Every one must feel that the last word has not been said on that extraordinary transaction which convulsed France, and shocked Europe, during the close of the nineteenth century, under the name of the Dreyfus Case.

It is true that no effort has been spared by the Government of the Republic to put an end to an agitation which threatened to develop into a civil war. A general amnesty has been proclaimed; the courts of law have been forbidden to entertain any proceedings involving the guilt or innocence of Captain Dreyfus, his accusers or his partisans, and the French press has been appealed to, in the name of patriotism, to close its columns to all further discussion of the dangerous topic.

Such an attitude, adopted in order to save France from disruption, is not without a certain dignity; but it is at the same time terribly unjust. It is as if France had repeated to the victim of the Devil’s Isle the memorable words—‘It is better that one man should die for the people.’

The one person in Europe who is completely ignorant of the true motives underlying this grim tragedy is without doubt Dreyfus himself. That taciturn, commonplace figure, suddenly elevated into the position of criminal, martyr, and hero, was merely the shuttlecock driven through the air by unseen hands. Even if he was guilty of writing the celebrated bordereau—a question which the Court of Rennes decided in the affirmative—he must have done it by the order of others, given for reasons which he did not comprehend.

It will be remembered that before and during the second trial of Dreyfus, the strongest efforts were put forth on his behalf by three foreign Powers—those composing the Triple Alliance. The German, Austrian, and Italian military attachés, breaking through the etiquette of their position, disclaimed, each on his personal word of honour, any dealings with the alleged spy.

Not only so, but I myself sent for the Paris correspondent of a London newspaper of high standing, and authorised him to inform his readers that the German Emperor himself was prepared personally to exculpate the accused from the charge of selling information to Germany.

This offer, made privately to the French President, was declined for the same reasons which prompted the Government to hush up the whole affair. But every thoughtful man will realise that it would not have been made unless there had been more at stake than the freedom of an obscure captain.

My own connection with the Affaire Dreyfus dates from the time of the first trial and sentence, when the theatrical spectacle of the degradation of the unfortunate officer was the theme of universal comment. At this juncture I received a visit from Colonel ——, an officer high in the Emperor’s confidence, and at that time attached to the German Embassy in Paris.

‘I have come to you,’ he announced, as soon as we found ourselves alone, ‘by command of his Imperial Majesty the Kaiser.’

I bowed respectfully as I replied—

‘I am deeply honoured by this fresh proof of his Majesty’s confidence.’

The Colonel regarded me for a moment with some curiosity.

‘You are a sort of spy, are you not?’ he inquired.

I refused to take offence at this blunt question, so natural on the part of a soldier.

‘Each of us has his own part to play,’ I explained suavely. ‘The soldier fights with the enemy in the open field; the man of my profession has to encounter the foes who burrow underground.’

Colonel —— appeared satisfied.

‘The Kaiser trusts you; that is enough for me,’ he declared. ‘You will not dare to betray this confidence?’

This time I rose to my feet, stern and contemptuous.

‘You have not come here to insult me, I suppose, Colonel? If you are the bearer of instructions from the Kaiser, be good enough to deliver them without comment; if not, I will attend to my other business.’

The German’s face betrayed his astonishment at this rebuke. He hastened to mutter an apology, which I received in silence.

‘His Majesty wishes you to investigate this Affaire Dreyfus, on his behalf. There is some secret motive for the notoriety which they are conferring on this unlucky spy’—the Colonel gave me an apprehensive glance as he pronounced this word—‘and the Kaiser is determined to find out what it is. It appears that we are being made a sort of stalking-horse in the business; it is pretended that Dreyfus was an agent of ours, which is utterly untrue.’ The German smiled sardonically as he added: ‘Our information is supplied to us from higher sources than a simple captain of artillery, and we can get as much as we choose to pay for.’

‘Is it not likely that Dreyfus may be the scapegoat of others—perhaps those higher sources to which you refer?’

The Colonel shook his head.

