“More than satisfied, Mirabeau; the coming of this man is fortunate. It would have been a severe stain upon our pride had I been compelled to make advances in your behalf, though I would have done it for the sake of my country—I would have done it; for it wounds me to know that a son of mine should be an alien from the court of his sovereign—not to say a leader among his enemies. The adventure of our retainer will save us from much humiliation. Is his discretion to be trusted?” “Entirely. He has but one ambition in this world, and that rests in the exaltation of our family. Even your fastidious pride is safe with Jacques.” “I am glad to hear it. If this reconciliation can be brought about, I shall go back to my estate satisfied that a noble work has been done.” The old gentleman took out his gold snuff-box, tapped the diamond-studded lid daintily, and gathering a pinch between his thumb and finger, inhaled it with gentle satisfaction. “Now,” he continued, softly, inhaling his snuff, while he held the box in his left hand ready for a second application, “I can pay my homage to their majesties without a blush. Once more my son is in harmony with his family—all shall be forgotten, all forgiven.” Mirabeau’s face kindled hotly. He had so long commanded those around him that this tone of forbearance and forgiveness irritated his pride, and the effeminate indulgence into which the old man so readily sunk, came near to arousing his contempt. To a man whose life was spent among the clubs of Paris, and whose ambition had been appeased by the homage of that roaming class of citizens, which was even now ready to throw off all law at his command, the refinements to which he was born seemed trivial and weak. In his riotous life he had long since cast aside all the gentler habits of his class, and was disposed to regard the old man, who had spent half his life in redeeming the waste of a son’s extravagance, as a supine old aristocrat, who might be induced to make even greater sacrifices, in order to win him back from the people. CHAPTER XXVI. THE LANDLADY OF THE SWAN PLUMES HERSELF. Marguerite spent the morning after her adventure at the Swiss cottage, in the front chamber, to which Dame Tillery had been ready to conduct her on the previous day. The good dame was in high spirits after her experience with royalty. It was with great difficulty she could keep back the exhilaration of her pride sufficiently to preserve that discreet silence which the queen had so delicately recommended. Whenever a customer came in, she found dangerous words of triumph struggling to escape; and nothing but an application of the plump hand to her mouth kept them from proclaiming the glory of her visit to the whole town.