There was no sign of the Duchess or Cristine or Oliphant. Whatever had happened, that household today required all hands on deck, and I was left alone with the Americans. In my day I have supped with the Macaronies, I have held up my head at the Cocoa Tree, I have avoided the floor at hunt dinners, I have drunk glass to glass with Tom Carteron. But never before have I seen such noble consumers of good liquor as those four gentlemen from beyond the Atlantic. They drank the strong red Cyprus as if it had been spring-water. “The dust of your Italian roads takes some cleansing, Mr. Townshend,” was their only excuse, but in truth none was needed. The wine seemed only to thaw their iron decorum. Without any surcease of dignity they grew communicative, and passed from lands to peoples and from peoples to constitutions. Before we knew it we were embarked upon high politics.
Naturally we did not differ on the war. Like me, they held it to have been a grievous necessity. They had no bitterness against England, only regrets for her blunders. Of his Majesty they spoke with respect, of his Majesty’s advisers with dignified condemnation. They thought highly of our troops in America; less highly of our generals.
“Look you, sir,” said Mr. Galloway, “in a war such as we have witnessed the Almighty is the only strategist. You fight against the forces of Nature, and a newcomer little knows that the success or failure of every operation he can conceive depends not upon generalship, but upon the confirmation of a vast country. Our generals, with this in mind and with fewer men, could make all your schemes miscarry. Had the English soldiers not been of such stubborn stuff, we should have been victors from the first. Our leader was not General Washington but General America, and his brigadiers were forests, swamps, lakes, rivers, and high mountains.”
“And now,” I said, “having won, you have the greatest of human experiments before you. Your business is to show that the Saxon stock is adaptable to a republic.”
It seemed to me that they exchanged glances.
“We are not pedants,” said Mr. Fish, “and have no desire to dispute about the form of a constitution. A people may be as free under a king as under a senate. Liberty is not the lackey of any type of government.”
These were strange words from a member of a race whom I had thought wedded to the republicanism of Helvidius Priscus.
“As a loyal subject of a monarchy,” I said, “I must agree with you. But your hands are tied, for I cannot picture the establishment of a House of Washington and—if not, where are you to turn for your sovereign?”
Again a smile seemed to pass among the four.
“We are experimenters, as you say, sir, and must go slowly. In the meantime, we have an authority which keeps peace and property safe. We are at leisure to cast our eyes round and meditate on the future.”
“Then, gentlemen,” said I, “you take an excellent way of meditation in visiting this museum of old sovereignties. Here you have the relics of any government you please—a dozen republics, tyrannies, theocracies, merchant confederations, kingdoms, and more than one empire. You have your choice. I am tolerably familiar with the land, and if I can assist you I am at your service.”
They thanked me gravely “We have letters,” said Mr. Galloway; “one in especial is to a gentleman whom we hope to meet in this place. Have you heard in your travels of the Count of Albany?”
“He has arrived,” said I, “two days ago. Even now he is in the chamber above us at dinner.”
The news interested them hugely.
“You have seen him?” they cried. “What is he like?”
“An elderly gentleman in poor health, a man who has travelled much, and, I judge, has suffered something from fortune. He has a fondness for the English, so you will be welcome, sirs; but he was indisposed yesterday, and may still be unable to receive you. His daughter travels with him and tends his old age.”
“And you—you have spoken with him?”
“The night before last I was in his company. We talked of many things, including the late war. He is somewhat of your opinion on matters of government.”
The four looked at each other, and then Mr. Galloway rose.
“I ask your permission, Mr. Townshend, to consult for a moment with my friends. The matter is of some importance, and I would beg you to await us.” So saying, he led the others out of doors, and I heard them withdraw to a corner of the loggia. Now, thought I, there is something afoot, and my long-sought romance approaches fruition. The company of the Marjolaine, whom the Count had sung of, have arrived at last.
Presently they returned and seated themselves at the table.
“You can be of great assistance to us, Mr. Townshend, and we would fain take you into our confidence. Are you aware who is this Count of Albany?”
I nodded. “It is a thin disguise to one familiar with history.”
“Have you reached any estimate of his character or capabilities? You speak to friends, and, let me tell you, it is a matter which deeply concerns the Count’s interests.”
“I think him a kindly and pathetic old gentleman. He naturally bears the mark of forty years’ sojourn in the wilderness.”
Mr. Galloway took snuff.
“We have business with him, but it is business which stands in need of an