‘That does not explain the persistence with which they are trying to connect the affair with Germany. I have information that the heads of the French Army are representing that France is in actual danger. The bitterness with which Dreyfus is assailed is due, they pretend, to a sense of the national peril.’

‘And all that is quite untrue, I understand?’

‘So untrue that I have reason to know that Wilhelm II. has a particular desire to conciliate the French——’ The Colonel stopped abruptly as if he had been on the point of saying too much.

‘Very good. Then I am to find out for his Majesty as much as I can about this affair, and particularly why it is sought to represent Dreyfus as an agent of Germany?’

Colonel —— nodded.

It was not an easy task to set me; nevertheless, I had some hope of success. It so happened that I had formerly had transactions of a confidential nature with General Garnier, one of the foremost, if not the foremost, figure among the persecutors of Dreyfus. I had the right to approach this General as a friend, and I had reasons for believing that he might be willing to open his mouth for a sufficient consideration.

Shortly after Colonel ——’s departure, therefore, I strolled round to the General’s private residence, off the Avenue Clichy. Garnier was not at home, but I left a message with the concierge that the dealer in old coins, who had formerly sold him some Roman specimens, had just obtained others which he was anxious to submit for inspection.

As I anticipated, this message had the desired result of bringing General Garnier to see me the same night. He came, not to my public bureau, but to a little apartment in the Quartier Latin which I rent for the purpose of interviews with clients who do not wish their acquaintance with me to be known.

It was evident that my summons had annoyed, perhaps frightened, him.

‘Now, Monsieur V——, what does this mean?’ he blustered, as I closed the door behind him.

‘It means, Monsieur le Général, that I have a question to ask you, but that I do not expect you to answer it for nothing.’

Garnier was visibly relieved to discover that I had not sent for him to extort blackmail. But his reply was not encouraging.

‘I fear that you have given yourself trouble uselessly. It is not my intention to sell any information of a kind which cannot be given openly.’

I knew the man I was dealing with too well to take this answer as final.

‘Without doubt you are right to remind me that a man like yourself ought to be approached with a great deal of circumspection,’ I returned, with a mixture of politeness and irony.

Garnier’s face flushed.

‘I mean what I have said,’ he affirmed. ‘You must not suppose that you are dealing to-day with Colonel Garnier. In my position one has responsibilities to which there attaches itself a sentiment of honour, you understand, M. V——?’

My experience has not taught me that men become more scrupulous by being promoted from the rank of Colonel to that of General, but only that they become more greedy. I replied—

‘I understand of course that one does not buy old coins at the same price from a general officer as from a field officer.’

Garnier’s face assumed a look of indecision.

‘For whom are you acting, this time?’ he demanded.

‘General, if any one had asked me formerly from where I had procured my Roman coins, what do you suppose my answer would have been?’

Garnier tugged thoughtfully at his moustache, as he frowned over a refusal which was, at the same time, a proof that he could trust me.

‘Suppose you explain to me what information you are in search of?’ he said, throwing himself into a chair.

I thought the battle was won, as I responded—

‘It concerns the Dreyfus Case.’

To my surprise, Garnier bounded out of the seat into which he had just dropped.

‘As to that—impossible!’ he exclaimed with vigour. ‘That is our secret—ours, you understand.’

I listened to this declaration with secret dismay. It revealed to me that the fate of Dreyfus was in some manner connected with the interest of the heads of the French Army, in short, with Garnier’s own; and from his tone I suspected that I was questioning the arch-plotter.

There was still the chance that he might be willing to part with the secret if he could be assured that it would not be used against him.

‘Suppose I required this information on behalf of a friendly monarch, who is himself a soldier, and who might be willing to pledge his word that it should not be made use of to your disadvantage?’

Garnier gazed at me as though he would have read the name of this monarch in my eyes.

‘Impossible,’ he repeated, in a tone of real regret; ‘twice impossible!’ And, as though anxious to convince me that his refusal was not unfriendly, he added—‘It is not a question of a Boulanger this time.’

Perceiving that I could not press him further without showing my own hand, I reluctantly allowed Garnier to depart. He had in reality told me more than he suspected.

