“‘I tried to cheer him with soothing words, and told him it was likely that his day for thinking of this sort of thing was yet far off; that it was a mere fit of depression which caused him to dwell upon such gloomy possibilities; and I ventured to assure him that a good dinner and a glass of our friend Robert’s best Chambertin would soon produce a good effect in calming his sudden misgivings about the future. “‘He shook his head mournfully: “These are _banal_ phrases, and you know it,” said he; “they are unworthy of you. I am neither a child nor a woman, and fear not to listen to the whispering voice of my own soul. The truth is, I _do_ feel, at this moment, most singularly overcome by a sadness hitherto unknown—as if my task being, as it were, but just begun, needed no longer my exertions to finish it.” He laid his hand upon my knee, and looked in my face, wherein must have been expressed some anxiety, for I knew not what to think of the mood in which I beheld him, and added gently, “Should anything happen to me before long, you will think of what I have been saying.” “His voice was so altered, and his countenance so drawn, that I became moved with sympathy, and began to fancy that he really felt very ill, but, with an _amour propre_, which, however misplaced on such an occasion, would still have been compatible with his character, I thought he might have been concealing his state until he could no longer bear up against it. I now listened, in mingled pity and interest, while he explained to me many of his intentions regarding the disposal of his property, in case he should die without a written testament. The education of his natural son, and the proper disposal of his papers, were the subjects upon which he displayed the most concern. He had already taken the precaution to have the greater part of his documents of importance conveyed to a trusty friend in Holland, and but few of those which remained in France were in his own house. He told me where these few were concealed, and bade me to take charge of them, “In case,” he always would repeat, “that anything _fâcheux_ (that was his word) should befal him.” “‘He then spoke long and earnestly about his political career. In the single hour that we passed thus seated side by side, amid the hurry and bustle of the crowds who were hastening on all sides to the different _restaurateurs_ beneath the galleries, did we converse together upon the splendid past, the exciting present, and the TERRIFIC FUTURE. We spoke in earnest whispers, pre-occupied and abstracted from all around, as though we had been conspirators in the bosom of some forest solitude. The whole scene—the day—the hour, I can conjure up in colours fresh and vivid, as though they had vanished but one moment ago, and nothing else had been impressed on the canvas of my memory during all the long years since!’