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These and such-like arguments were showered upon me, and not a little aided by many little coquetries of look and gesture.

“One thing is quite certain,” said Dubos: “it is now three, – the bureau closes at four o’clock; and if you know of any one in Havre who will be your sponsor, the sooner you find him the better.”

This speech was uttered with so much gravity that it completely mystified me; nor did the next remark serve greatly to elucidate matters, as his wife said she hoped “I ‘d have a pleasant voyage.” After enjoying my astonished and puzzled look for a second or two, they both burst into a roar of laughter.

“Don’t you see, Bernard,” said the man, “that you have no other acquaintance in the city than ourselves; and if we have a fancy for your company, and do not care to part with it, the option is with us?”

“But if you really do feel an interest for me, you would befriend me,” said I. “Is not that so?”

“And so I ‘m ready to do,” said he, rising. “Say the word, and I ‘ll go with you this moment to the commissary.”

I arose too. Already the syllables were on my lips, when the sudden thought flashed across me: Whither am I hurrying, and for what? Was I returning to home and family and country? Was I going back to kind and loving friends, whose hearts were yearning for my coming? I paused, and at the same instant the laughing eyes of the young Frenchwoman seemed to read my embarrassment.

“Well,” cried Dubos, “how is it to be?”

“Sit down, Pierre, and take your coffee,” said she, smiling. “Citizen Bernard has not the slightest intention of leaving us. He knows, besides, that you will be just as ready to serve him any other day, and not the less so when you will have been better acquainted.”

“She is right,” said he, pressing me down into my seat again. “Let’s have a chasse in ease, and quick.”

I did not stop to reason the question. If I had, perhaps I should only have seen stronger cause to concur with my kind hosts. The world was a wide and trackless ocean before me, and even the humblest haven was a welcome harbor to me for a day or two.

I stayed accordingly, and went to the theatre with them. The following day was Sunday, and we went over to Honneur, and dined at the “Trois Pigeons;” and Pierre showed me the spot where he first saw his pretty wife, and said, —

“Who knows but some day or other I may be telling of the day and the hour and the way I became acquainted with you?”

As I parted with them each night, some little plan or project was always struck out for the morrow; and so I lingered on from day to day, half listless, and half pleased. At length, as I was proceeding one morning towards the house, I saw a crowd in front of a café all busily engaged in reading a large placard which had just been affixed to the wall. It was an account of the seizure by the English of the very vessel I had intended to have taken my passage in; for, strangely enough, though the countries were at war, a species of half intercourse was kept up between them for some time, and travellers often passed from one shore to the other. This system was now, it seemed, to have an end; and it was curious to remark how bitter were the commentaries the change excited.

Pierre had learned the news by the time I reached his house, and laughingly remarked on the good luck that always attended his inspirations.

“But for me,” said he, “and my wise counsels, you had been a prisoner now, and all your claims to nationality would only have got you hanged for a traitor. From the first moment I saw you, something whispered me that we were destined to know more of each other; and now I perceive that the impression was-well founded.”

“How do you infer that?” asked I, smiling.

“Because my instincts have never betrayed me yet.”

“And what is to be the upshot of our acquaintance, then?”

“Do you ask this seriously, Bernard, or are you only jesting at my presentiments?”

“In all seriousness and in all trustfulness,” replied I.

“You ‘ll stay here in Havre – join me in my business – make money – be a rich man – and – ” he paused.

“Go on; I like the prophecy,” said I, laughing.

“And I was going to say, just as likely to lose it all, some fine morning, as easily as you earned it.”

“But I have not a single requisite for the part you assign me. I am ignorant of every branch of trade and traffic; nor, if I know myself, do I possess one single quality that insures success in them.”

