A white canvas bag, marked “F. O., No. 18,” lay on the table; and it was of that same bag and its possible fortunes two others, not fully one hundred yards off, were then talking: so is it that in life we are often so near to, and so remote from, the inanimate object around which our thoughts and hopes, and sometimes our very destinies, revolve. “I am afraid,” said the Prince, at last, “that we have got nothing here but the formal despatches, of which Ludolf has sent us copies already. Are there no 'Private and Confidential'?” “Yes, here is one for Sir Joseph Trevor himself,” said Caffarelli, handing a square-shaped letter to Maitland. Maitland glanced hurriedly over it, and muttered: “London gossip, Craddock's divorce case, the partridge-shooting,--ah, here it is! 'I suppose you are right about the expedition, but say nothing of it in the despatches. We shall be called on one of these days for a blue-book, and very blue we should look, if it were seen that amidst our wise counsels to Caraffa we were secretly aware of what G. was preparing.'” “It must be 'C. was preparing,'” broke in Caraffa; “it means Cavour.” “No; he speaks of Garibaldi,” said Maitland. “Garibaldi!” cried Caraffa, laughing. “And are there still _gobemouches_ in England who believe in the Filibuster?” “I believe in him, for one,” said Maitland, fiercely, for the phrase irritated him; “and I say, too, that such a Filibuster on our side would be worth thirty thousand of those great hulking grenadiers you passed in review this morning.” “Don't tell the King so when you wait on him to-morrow, that's all!” said the Minister, with a sneering smile. “Read on,” broke in Caffarelli, who was not at all sure what the discussion might lead to. “Perhaps, too, you would class Count Cavour amongst these _gobemouches_,” said Maitland, angrily; “for he is also a believer in Garibaldi.” “We can resume this conversation at Caserta to-morrow before his Majesty,” said Caraffa, with the same mocking smile; “pray, now, let me hear the remainder of that despatch.” “'It is not easy to say,'” read he aloud from the letter, “'what France intends or wishes. C. says--'” “Who is C.?” asked Caraffa, hastily. “C. means Cowley, probably,--'that the Emperor would not willingly see Piedmontese troops at Naples; nor is he prepared to witness a new map of the Peninsula. We, of course, will do nothing either way--'” “Read that again,” broke in Caraffa. “'We, of course, will do nothing either way; but that resolve is not to prevent your tendering counsel with a high hand, all the more since the events which the next few months will develop will all of them seem of our provoking, and part and parcel of a matured and long meditated policy.'” “_Bentssimo!_” cried the minister, rubbing his hands in delight. “If we reform, it is the Whigs have reformed us. If we fall, it is the Whigs have crushed us.”