In the first place, he had convinced me that the Kaiser’s suspicions were not idle, by his reception of my hint that I was acting for a foreign Power. If the ferocious sentence on Dreyfus had been inspired by spite against an unpopular officer, or by a desire to find a scapegoat for bigger traitors; or if it had merely been an episode in the secret duel between the Church and the Freemasons, as the champions of Dreyfus were inclined to believe, there would have been no meaning in that regretful ‘Twice impossible!’ If Garnier had refused to sell his secret to a foreign Power, I knew him well enough to feel assured that it must be because that Power was in some way interested to defeat Garnier’s conspiracy.

But the real clue had been placed in my hands by those concluding words—‘It is not a question of a Boulanger this time.’

Such a phrase constituted a riddle which few men in Europe were better able than myself to decipher.

Boulanger was an adventurer, lifted on a wave of popular favour, who had seemed likely at one moment to overturn the republic and replace it by a military dictatorship with himself at the head. He had failed because he was a mere adventurer, who represented no principle, and who lacked that personal prestige with the Army which is only acquired by successful leadership in war.

Nevertheless his career had revealed the weakness of the Republic, and proved that all that was necessary to bring about its downfall was an alliance between the military caste and some pretender with more substantial claims than those conferred by the shouts of the Paris mob.

Every one who knows anything of France knows that the soldiers have long chafed under the ascendency of the lawyers, which is a necessary consequence of Republican institutions. But Garnier’s words, if I interpreted them rightly, showed that the lesson of Boulanger’s failure had been laid to heart, and that this time the military conspiracy which undoubtedly existed had found a really formidable figurehead. In short, it was a question not of a military dictator, but of a monarch; not of a Boulanger, but of a Bourbon or a Bonaparte.

I found myself on the brink of a discovery of first-rate importance. For the success of such a military revolution as that indicated only two things seemed necessary, a candidate and an occasion. If my diagnosis were sound, a candidate had been found in Philippe d’Orléans, the representative of the ancient monarchy, or Victor Napoleon, the heir of the Bonapartes. The occasion was to be furnished, perhaps, by the long-delayed war of la revanche!

As soon as I had reduced my thoughts to some sort of order I decided that my next step must be to ascertain which of the two pretenders, who seemed pointed out for the leading rôle in such a conspiracy, was the chosen one. The Duke of Orleans was at this time in England, while the home of Prince Napoleon, as every one knows, is in the neighbourhood of Brussels.

I despatched two of my most trusted subordinates, one to Belgium, and the other to England, with instructions to keep a close watch on the movements of both princes, and to let me know if there were any signs of unusual activity which would indicate that some stroke was in preparation.

In Paris I kept up a similar watch on the headquarters of the Royalist and Bonapartist parties. The Royalists are formidable, thanks to the influence of society; but the Bonapartist cause is represented by a small and dwindling clique of journalists and demagogues, who exhaust themselves in the effort to revive the Napoleonic legend, by their parrot-like repetition of the words Marengo and Austerlitz.

I did not imagine that this noisy faction would be intrusted with any important secret; and I was soon satisfied that if the chiefs of the Army were really contemplating a restoration, Bourbon or Bonapartist, they had kept their design entirely to themselves.

The first reports which I received from my agents abroad were discouraging. The Bourbon Pretender, who is without reticence, and seeks every opportunity of advertising his personality, appeared to be quite passive for the moment.

Prince Victor Napoleon, a man of a very different character, who withdraws himself as much as possible from public notice, conscious, perhaps, that he has inherited some of his father’s unpopularity, was also leading his usual quiet life, and no evidence was forthcoming of any secret intelligence between him and the group of generals who controlled the French army.

Things were in this position, and I was beginning to feel dissatisfied with the slow progress I was making, when I was suddenly called to the telephone one evening by my agent in Brussels, who had at last some important news for me.

‘Prince Victor is going to England,’ he announced, after we had exchanged the password.