“I’ll teach you, Bernard! There are few secrets in my craft. We deal with smugglers, – we buy from them, and sell to them! For the pedler that comes to us in our shop in the ‘Rue des Sol,’ we care little; for our customers who drop in after nightfall, we have a sincere affection. You have hitherto regarded them in the light of visitors and friends. You little suspected that through them we carried on all our business; and just as little did it ever occur to you that you yourself are already a great favorite with them. Your stories, your remarks, the views you take of life, all your observations, are quite novel and amusing to poor fellows whose whole experience of the world is picked up in stormy nights in the Channel, or still more perilous adventures on shore. Many have already asked me when you would be with me of an evening, that they might come; others have begged they might bring friends along with them; and, in short, they like you; and they are fellows who, when they have fancies, don’t grudge the price they pay for them.”

I laughed heartily as I heard this. Assuredly it had never occurred to myself to observe the circumstance, still less to make it a matter of profit or speculation; but, somehow, the coarse flattery of even such admiration was not without a certain charm for my mind.

Still, it was a part I could not have condescended to practise for gain, nor, perhaps, had such been my intention, could I have been equally successful.

Dubos, however, assigned me a duty which made a happy compromise between my self-esteem and my desire for employment. This was to make acquaintance with all of that adventurous race comprised between the buccaneer and the smuggler; to learn their various wants, when they voyaged, and for what, became my province. They were a wild, wasteful, and reckless class, who loved far better to deal with one who should stand to them in the relation of a companion than as a chapman or a dealer.

If I am free to own that my occupation was not very dignified, I am equally able to assert that I never prostituted any influence I obtained in this way to personal objects of profit. On the contrary, I have repeatedly been able to aid, by good counsel and advice, men whose knowledge of adventurous life was far greater than my own; and oftentimes has it occurred to me to obtain for them quadruple the value they had themselves set upon objects they possessed.

I can scarcely account to myself for the extraordinary interest the pursuit engendered, – the characters, the places they frequented, the habits, were all of the strangest, and might reasonably have amused one ardently fond of adventure; but there was, besides all this, a degree of danger in the intercourse that imparted a most intense degree of interest to it.

Many of these men were great criminals. Many of the valuables confided to my keeping were obtained by the most questionable means. They trafficked not alone in articles of contraband, but they dealt in the still more dangerous wares of secret information to governments; some were far less smugglers than spies. All these curious traits became revealed to me in our intercourse; and I learned to see by what low and base agencies are often moved the very greatest and most momentous incidents of the world. It was not alone that many of these men were employed by persons high in station, but they were really often intrusted with functions very disproportionate to their own claim for either character or fitness. At one time it would be a state secret; at another, some dark piece of treacherous vengeance, or some scarcely less dark incident of what fashion calls “gallantry;” while occasionally a figure would cross the scene of a very different order, and men of unquestionable station be met with in the garb and among the haunts of the freebooter.

There was scarcely a leader of the republican party with whom some member of the exiled family had not attempted the arts of seduction. With many of them, it was said, they really succeeded; and others only waited their opportunity to become their partisans. Whether the English Government actually adopted the same policy or not, they assuredly had the credit of doing so; and the sudden accession to wealth and affluence of men who had no visible road to fortune, greatly favored this impression. My friend Pierre Dubos troubled his head very little about these things. So long as his “brandies could be run” upon the shores of England, and his bales of silk find their way to London without encountering a custom-house, he cared nothing for the world of politics and statecraft; and it is not impossible that his well-known indifference to these matters contributed something to the confidence with which they were freely imparted to myself. Whatever the cause, I soon became the trusted depositary of much that was valuable, not alone in actual wealth, but in secret information. Jewels, sums of money, securities to a great amount, papers and documents of consequence, all found their way to my hands; and few went forth upon any expedition of hazard without first committing to my keeping whatever he possessed of worth.

I was now living in privacy and simplicity, it is true, but in the enjoyment of every comfort; but, still, with all the sense of a precarious and even a perilous existence. More than once had I been warned that the authorities entertained suspicion of me; and although the police, even to its highest grades, was in our pay, it was yet possible that they should find it their interest to betray us. It was just at this time that a secret envoy arrived from Paris at Havre, en route for England, and was arrested on entering the town. His papers were all seized, except one small packet which was conveyed by a safe hand to myself, and my advice and counsel requested on the subject of it. The address was simply “W. P.,” and marked, “with the greatest speed.” There was an enclosure that felt like a locket-case or a medallion, inside, and three large seals without.

