Behold me now speeding northwards on the wings of love, ballasted by Mr. Romaine. But, indeed, that worthy man climbed into the _caleche_ with something less than his habitual gravity. He was obviously and pardonably flushed with triumph. I observed that now and again he smiled to himself in the twilight, or drew in his breath and emitted it with a martial _pouf_! And when he began to talk--which he did as soon as we were clear of the Saint-Denis barrier--the points of the family lawyer were untrussed. He leaned back in the _caleche_ with the air of a man who had subscribed to the Peace of Europe, and dined well on top of it. He criticised the fortifications with a wave of his toothpick, and discoursed derisively and at large on the Emperor's abdication, on the treachery of the Duke of Ragusa, on the prospects of the Bourbons, and on the character of M. Talleyrand, with anecdotes which made up in raciness for what they lacked in authenticity. We were bowling through La Chapelle, when he pulled out his snuff-box and proffered it. "You are silent, Mr. Anne." "I was waiting for the chorus," said I. "'Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves: and Britons never, never, never----' Come, out with it!" "Well," he retorted: "and I hope the tune will come natural to you before long." "O, give me time, my dear sir! I have seen the Cossacks enter Paris, and the Parisians decorate their poodles with the Cross of the Legion of Honour. I have seen them hoist a wretch on the Vendome column, to smite the bronze face of the man of Austerlitz. I have seen the _salle_ of the Opera rise to applaud a blatant fat fellow singing the praises of the Prussian--and to that tune of _Vive Henri Quatre_! I have seen, in my cousin Alain, of what the best blood in France is capable. Also, I have seen peasant boys--unripe crops of the later levies--mown down by grapeshot--raise themselves on their elbows to cheer for France and the little man in grey. In time, Mr. Romaine, no doubt my memory will confuse these lads with their betters, and their mothers with the ladies of the _salle de l'Opera_: just as in time, no doubt, I shall find myself Justice of the Peace, and Deputy-Lieutenant of the shire of Buckingham. I am changing my country, as you remind me: and, on my faith, she has no place for me. But, for the sake of her, I have explored and found the best of her--in my new country's prisons. And I repeat, you must give me time." "Tut, tut!" was his comment, as I searched for tinder box and sulphur match to relight my segar. "We must get you into Parliament, Mr. Anne. You have the gift."