‘To England!’ Was it possible that the two rivals were about to meet? I asked myself. ‘When does he depart?’

‘Perhaps to-morrow. His secretary has been to the Belgian Foreign Office to procure passports.’

‘There are no passports required in England,’ I returned, my suspicions instantly roused. ‘You have been deceived. Have you seen the passport?’

‘No. It was from the servants that I learned the Prince was going to England.’

‘It is a blind, rest assured. Keep the strictest watch, and do not allow him to leave Brussels without you. I shall come by the next train.’

I rang off the communication, and hastened to make the necessary preparations for a journey of which I could not foresee the end.

On alighting in the Belgian capital I was met by my faithful henchman, who informed me with sparkling eyes that he had succeeded, by means of a bribe, in ascertaining from a clerk in the Foreign Office that a passport had been granted to the Comte de Saint Pol and secretary, travelling to Berlin.

If anything had been needed to convince me that the journey of Prince Napoleon had a serious purpose, these concealments would have done so. I was now confident that I was on the right track, and I did not grudge the fatigue involved in a journey across Europe.

I ordered Fouqué, as my man was named, to resume his watch on the Prince’s abode, while I waited at the station from which the Berlin express takes its departure. It was understood that we were both to proceed by the same train as the Comte de Saint Pol and his companion.

No hitch occurred; the Prince, accompanied by his secretary and my agent, duly arrived to take their seats in the train, and the four of us alighted together in the capital of Germany. I had spent the interval in considering my plan of action. I was so far from foreseeing the true cause of Prince Napoleon’s mysterious journey, that I expected to find him closeted the next day with the German Emperor, imparting the confidence which Garnier had refused to me. The event proved very different.

As soon as the two travellers had taken up their quarters in a hotel, whither, it is needless to say, we accompanied them, the secretary was sent out on an errand by himself. Fouqué, of course, followed, and came back in about an hour with the startling information that the secretary had been to the Russian Embassy.

The meaning of this proceeding flashed upon me at once. The real destination of the Prince was not Berlin, but Petersburg. He was merely passing a few hours in Berlin in order to confuse the trail, and he had sent his passport to the Embassy to be viséd for Russia.

In order to make sure that my surmise was correct, I decided to make use of my implied authority to act on behalf of the German Government. I ordered Fouqué to force his way bodily into the Count’s apartment, announce himself as an agent of the Berlin police, and demand to see the stranger’s passport. The ruse was completely successful, and I learned that the yellow seal of the Russian Eagle had been affixed to the paper.

My own task had now become difficult and dangerous. Although I maintain friendly relations with the Russian police, with whom I have often collaborated, I knew they were not likely to tolerate my intrusion into their territory as the spy of a foreign Power. In dealing with half-reclaimed savages like the Slaves, one never knows what form their revenge will take, and Siberia is not a country in which I have ever had any inclination to reside.

The plan which presented itself to my mind was an audacious one, but in such situations audacity is safer than faint-heartedness. I despatched Fouqué to the headquarters of the Berlin police with a denunciation against Prince Napoleon’s secretary for the crime of lèse-majesté.

Lèse-majesté is the one offence which is never treated lightly in German official quarters. Fouqué’s information was eagerly taken down, and a police officer promptly arrived at the hotel armed with a warrant for the arrest of the traveller.

M. Rémillard, the secretary, protested in vain that he was a stranger, who had only that hour arrived in Berlin, and was leaving Germany the next day; and that he had never been guilty of the least disrespect towards Wilhelm II.

‘You declared that the Emperor was a babbler,’ he was informed.

‘Ah, but I meant the Emperor of Russia,’ retorted the Frenchman smartly.

‘What, is he a babbler, too?’ exclaimed the policeman—an answer which, I believe, has since become celebrated.

But his ingenuity could not save the unlucky secretary from arrest, and the Comte de Saint Pol found himself obliged to proceed on his journey alone. It remained for me to complete the execution of my design, by substituting myself in the place of M. Rémillard.

