like to see that."

"You will see it. We shall be in Paris in a month."

Boisberthelot thought a moment and added,—

"At the latest. Mr. Windham has told Lord Hood so."

"Then, commander, everything is not going so badly?"

"Gracious! All would go well, if only the war in Brittany were well conducted."

La Vieuville shook his head.

"Commander," he asked, "shall we land the marines?"

"Yes, if the coast is for us; no, if it be hostile. Sometimes war has to break open the doors, sometimes she slips through. Civil war should always have a false key in her pocket. Everything possible will be done. The most important thing is the chief."