These were no mere adventurers, but men of position and wealth, who had somewhat to lose and every desire to retain the same. They did not rave of patriotism, nor was there any cant of equality and fraternity. It seemed rather that, finding themselves placed in stirring times, they deemed it wise to guide by some means or other the course of events into such channels as might ensure safety to themselves and their possessions. And who can blame them for such foresight? Patriots are, according to my experience, men who look for a substantial _quid pro quo_. They serve their country with the view of making their country serve them. Whatever the usual deliberations of the body among whom I found myself might be, the all-absorbing topic of the evening set all else aside. "We approach the moment," cried one, a young man with a lisping intonation and great possessions, as I afterwards learnt. "Now is the time for all to do as I have done. I have sent everything out of the country. I and my sword remain for France." He spoke truly. He and his sword now lie side by side--in French soil. "Let all do the same," growled an old man, with eyes flashing beneath his great white brows. "All who know," suggested one, significantly. Whereupon arose a great discussion, and many names were uttered that were familiar to me--among others, indeed, that of my friend, John Turner. I noticed that many laughed when his name was mentioned. "Oh!" they cried. "You may leave John Turner to care for his own affairs. _Il est fin celui-la._" Again a familiar name fell on my ears, and this was received with groans and derisive laughter. It was that of the Baron Giraud. I gathered that there was question of warning certain financiers and rich persons outside of this circle of some danger known only to the initiated. Indeed, the wealthy were sending their money out of the country as fast and as secretly as possible. "No, no," cried the young man I have mentioned; "the Baron Giraud--a fine Baron, heaven knows!--has risen with the Empire--nor has he been over-scrupulous as to whom he trod underfoot. With the Empire he must fall." And one and all fell to abusing the Baron Giraud. He was a thief, and a despoiler of the widow and orphan. His wealth had been acquired not honestly, but at the expense,--nay, at the ruin--of others. He was an unwholesome growth of a mushroom age--a bad man, whose god was gold and gain his only ambition. "If such men are to grow in France and govern her, then woe to France," cried one prophetic voice. Indeed, if half we heard was true of the Baron Giraud, he must have been a fine scoundrel, and I had little compunction in agreeing that he deserved no consideration at the hands of honest men. The cooler heads deemed it wise to withhold from the Baron certain details of the public feeling, not out of spite, but because such knowledge could not be trusted in notoriously unscrupulous hands. He would but turn it to money.