The envoy, who had contrived to disburden himself of this in the very moment of his arrestation, at once made a signal indicative of its pressing emergency; and his own rank and position seemed to guarantee the fact. One of our luggers was only waiting for the tide to weigh anchor and sail for England; and the sudden resolve struck me to take charge of the letter, and see if I could not discover for whom it was meant. Both Dubos and his wife did all in their power to dissuade me from the project. They spoke of the great peril of the attempt, and its utter fruitlessness besides; but for the former I had not many fears, and as to the latter consideration, I was fortified by a strong and deep-felt conviction that the locket was intended for no less a personage than the head of the English ministry, and that “William Pitt” was designated by the initials of the direction. I own that the conjecture was mainly suggested to me by the constant reference made to his name, and the frequent allusions I had heard made to him by many of the secret emissaries.

If I did not impart this impression to Dubos, it was simply because I knew how little interest the subject would have for him, and that I should frame very different reasons for my journey if I looked for his concurrence. I need not stop to record the discussion that ensued between us. Enough if I say that honest Pierre made me an offer of partnership with him if I consented to forego my journey, from which he steadily predicted that I should return no more. This prophecy had no power to deter me, – nay, I half suspect that it furnished an additional argument for my going.

Having consigned to him, therefore, all the objects of value that had been left with me, and taking nothing but the few papers and letters belonging to myself, I sailed that evening; and, as day was breaking, I saw looming through the distance the tall and chalky cliffs of England. We were a long way to the northward of the part usually frequented by our skipper, and it was not without difficulty that I persuaded him to land me in a small bay, in which a solitary cottage was the only sign of habitation.

By noon I gained the hut of a fisherman, who, though he had seen me put out from a craft that he knew to be French, yet neither expressed any surprise at my appearance, nor thought it a matter for any questioning. The shoal water and the breakers, it is true, could have prevented the spot being selected as a landing-place for troops; but nothing was easier than to use it to disembark either secret emissaries, or even a small body of men. I walked from this to a small town about eight miles inland, whence I started the same night by coach for London. I cannot convey my notion of the sense of freedom I felt at wandering thus at will, unquestioned by any one. Had I but travelled a dozen miles in France, I should have been certain of encountering full as many obstacles. Here none troubled their heads about me; and whence I came, or whither I went, were not asked by any. Some, indeed, stared at my travel-worn dress, and looked with surprise at my knapsack, covered with undressed calf-skin; but none suspected that it was French, nor that he who carried it had landed, but a few hours before, from the land of their dread and abhorrence. In fact, the England and France of those days were like countries widely separated by distance, and the narrow strip of sea between them was accounted as a great ocean. No sooner had I arrived in London than I inquired for the residence of the Prime Minister. It was not a period when the Parliament was sitting. They told me that I should rarely find him in town, but was sure of meeting with him at Hounslow, where he had taken a house for his health, then much broken by the cares and fatigues of office.

It was evening – a fine, mellow autumn evening – as I found myself in front of a large, lonely house, in the midst of a neglected-looking garden, the enclosure of which was a dilapidated wall, broken in many places, and admitting glimpses of the disorder and decay within. I pulled the string of the bell, but it was broken; and while I stood uncertain what course to pursue, I caught sight of a man who was leaning over a little balustrade, and apparently watching some fish in a pond at his feet. He was thin and spare-looking, with somewhat the air of premature age; and though dressed in the very simplest manner, there was the unmistakable mark of a gentleman in his appearance.

He seemed to have observed me, but made no sign of recognition as I came towards him. He even turned his head to look at me, and then resumed his former attitude. I believe that I would willingly have retreated at that moment, if I knew how. I felt that my presence there was like an intrusion, and was already ashamed of it. But it was now too late; for, standing erect, and with his hands behind him, he fixed his eyes steadily on me, and asked me my business there. I replied that I wished to speak with Mr. Pitt.

