"The Republic!" exclaimed the Count of Plouernel. "What Republic?"
"The one that will be proclaimed in Paris, within shortly, after the downfall of Louis Philippe."
"The downfall of Louis Philippe! The Republic in France--and within shortly!"
"Yes, the French Republic--one, and indivisible--proclaimed in our interest--provided we know how to wait--"
And the Cardinal indulged in a singular smile as he inhaled a pinch of snuff.
The Count contemplated him dumbfounded. He looked as if he had just dropped down from the clouds.
"I see, my poor Gonthram, you must have been either blind or deaf," the Cardinal proceeded, shrugging his shoulders. "Do you see nothing in those revolutionary banquets that have succeeded one another throughout the principal cities of France during the last three months?"
"Ha! Ha! Ha! uncle," answered the Count, laughing out aloud; "do you take those bibbers of blue wine, those swallowers of veal--at twenty sous a plate--to be capable of making a revolution?"
"The simpletons--I can not blame them, so much the worse--the simpletons have turned the heads of the bigger simpletons who listened to them. There is nothing, in and of itself, so stupid as gunpowder; is there? Yet that does not prevent it from exploding. Well, these banqueters have played with gunpowder. The mine is about to explode, and it will blow up the throne of the Orleans dynasty."
"You are joking, uncle. There are fifty thousand soldiers in the city. If the mob but raise a finger it will be mowed down like grass. Everybody is so completely at ease regarding the state of Paris that, despite the seeming commotion of yesterday, the troops have not even been furnished with passwords in the barracks."
"Is that so? Well, so much the better!" put in the Cardinal, rubbing his hands. "If their government is seized with the vertigo, these Orleans will quickly vacate their seats for the Republic, and our turn will come all the sooner."
At this point his Eminence was interrupted by two raps given at the door of the salon that communicated with the boudoir. Promptly upon the raps followed the following ditty, still to the tune of _La Rifla_, and sung by Pradeline in measured rhythm on the other side of the door: