Messieurs les Ambassadeurs," he added, bowing to the two diplomats, "will see that in the element of profound intrigue the political men of the present day are far behind the Machiavellis whom the waves of the popular will lifted, in 1793, above the storm,--some of whom have 'found,' as the old song says, 'a haven.' To be anything in France in these days a man must have been tossed in those tempests." "It seems to me," said the princess, smiling, "that from that point of view the present state of things under your regime leaves nothing to be desired." A well-bred laugh went round the room, and even the prime minister himself could not help smiling.

The ambassadors seemed impatient for the tale; de Marsay coughed dryly and silence was obtained.
"On a June night in 1800," began the minister, "about three in the morning, just as daylight was beginning to pale the brilliancy of the wax candles, two men tired of playing at _bouillotte_ (or who were playing merely to keep others employed) left the salon of the ministry of foreign affairs, then situated in the rue du Bac, and went apart into a boudoir.

These two men, of whom one is dead and the other has _one_ foot in the grave, were, each in his own way, equally extraordinary.
Both had been priests; both had abjured religion; both were married.

One had been merely an Oratorian, the other had worn the mitre of a bishop.
The first was named Fouche; I shall not tell you the name of the second;[*] both were then mere simple citizens--with very little simplicity.

When they were seen to leave the salon and enter the boudoir, the rest of the company present showed a certain curiosity.