This project, which would have been beyond the powers of an ordinary police agent, was rendered possible in my case by my extensive knowledge of underground politics, and the reputation which I have striven to deserve of a man whose faith can be depended on.

I dismissed Fouqué, whose further presence would have embarrassed me, and took my seat in the coupé reserved for the Comte de Saint Pol in the Petersburg express.

In answer to the remonstrance with which my intrusion was received, I explained that I was acting under orders.

‘Your travelling companion has been arrested, Monsieur le Comte, but perhaps I may be allowed to supply his place.’

‘Am I under arrest, too?’ Prince Victor demanded with some indignation.

‘Not at all,’ I answered, ‘but your movements are of some interest to the German Government, or rather the Emperor, who has honoured me with his personal instructions.’

‘What have my affairs to do with his Imperial Majesty?’ inquired the Prince anxiously.

‘Perhaps nothing, perhaps a great deal. You will, at least allow, Monsieur le Comte, that your passage through Germany appears to be attended with some mystery.’

‘In short——?’

‘In short, the Emperor will be glad to be honoured by your confidence, Monseigneur.’

The Prince started at this title, and began narrowly scrutinising my face, while he evidently considered in his own mind what account to give of himself.

‘It may assist you, perhaps,’ I went on to say, ‘if I tell you that I already know nearly all that you can tell me. I am M. V——.’

At this name a change passed over Prince Napoleon’s face. A silent struggle seemed to be taking place in his breast. Presently he raised his eyes to mine.

‘Tell me, M. V——, are you capable of forgetting for a couple of hours that you are the Emperor’s confidential agent, and favouring me with your disinterested advice?’

‘I believe so, always provided that your Highness does not ask me to betray the confidences I have received from others.’

The Prince accepted this stipulation with frankness.

‘In all probability you are in a position to tell me more about the reasons for this journey than I know myself. I am going, as a matter of fact, in search of information.’

I concealed as much as possible the shock of surprise which this confession caused me. Up to that moment I had naturally imagined that the Prince was on his way to consult the Tsar, and obtain his approval, as the ally of France, of whatever designs were in progress. I now realised suddenly that I had overlooked a factor in the situation whose importance might be greater than Prince Victor’s own.

I need scarcely say that I refer to his brother Louis.

In enumerating the pretenders whose ambition threatens the Republic, I had naturally omitted this prince, whose claims seemed to be overshadowed by those of his elder brother. I now recalled his popularity as a young man of the most charming manners, and the prestige which he derives from his rank in the Russian Army and the personal friendship of the Tsar.

What was more possible than that Garnier and his comrades, passing over the unattractive elder, should have chosen as the figurehead of their usurpation this romantic character, who would be doubly dependent on them, because he would be doubly a usurper?

These reflections passed through my mind swiftly enough for me to answer without any perceptible pause—

‘You are paying a visit to your brother?’

Prince Victor nodded, as though that were a matter of course. It was easy to see that he felt it a relief to be able to discuss the situation fully and frankly with a man of experience and resource, one who moreover had no reason for taking his brother’s side.

Briefly, his story came to this:—

‘Some years ago, after the death of our father, my brother had a long consultation with me about the prospects of our family. He asserted that he was more popular in France than I was, and suggested that the chance of a Bonaparte restoration would be improved if I would consent to abdicate in his favour. This I naturally refused to do, but he pressed me, and got other members of the family to do the same, and at last I gave way so far as to say that if there were a substantial prospect of success, and it really depended on my resigning my rights in my brother’s favour, I would do it.

‘When I said that, of course, I thought it would be a question of a popular plebiscite, like our uncle received, and that I should be bound by the voice of the majority. But ever since then I have seen feelers put out from time to time in the Paris papers, suggesting that I did not wish to insist on my rights as the heir of the great Napoleon. And now within the last few days I have received a letter from my brother, informing me that a restoration is at last possible, and calling on me to fulfil my pledge, and publicly abdicate my claims.’

I listened to this remarkable disclosure with the keenest interest. It confirmed my suspicions on almost every point, though I was still far from feeling that I had obtained a complete solution to the problem set me by Wilhelm II.