“Do so, then,” rejoined he; “I am he.”

I hesitated for a second or two how to open my communication; but he waited for me without the slightest show of impatience, till, gaining courage, I told him in a few words by what means I had become possessed of a letter, the contents of which I had surmised might by possibility have been intended for him. Short as was my explanation, it seemed to suffice, for he nodded twice or thrice in assent as I went on, and then, taking the letter from my hand, said, —

“Yes, this is for me.”

So saying, he turned away into an alley of the garden to peruse the letter at his leisure.

I remember as well as though it were but yesterday the strange crowd of sensations that pressed upon my mind as I stood there waiting for his return. Astonishment at finding myself in such a presence was the first of these; the second was a surprise to see with how little of awe or embarrassment I bore myself before one whose haughty bearing was the terror of his contemporaries. I did not know enough of life to be aware that the very fact of my humble station was the levelling influence that operated in my favor, and that if, instead of an unknown emissary, I had been the deputed envoy of a great government, I should have found the minister as coldly haughty as I had heard him described.

While I was yet surmising and reasoning with myself, he came up to me, saying, —

“They have arrested Monsieur Ducoste, you said. Is the affair like to be serious?”

“I believe not, sir; his only paper of consequence was this.”

He opened the letter again, and seemed lost in contemplation of something it contained; at length he said, —

“Have you brought any newspapers or journals with you?”

“None, sir; I came away at a moment’s warning.”

“You are an Englishman. How came it that you have been a resident in France?”

For the first time his face assumed an expression of severity as he said this, and I could not but feel that the inquiry was one that touched my personal honor. I replied, therefore, promptly that I had come abroad from causes of a family nature, and that they were matters which could not interest a stranger.

“They do interest me, sir,” was his reply, “and I have a right to know them.”

If my first impulse was to resent what I conceived to be a tyranny, my second was to clear myself from any possibility of an imputation. I believe it was the wiser of the two; at all events, I yielded to it, and, apologizing for the intrusion upon time valuable as his, I narrated, in a few minutes, the leading features of my history.

“A singular story,” said he, as I concluded: “the son of an Irish Opposition leader reduced to this! What proofs have you of the correctness of your account? Have you acquaintances? Letters?”

“Some letters, but not one acquaintance.”

“Let me see some of these. Come here to-morrow, fetch your papers with you, and be here at eleven o’clock.”

“But excuse me, sir,” said I, “if I ask wherefore I should do this? I came here at considerable personal hazard to render you a service. I have been fortunate enough to succeed. I have also made known to you certain circumstances of a purely private nature, and which only can concern myself. You either believe them or you do not.”

“This is precisely the difficulty that I have not solved, young gentleman,” said he, courteously; “you may be speaking in all the strongest conviction of truthfulness, and yet be incorrect. I desire to be satisfied on this head, and I am equally ready to assure you that the inquiry is not prompted by any motive of mere curiosity.”

I remained silent for a minute or two; I tried to weigh the different reasons for and against either course in my mind, but I was too much agitated for the process. He seemed to guess what was passing within me, and said, —

“Don’t you perceive, sir, that I am your debtor for a service, and that before I attempt to acquit the obligation I ought to know the rank and station of my creditor? You would not accept of a pecuniary reward?”

“Certainly not, and as little any other.”

“But I might possibly present my thanks in a form to be acceptable,” said he, blandly; “and I wish you would give me the opportunity!”

And with that he bowed deeply, and walked slowly away. I returned to London with a head full of my interview.

CHAPTER XXXII. MY REWARD

I had taken up my quarters in one of the small streets which lead from the Strand to the river; a very humble abode it was, and such as suited very humble fortune. When I arrived there, after the interview I have related, I sat down and wrote a short account of the events of my life, so far as they were known to me. I subjoined any letters and documents that I possessed which gave confirmation to my statement, addressing the entire to the minister, with the request that if my capacity could fit me for any employment in the public service, he would graciously make a trial of me; and if not, that he would enable me to return to France, where a livelihood at least was procurable.

