“At Trieste.”

“Still there?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, this republic!” exclaimed La Vieuville.  “What havoc from so slight a cause!  To think that this revolution was the result of a deficit of only a few millions!”

“Insignificant beginnings are not always to be trusted.”

“Everything goes wrong,” replied La Vieuville.

“Yes; La Rouarie is dead.  Du Dresnay is an idiot.  What wretched leaders are all those bishops,—­this Coucy, bishop of La Rochelle; Beaupoll Saint-Aulaire, bishop of Poitiers; Mercy, bishop of Luzon, a lover of Madame de l’Eschasserie——­”

“Whose name is Servanteau, you know, commander.  Eschasserie is the name of an estate.”

“And that false bishop of Agra, who is a cure of I know not what!”

“Of Dol.  His name is Guillot de Folleville.  But then he is brave, and knows how to fight.”

“Priests when one needs soldiers! bishops who are no bishops at all! generals who are no generals!”

La Vieuville interrupted Boisberthelot.

“Have you the Moniteur in your stateroom, commander?”

“Yes.”

“What are they giving now in Paris?”

“‘Adele and Pauline’ and ‘La Caverne.’”

“I should like to see that.”

“You may.  We shall be in Paris in a month.”

Boisberthelot thought a moment, and then added: 

“At the latest,—­so Mr. Windham told Lord Hood.”

“Then, commander, I take it affairs are not going so very badly?”

“All would go well, provided that the Breton war were well managed.”

De Vieuville shook his head.

“Commander,” he said, “are we to land the marines?”

“Certainly, if the coast is friendly, but not otherwise.  In some cases war must force the gates; in others it can slip through them.  Civil war must always keep a false key in its pocket.  We will do all we can; but one must have a chief.”

And Boisberthelot added thoughtfully,—­

“What do you think of the Chevalier de Dieuzie, La Vieuville?”

“Do you mean the younger?”

“Yes.”

“For a commander?”

“Yes.”

“He is only good for a pitched battle in the open field.  It is only the peasant who knows the underbrush.”

“In that case, you may as well resign yourself to Generals Stofflet and Cathelineau.”

La Vieuville mediated for a moment; then he said,—­

“What we need is a prince,—­a French prince, a prince of the blood, a real prince.”

“How can that be?  He who says ’prince’——­”

“Says ‘coward.’  I know it, commander.  But we need him for the impression he would produce upon the herd.”

“My dear chevalier, the princes don’t care to come.”

“We will do without them.”

Boisberthelot pressed his hand mechanically against his forehead, as if striving to evoke an idea.  He resumed,—­