My companion let it be seen plainly that he was not very well pleased with the prospect of being supplanted by his younger brother. I took this feeling into account in the advice which I offered.

‘The only thing you have told me that is new to me, is the fact that Prince Louis is the person favoured by the conspirators,’ I said. ‘I knew there was some such plot on foot, but, like every one else, I took it for granted that you were the only possible candidate for the empire.’ My companion breathed indignantly.

‘As for the success of the movement, that is highly problematical. You will not feel very satisfied if you execute this solemn act, only to see your brother rise for a moment on the shoulders of the mob, and then vanish like Boulanger, leaving your House more feeble than at present.’

‘Then what do you advise me to say to my brother?’ he asked eagerly.

‘I think your course is perfectly clear. You are entitled to demand the fullest information, in the first place. If that satisfies you that your brother’s success is assured, that no action on your part can retard it, then you will act gracefully by conceding a signature which will not deprive you of anything, and will give you substantial claims on his gratitude. But if you see that you are being asked to efface yourself without sufficient grounds, you have only to declare that you are not convinced, and to issue a manifesto to your supporters in France, reminding them that you are still the head of the House of Bonaparte.’

My companion received this suggestion with every sign of satisfaction. During the remainder of the journey I lost no opportunity of playing on the same string, and making him feel that I was, as it were, his ally, engaging in defeating a plot which was much more against him than against the Republic.

When we reached the Russian frontier, I had no difficulty in inducing the Prince to pass me through the barrier as the secretary of the Comte de Saint Pol, and I thus entered Russia in perfect security, in a character which would have amazed the Third Section.

On our arrival in Petersburg I asked Prince Napoleon if he intended to go to his brother’s address. He answered proudly—

‘I am still the head of my House, I believe. It would be more suitable for me to let my brother know of my arrival in order that he may wait upon me.’

I willingly charged myself with the delivery of the summons.

The announcement that I came from Brussels secured my instant admission to Prince Louis’s presence.

‘I have the honour to act as secretary to his Imperial Highness, Prince Victor Napoleon,’ I explained.

‘Ah! In that case you bring me a letter from him, no doubt?’

‘I bring your Highness a message simply. The Prince desires to see you.’

‘But I cannot leave Petersburg—surely my brother knows that!’

‘He knows it so well that he is in Petersburg.’

Prince Louis sprang to his feet, thunderstruck.

‘Victor is here!—already!’ he exclaimed in confusion.

For answer I named the hotel at which we had put up, explaining at the same time that the Prince wished to preserve his incognito strictly.

Prince Louis prepared to accompany me to the hotel in the carriage which had brought me to his house. As we drove along, he inquired—

‘Are you in my brother’s confidence?’

‘I believe I enjoy that honour,’ was my reply. ‘At least I am acquainted with the business which has brought him here.’

‘Perhaps you can tell me something of my brother’s views?’ he said, feeling his way.

‘I think his Highness expects to receive full information before he takes a step which will be irrevocable.’

‘Ah!’

‘He thinks, perhaps, that you may have been deceived by exaggerated promises, and that he has the right to forbid any premature attempt whose failure would damage the Bonapartist cause.’

Prince Louis gnawed his moustache with some impatience.

‘My brother must not be unreasonable,’ he murmured. ‘One is never certain of success in these attempts.’

‘If you will allow me to advise you, you will give him the fullest opportunity of judging of your prospects. It would be a serious thing for everybody if he were provoked into any public demonstration against you.’

The younger Prince changed colour.

‘Is it so serious as that?’ he exclaimed. And during the remainder of the drive he continued wrapped in thought, only the working of his brow betraying the anxiety within.

The greeting between the brothers was cordial, if not affectionate. I took it for granted that I was to be a party to the conference, and as each brother believed that I was secretly friendly to him, neither suggested that I should retire.

As soon as we were seated round the table, on which I had laid out some paper, pens, and ink, Prince Victor formally opened the discussion.

