Cosmo was gratified by the anxiety of a king’s friend to, as it were, justify himself before his father. He discovered that even this old royalist had been forced, if only for a moment, to regret the days of imperial victories. The Marquis tapped his snuffbox, took a pinch of snuff, and composed himself.
“Of course when this Turin mission was unexpectedly pressed on me I went to the King himself and explained that, having refused a much higher post, I could not think of accepting this one. But the King pointed out that this was an altogether different position. The King of Sardinia was his brother-in-law. There was nothing to say against such an argument. His Majesty was also good enough to say that he was anxious to grant me any favour I might ask. I didn’t want any favours but I had to think of something on the spur of the moment and I begged for a special right of entrée on days on which there are no receptions. I couldn’t resist so much graciousness,” continued the Marquis. “I have managed to keep clear of prejudices that poison and endanger the hopes of this restoration, but I am a royalist, a man of my own time. Remember to tell your father all this, my dear young friend.”
“I shall not fail,” said Cosmo, wondering within himself at the power of such a strange argument, yet feeling a liking and respect for that old man torn between rejoicing and sorrow at the end of his troubled life.
“I should like him to know, too,” the Marquis said in his bland and friendly voice, “that M. de Talleyrand just before he left for Vienna held out to me the prospect of the London Embassy later. That, certainly, I would not refuse, if only to be nearer a man to whom my obligations are immense and only equalled by the affection I had borne towards him through all those unhappy years.”
“My father—” began Cosmo—“I ought to have given you his message before—told me to give you his love and to tell you that when you are tired of your grandeurs there is always a large place for you in his house.”
Cosmo was surprised at the sudden movement of the Marquis, who leaned over the arm of his chair and put his hand over his eyes. For a time complete silence reigned in the room. Then Cosmo said:
“I think somebody is scratching at the door.”
The Marquis sat up and listened, then raising his voice: “You may come in.”
The man in black clothes, entering through the hidden door, stopped at some distance in a respectful attitude. The Marquis beckoned him to approach, and the man, bending to his ear, said in a low voice which was, however, audible to Cosmo: “He is here.” The Marquis answered in an undertone, “He came rather early. He must wait,” at which the man murmured something which Cosmo couldn’t hear. He became aware that the Marquis looked at him irresolutely before he said:
“My dear boy, you will have to make your entrance into my daughter’s salon together with me. I thought of sending you back the way you came, but as a matter of fact the passage is blocked. … Bring him in and let him sit here after we are gone,” he directed the man in black, and Cosmo only then recognized Bernard, the servant of proved fidelity in all the misfortunes of the D’Armand family. Bernard withdrew without responding in any way to Cosmo’s smile of recognition. “In my position,” continued the Marquis, “I have to make use of agents more or less shady. Those men often object to being seen. Their occupation is risky. There is a man of that sort waiting in the corridor.”
Cosmo said he was at the Marquis’s orders, but the ambassador remained in the armchair, tapping the lid of his snuffbox slightly.
“You saw my daughter this morning, I understand.” Cosmo made an assenting bow. Madame de Montevesso had done him the honour to receive him in the morning.
“You speak French very well,” said the Marquis. “I don’t really know why the English are supposed to be bad linguists. We French are much worse. Did you two speak French together?”
“No,” said Cosmo, “we spoke in English. It was Madame de Montevesso’s own choice.”
“She hasn’t quite forgotten it, has she?”
“It struck me,” said Cosmo, “that your daughter has forgotten neither the language nor the people, nor the sights of her early life. I was touched by the fidelity of her memory and the warmth of her feelings.”
His own tone had warmth enough in it to make the Marquis look up at him. There was a short pause. “None of us are likely to forget those days of noble and infinite kindness. We were but vagrants on a hostile earth. My daughter could not have forgotten! As long as there is anybody of our name left …”
The Marquis checked himself abruptly, but almost at once went on in a slightly changed tone: “But I am alone of my name now. I wish I had had a son so that gratitude could have been perpetuated from generation to generation and become a traditional thing between our two families. But this is not to be. Perhaps you didn’t know I had a brother. He was much younger than myself and I loved him as though he had been my son. Directly I had placed my wife and child in safety, your father insisted on giving me the means to return to France secretly in order to try and save that young head. But all my attempts failed. It fell on the scaffold. He was one of the last victims of the sanguinary madness of that
