“Hear this, Préfet,” said De Beauvais: “'From the times of Colbert to the present'--what think you? the allusion right royal, is it not?--'From the times of Colbert our negotiations have been always conducted in this manner.'” “Sir, I beseech you read no more of that intolerable nonsense.” “And here,” continued the marquis, “follows a special invocation of the benediction of Heaven on the just efforts which France is called on to make, to repress the insolent aggression of England. Abbé, this concerns you.” “Of course,” said he, meekly. “I am quite prepared to pray for the party in power; if Heaven but leaves them there, I must conclude they deserve it.” A doubtful look, as if he but half understood him, was the only reply the old préfet made to this speech; at which the laughter of the others could no longer be repressed, and burst forth most heartily. “But let us read on. Whose style is this, think you? 'France possessed within her dominion every nation from the North Sea to the Adriatic. And how did she employ her power?--in restoring to Batavia self-government; in giving liberty to Switzerland; and in ceding Venice to Austria, while the troops at the very gates of Vienna are halted and repass the Rhine once more. Are these the evidences of ambition? Are these the signs of that overweening lust of territory with which England dares to reproach us? And if such passions prevailed, what was easier than to have indulged them? Was not Italy our own? Were not Batavia, Switzerland, Portugal, all ours? But no, peace was the desire of the nation; peace at any cost. The colony of St. Domingo, that immense territory, was not conceived a sacrifice too great to secure such a blessing.'” “Pardieu! De Beauvais, I can bear it no longer.” “You must let me give you the reverse of the medal. Hear now what England has done.” “He writes well, at least for the taste of newspaper readers,” said the abbé, musingly; “but still he only understands the pen as he does the sword,--it must be a weapon of attack.” “Who is the writer, then?” said I, in a half-whisper. “Who!--can you doubt it?--Bonaparte himself. What other man in France would venture to pronounce so authoritatively on the prospects and the intentions of the nation?” “Or who,” said the abbé, in his dry manner, “could speak with such accuracy of the 'Illustrious and Magnanimous Chief 'that rules her destinies?” “It is growing late,” said the préfet, with the air of one who took no pleasure in the conversation, “and I start for Rouen to-morrow morning.” “Come, come, préfet! one bumper before we part,” said Be Beauvais. “Something has put you out of temper this evening; yet I think I know a toast can restore you to good-humor again.” The old man lifted his hand with a gesture of caution, while he suddenly directed a look towards me.