He spoke with a good deal of dignity and some eloquence. He treated it as a matter beyond dispute that he was the sole depository of the authority of the great Napoleon, entitled to the absolute obedience of every member of his House. He disclaimed any personal ambition, and referred to his former pledge, which he described as a promise to abdicate if he were convinced that such a step on his part was really likely to result in the restoration of the empire.

He then laid it down that he retained the sole right to decide if and when the time for this step had arrived, and hinted that it was his duty, as well as his right, to interfere actively to check any designs of which he disapproved. He concluded by professing a sincere and hearty interest in his brother’s fortunes, and inviting Prince Louis to confide in him fully, as in his best friend.

This statesmanlike deliverance appeared to inspire the younger Prince with genuine respect. He appeared to be a good deal embarrassed in the beginning of his reply. It was a difficult task to tell his elder brother that he had been rejected in favour of Louis himself.

After acknowledging in the most ample manner his brother’s claims on his obedience and gratitude, Prince Louis proceeded—

‘The state of France shows clearly that our House has no chance of success by constitutional means. The Republic can only be subverted by the action of the Army, which embodies the spirit of the nation more truly than the collection of provincial advocates and financiers which calls itself the Chamber of Deputies. The Army will be guided by its chiefs, and, therefore, it is the Staff which holds our fate in its hands. The generals very naturally feel a preference for a soldier. It is now nearly six months since I was first approached in the greatest secrecy by General Garnier.’

I had the utmost difficulty in not betraying my emotion at the sound of this name, so inseparably connected with the Dreyfus Case.

‘Garnier conveyed to me that he and his brother generals had decided that the time was ripe for a revolution, in which they anticipated receiving the support of the Church and the noblesse. He said they were determined to avoid a second catastrophe like that of the mountebank Boulanger, and therefore they meant to abolish the Republic by a military pronunciamento, and declare France a monarchy under their protection. And, in short, he offered me the crown in the name of the French Army.’

‘You reminded him of my existence, perhaps?’ put in the elder brother with some bitterness.

‘I refused to entertain the offer until it had been made to, and refused by, you,’ Louis protested earnestly. ‘Garnier replied that in no event would his brother generals agree to your nomination, and that, if I declined, the offer would be made to the Duke of Orleans, who commanded the support of the clerical faction. It was a question of Bonaparte or Bourbon, and I relied on our compact that in such a case you would relinquish your rights in my favour.’

Prince Victor turned to me as though he wished me to express his sentiments. I accepted the task.

‘It would have been better if you had taken Prince Napoleon into your confidence before giving any definite answer,’ I said. ‘General Garnier might have paid your elder brother the compliment of explaining the reasons for setting him aside.’

‘I did not consider the project sufficiently mature at that time,’ was the answer. ‘I thought it better to wait till the affair assumed a tangible shape.’

‘And this stage has now been reached?’ I inquired.

‘It has. My brother will understand that a pretext was necessary for the action of the Army, and that pretext could only be the danger of war. For a long time we were troubled with the difficulty that neither in Germany nor in England was there any disposition to attack France, and our treaty with Russia laid it down in the most explicit manner that the Tsar would only come to our assistance in the event of our being attacked.

‘But at last, thanks to the vigilance of Garnier and the other chiefs of the Staff, it has been discovered that Germany is secretly preparing for a stealthy spring; she is covering France with her spies, and, but for the timely arrest of this Dreyfus——’

I could not resist a subdued exclamation of triumph as the utterance of this name completed the chain of discovery. The whole intrigue engineered by the artful and unscrupulous French generals lay displayed to my eye, as on a map. I listened like one in a dream as Prince Louis continued explaining to his brother the peril of the French nation, the justification for the Army’s taking command of the State, and the consequent certainty of a Bonaparte restoration.

Victor listened silently, unable to think of any objection, and seeing his own chance of ever reigning as Emperor of the French slipping from him. It was I who put the decisive question.

‘You have, I suppose, taken the Tsar into your confidence, and convinced him of the reality of the danger?’

