“I understand enough,” said the general, “to see that we must not act with precipitation. An Irish business is a thing to be turned over several times.” “But yet,” said a Pole, “what hope for humanity except from the rising of an oppressed nationality? We have offered ourselves on the altar, and in vain! Greece is too small, and Roumania—though both of them are ready to do any thing; but they would be the mere tools of Russia. Ireland alone remains, and she is at our feet.” “The peoples will never succeed until they have a fleet,” said a German. “Then you could land as many rifles as you like, or any thing else. To have a fleet we rose against Denmark in my country, but we have been betrayed. Nevertheless, Germany will yet be united, and she can only be united as a republic. Then she will be the mistress of the seas.” “That is the mission of Italy,” said Perroni. “Italy—with the traditions of Genoa, Venice, Pisa—Italy is plainly indicated as the future mistress of the seas.” “I beg your pardon,” said the German; “the future mistress of the sees is the land of the Viking. It is the forests of the Baltic that will build the Best of the future. You have no timber in Italy.” “Timber is no longer wanted,” said Perroni. “Nor do I know of what will be formed the fleets of the future. But the sovereignty of the seas depends upon seamen, and the nautical genius of the Italians—” “Comrades,” said the general, “we have discussed to-night a great subject. For my part I have travelled rather briskly, as you wished it. I should like to sleep on this affair.” “‘Tis most reasonable,” said the president. “Our refreshment at council is very spare,” he continued, and he pointed to a vase of water and some glasses ranged round it in the middle of the table; “but we always drink one toast, general, before we separate. It is to one whom you love, and whom you have served well. Fill glasses, brethren and now ‘TO MARY-ANNE.’” If they had been inspired by the grape, nothing could be more animated and even excited than all their countenances suddenly became. The cheer might have been heard in the coffee-room, as they expressed, in the phrases of many languages, the never-failing and never-flagging enthusiasm invoked by the toast of their mistress. CHAPTER 12 “Did you read that paragraph, mamma?” inquired Lady Corisande of the duchess, in a tone of some seriousness. “I did.” “And what did you think of it?” “It filled me with so much amazement that I have hardly begun to think.” “And Bertram never gave a hint of such things!” “Let us believe they are quite untrue.” “I hope Bertram is in no danger,” said his sister. “Heaven forbid!” exclaimed the mother, with unaffected alarm. “I know not how it is,” said Lady Corisande, “but I frequently feel that some great woe is hanging over our country.” “You must dismiss such thoughts, my child; they are fanciful.”