The Englishman, on the contrary, appeared especially organized to listen and to hear. When his aural apparatus had been once struck by the sound of a voice he could not forget it, and after ten or even twenty years he would have recognized it among a thousand. His ears, to be sure, had not the power of moving as freely as those of animals who are provided with large auditory flaps; but, since scientific men know that human ears possess, in fact, a very limited power of movement, we should not be far wrong in affirming that those of the said Englishman became erect, and turned in all directions while endeavoring to gather in the sounds, in a manner apparent only to the naturalist. It must be observed that this perfection of sight and hearing was of wonderful assistance to these two men in their vocation, for the Englishman acted as correspondent of the Daily Telegraph and the Frenchman, as correspondent of what newspaper, or of what newspapers, he did not say; and when asked, he replied in a jocular manner that he corresponded with “his cousin Madeleine.” This Frenchman, however, neath his careless surface, was wonderfully shrewd and sagacious. Even while speaking at random, perhaps the better to hide his desire to learn, he never forgot himself. His loquacity even helped him to conceal his thoughts, and he was perhaps even more discreet than his confrère of the Daily Telegraph. Both were present at this fête given at the New Palace on the night of the 15th of July in their character of reporters, and for greater edification of their readers.
It is needless to say that these two men were devoted to their mission in the world—that they delighted to throw themselves in the track of the most unexpected intelligence—that nothing terrified or discouraged them from succeeding—that they possessed the imperturbable sangfroid and the genuine intrepidity of men of their calling. Enthusiastic jockeys in this steeplechase, this hunt after information, they leaped hedges, crossed rivers, sprang over fences, with the ardor of pure-blooded racers, who will run “a good first” or die!
Their journals did not restrict them with regard to money—the surest, the most rapid, the most perfect element of information known to this day. It must also be added, to their honor, that neither the one nor the other ever looked over or listened at the walls of private life, and that they only exercised their vocation when political or social interests were at stake. In a word, they made what has been for some years called “the great political and military reports.”
It will be seen, in following them, that they had generally an independent mode of viewing events, and, above all, their consequences, each having his own way of observing and appreciating. The object to be obtained being of adequate value, they never failed to expend the money required.
The French correspondent was named Alcide Jolivet. Harry Blount was the name of the Englishman. They had just met for the first time at this fête in the New Palace, of which they had been ordered to give an account in their papers. The dissimilarity of their characters, added to a certain amount of jealousy, which generally exists between rivals in the same calling, might have rendered them but little sympathetic. However, they did not avoid one another, but endeavored rather to exchange with each other the chat of the day. They were sportsmen, after all, hunting on the same ground, in the same preserve. That which one missed might be advantageously secured by the other, and it was to their interest to meet and converse together.
This evening they were both on the look out; they felt, in fact, that there was something in the air.
“Even should it be only a wildgoose chase,” said Alcide Jolivet to himself, “it may be worth powder and shot.”
The two correspondents therefore began by cautiously sounding each other.
“Really, my dear sir, this little fête is charming!” said Alcide Jolivet pleasantly, thinking himself obliged to begin the conversation with this eminently French phrase.
“I have telegraphed already, ‘splendid!’ ” replied Harry Blount calmly, employing the word specially devoted to expressing admiration by all subjects of the United Kingdom.
“Nevertheless,” added Alcide Jolivet, “I felt compelled to remark to my cousin—”
“Your cousin?” repeated Harry Blount in a tone of surprise, interrupting his brother of the pen.
“Yes,” returned Alcide Jolivet, “my cousin Madeleine … It is with her that I correspond, and she likes to be quickly and well informed, does my cousin … I therefore remarked to her that, during this fête, a sort of cloud had appeared to overshadow the sovereign’s brow.”
“To me, it seemed radiant,” replied Harry Blount, who perhaps, wished to conceal his real opinion on this topic.
“And, naturally, you made it ‘radiant,’ in the columns of the Daily Telegraph.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you remember, Mr. Blount, what occurred at Zakret in 1812?”
“I remember it as well as if I had been there, sir,” replied the English correspondent.
“Then,” continued Alcide Jolivet, “you know that, in the middle of a fête given in his honor, it was announced to the Emperor Alexander that Napoleon had just crossed the Neman with the vanguard of the French army. Nevertheless the Emperor did not leave the fête, and notwithstanding the extreme gravity of intelligence which might cost him his empire, he did not allow himself to show more uneasiness …”
“Than our host exhibited when General Kissoff informed him that the telegraphic wires had just been cut between the frontier and the government of Irkutsk.”
“Ah! you are aware of that?”
“I am!”
“As regards myself, it would be difficult to avoid knowing it, since my last