This I despatched on a Tuesday morning, and it was not until the following Saturday that I obtained my reply. I cannot think of that painful interval even now without a shudder. The torture of suspense had risen to a fever, and for the last day and night I neither ate nor slept. On Saturday came a brief note, in these words: “J. C. may call at Hounslow before ten to-morrow.”

It was not signed, nor even dated; and so I was left to surmise if it had reached me in fitting time. It was scarcely eight o’clock on Sunday morning as I found myself standing beside the wicket of the garden, which seemed as deserted and desolate as before. At an open window, however, on the ground floor I saw a breakfast-table laid out; and as I looked, a lady and gentleman entered, and took their places at it. One was, I knew, the minister. The lady, who was a tall and dignified person rather than a handsome one, bore some resemblance to him. Her quick glance detected me from afar, and as quickly she called attention to my presence there. Mr. Pitt arose and beckoned me to come forward, which I did, with no small shame and embarrassment.

While I stood at the hall-door, uncertain whether to knock or wait, it was opened by the minister himself, who kindly wished me good-morning, and desired me to follow him.

“This is the youth himself, Hester,” said he, as we entered the room; “and I have no doubt he will be happy to answer any questions you may put to him.”

The lady motioned to me to be seated, and in a grave, almost severe tone, said, —

“Who composed this paper, – this narrative of yours?”

“I did, madam.”

“The whole of it?”

“Yes, madam, the whole of it.”

“Where have you been educated?”

“At Reichenau, madam.”

“Where is that?”

“In Switzerland, on the frontiers of the Vorarlberg.”

“And your parents are both dead, and you have actually none in the shape of relatives?”

“Not one, madam.”

She whispered something here to the minister, who quickly said, —

“Certainly, if you wish it.”

“Tell me, sir,” said she, addressing me again, “who is this same Count de Gabriac, of whom mention is made here. Is he the person called Couvre-Tête in the circles of the Jacobins?”

“I never have heard him so called, madam.”

“You know him at least to be of that party?”

“No, madam. The very little I do know of him personally would induce me to suppose the opposite.”

She shook her head, and gave a faint supercilious smile, as though in total disbelief of my words.

“If you have read my memoir, madam,” said I, hastily, “you will perceive how few have been the occasions of my meeting with the Count, and that, whatever his politics, I may be excused for not knowing them.”

“You say that you went along with him to Paris?”

“Yes, madam, and never saw him afterwards.”

“You have heard from him, however, and are, in fact, in correspondence with him?”

“No, madam, nothing of the kind.”

As I said this, she threw the paper indignantly on the table, and walked away to the window. The minister followed her, and said something in a low whisper, to which she replied aloud, —

“Well, it’s not my opinion. Time will tell which of us was more right.”

“Tell me something of the condition of parties in France,” said he, drawing his chair in front of mine. “Are the divisions as wide as heretofore?”

I will not go over the conversation that ensued, since I was myself the principal speaker. Enough if I say that I told him whatever I knew or had heard of the various subdivisions of party: of the decline of the terrorists, and the advent to power of men who, with equal determination and firmness, yet were resolute to uphold the laws and provide for the security of life and property. In the course of this I had to speak of the financial condition of the country; and in the few words that fell from me, came the glimpses of some of that teaching I had obtained from the Herr Robert.

“You appear to have devoted attention to these topics,” said he, with a smile. “They are scarcely the subjects most attractive to youth. How came that to pass?”

“By an accident, sir, that made me acquainted with the son of one who, if not a great financier, was at least the most notorious one the world has ever seen, – Robert Law, of Lauriston.” And at a sign from him to continue, I related the whole incident I referred to. He listened to me throughout with deep attention.

“These papers that you speak of,” said he, interrupting, “would certainly be curious, if not actually valuable. They are still at the Rue Quincampoix?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“Well, the day may come when they may be obtainable. Meanwhile, of this Count, this Monsieur de Gabriac, – for I want to hear more of him, – when did he arrive in England?”

“I did not know that he was here, sir.”

He looked at me calmly, but with great intentness, as I said this; and then, as if satisfied with his scrutiny, drew a small case from his pocket, and, opening it, held it before me.

“Is this a portrait of the Count de Gabriac?”

“Yes, and a striking likeness,” replied I, promptly.

“And you know his business in England, young man?” said the lady, turning suddenly from the window to address me.

“I do not, madam.”

“Then I will tell you,” said she.

“No, no, Hester,” said the minister; “this is not necessary. You say that this is like him, – like enough to lead to his recognition; that is quite sufficient. Now, for yourself, Mr. Carew, for it is time I should speak of you. You have rendered a very considerable service to this Government, and I am ready to requite it. What are your own wishes in this respect?”

I bethought me for a moment what reply to make; but the more I considered, the more difficult became the reply. I might, by possibility, look too highly; or, by an equally probable error, I might place myself on too humble a level. He waited with courteous patience while this struggle lasted; and then, as if seeing all the force of my embarrassment, he hastened to relieve it.

“My question was perhaps ill-judged,” said he, kindly. “I should have remembered that your knowledge of this country and its habits is necessarily limited; and, consequently, that to choose a career in it must be difficult. If you will permit me, I will myself make the choice for you; meanwhile, and until the opportunity offer, I will employ you. You speak foreign languages – at least, French and German – fluently. Well, these are exactly the qualifications I desire to find at this moment.”

He paused for a second or two, and then, as though abandoning some half-formed intention, he named a day for me to wait on him at his official residence, and dismissed me.

I have now come to a portion of my history of which I scruple to follow rigorously the details. I cannot speak of myself without introducing facts, and names, and events which became known to me, some in strict confidence, some under solemn pledges of secrecy, and some from the accident of my position. I have practised neither disguise nor mystery with my reader, nor do I desire to do so now. No false shame, as regards myself, would induce me to stoop to this. But as I glance over the notes and journals before me, as I read, at random, snatches of the letters that litter my table, I half regret that I have been led into revelations which I must necessarily leave incomplete, or rashly involve myself in disclosures which I have no right to publish to the world.

So far as I can venture, however, I will dare to go. And to resume where I left off: From the time I saw the minister at Hounslow, I never beheld him again. A certain Mr. Addington – one of his secretaries, I believe – received me when I called, and was the means of intercourse between us. He was uniformly polite in his manner, but still cold and distant with me; treating me with courtesy, but strenuously declining all intimacy. For some weeks I continued to wait in expectancy of some employment. I sat my weary hours in the antechamber, and walked the lobbies with all the anxiety of a suitor; but to all appearance I was utterly forgotten, and the service I had rendered ignored. At last (it was about ten weeks after my interview), as I was proceeding one morning to my accustomed haunt, – hope had almost deserted me, and I persisted, more from habit than any prospect of success, – a servant, in the undress livery of one of the departments of state, met me in the street.

“Mr. Carew, I believe?” said he, touching his hat. “I have been over half the town this morning, sir, in search of you. You are wanted immediately, sir, at the Foreign Office.”

How my heart jumped at the words! What a new spring of hope burst up within me! I questioned and cross-questioned the man, in the foolish expectation that he could tell me anything I desired to know; and in this eager pursuit of some clew to the future, I found myself ascending the stairs to Mr. Addington’s office. No sooner had I appeared in the antechamber than I was ushered into the presence of the secretary. There were several persons – all strangers to me – present, who were conversing so eagerly together that my entrance was for some minutes unnoticed.

“Oh! here is Carew,” said Mr. Addington, turning hastily from the rest. “He can identify him at once.”

A large elderly man, who I afterwards learned was a city magistrate, came up at this, and, regarding me steadily for a few seconds, said, —

“You are well acquainted with the person of a certain Count de Gabriac?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And could swear to his identity, if required?”

“I could.”

How long I had known him, where, and under what circumstances, were also asked of me; and, finally, what space of time had elapsed since I had last seen him.