As Mr. Fox is about to go, he recollects himself. Oh, by the way, one thing more. It is not pleasant to mingle sadness with rejoicing. But Mr. Fox is the reluctant bearer of a gentle reproach from the great government at Washington. Her French children,--are they not just a little remiss? And when she is so bountiful, so thoughtful! “_Mais_--how you mean?” (with surprise.) Why,--and there is a certain pathos in Mr. Fox's tone, as he stands facing Sorel, with the gaze of a loving, reproachful friend,--why, how many of the Frenchmen of this quarter are ever seen now at the pleasant gatherings of the Republicans, in the wardroom? The Republic, the Republicans,--it is all one. Is that quite kind to the Republic? Should not her French children, on their part, show filial devotion to the fond government? “_Mais_,” M. Sorel swiftly explains, “they are weary of going; they understand nothing. One sits and smokes a little while, and one talks; then one puts a little ticket into one's hand; one is jammed into a long file; one slips his ticket into a box; he knows not for whom he is voting; it is like a flock of sheep. What is the use of going?” Ah! that is the trouble? Then they are unjustly reproached. The government has indeed neglected to guide them. But suppose that some officer of the government--Mr. Fox himself, for instance--will be at the meeting? Then can M. Sorel induce those good French citizens to come? Induce them! They will be only too ready; in fact, at a word from M. Sorel, and particularly when the news of this great honor to Fidèle shall have spread abroad, twenty, thirty, forty will go to every meeting,--that is, if a friend be there to guide them. At the very next meeting, _monsieur_ shall see whether the great government's French children are neglectful! Whereupon the great government, in the person of Mr. Fox, then and there falls in spirit upon the neck of her French citizen-children, represented by Sorel and Fidèle, and full reconciliation is made. Yes, Mr. Fox will come again. M. Sorel must introduce him to those brave Frenchmen, his friends and neighbors; Mr. Fox must grasp them by the hand, one by one. Sorel must take him to the _Société des Franco-Américains_, where they gather. The government wishes to know them better. And (this in a confidential whisper) there may be other places to be filled. What! Suppose, now, that the government should some day demand the services of M. Sorel himself in the custom-house; and, since he is a business man, at a still larger salary than a thousand dollars a year! “Ah, _monsieur_” (in a tone of playful reproach), “_vous êtes un flatteur, n'est ce pas?_ You know,--I guess you giv'n' me taffy.” Such a hero as Fidèle is! No more balloons, no more carting about of “_ma musique_;” a square room upstairs, a bottle of wine at dinner, short hours, distinction,--in fine, all that the heart can wish. I have been speaking in the present: I should have spoken in the past.