‘We have obtained the promise of his support,’ Louis answered.

‘Good. In that case you will not refuse your brother the reasonable proofs which it is his right to demand, that you have not been deceived.’

‘What proofs do you expect?’

‘I respectfully advise Prince Napoleon to request an interview with the Tsar.’

This advice was received with very different feelings by the two brothers. Prince Louis cast on me a look of surprise and annoyance; his elder brother’s eyes glistened with pleasure at a suggestion whose value was at once apparent to him.

‘You cannot object to my following my secretary’s advice’, said Prince Victor, after a moment’s pause. ‘The interests of my House are at stake; and before I resign the prospect of a throne I have a right to be thoroughly satisfied. The Tsar is your friend, and, therefore, you should be pleased to accept his mediation.’

Prince Louis yielded, not very graciously, to these representations, and undertook to arrange the conference. He then withdrew, leaving us to discuss the situation.

It is unnecessary for me to relate what passed between Prince Napoleon and myself. I succeeded in fixing him in the opinion that he had been treated ungenerously, and that he owed it to himself to thwart a dishonest and doubtful conspiracy, calculated to bring the name of Bonaparte into odium.

The following day, about the same hour, we were received by the titular autocrat of All the Russias.

The only persons present, besides the two brothers, were myself and the celebrated Pobiedonostzeff, who up till quite recently has exercised a mastery over the mind of his nominal sovereign that has been compared to that of Richelieu over the feeble Louis XIII.

It was at once evident that the decision of Nicholas II. would be largely determined by the advice which he received from his spiritual and political mentor. In effect, the conference resolved itself into a duel between the formidable Russian statesman and myself; he, animated by a hatred of freedom, which led him to sympathise with the design against the Republic; I, influenced by a sense of justice, and a desire to do my duty by the German Emperor.

Having briefly acknowledged the favour of the Tsar in receiving him, Prince Napoleon left the statement of his case in my hands.

I began by briefly referring to the understanding between the two brothers, and the present situation of affairs.

‘What Prince Napoleon desires,’ I went on, addressing myself to Pobiedonostzeff, ‘is to understand whether he is being asked to abdicate on sufficient grounds. Is he dealing with a mere hole-and-corner conspiracy, which may end in a fiasco; or is it true that his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Russia is committed to the approval and support of his brother’s enterprise?’

The Tsar glanced from my face to that of his Minister, as I concluded, with an expression which convinced me that his Majesty knew very little about the affair, in which he had no doubt blindly accepted the guidance of Pobiedonostzeff.

The Procurator of the Holy Synod had evidently come prepared with an ambiguous reply.

‘His Majesty is a friend of France, and, as such, he naturally views with concern the weakness of the Republic, a weakness inseparable from Governments which rest on the authority of the mob. The Emperor is at the same time a friend of the House of Bonaparte, though, of course, he has no wish to interfere in favour of any particular candidate for the French throne rather than another.

‘He is pledged by treaty to come to the assistance of France in the case of an unprovoked attack by the Three Powers, or by the English. It follows that where the danger of such an attack exists, his Majesty is ready to encourage any prudent measure in the interests of France, such as this appears to be.’

Prince Louis smiled, well pleased at this skilful answer. His brother gave me an expectant glance.

‘Am I to understand, then—or, rather, is Prince Napoleon to understand—that it is the threatening attitude of Germany which has weighed with his Imperial Majesty?’

‘You may say the treacherous intrigues of Germany. The Germans have been careful to avoid any open provocation.’

‘His Majesty has received satisfactory proofs, no doubt, that such intrigues exist?’

‘Undoubtedly. General Garnier, on behalf of the Staff of the French Army, has laid before the Emperor’s advisers documents which prove up to the hilt that Germany is merely waiting for the psychological moment to spring upon France, disarm her, and erase her from the list of the Great Powers.’

‘Would it not have been more in accordance with precedent if these documents had been submitted to you by the President of the French Republic through the medium of the French Ambassador?’

I was glad to notice the Tsar turn a questioning look on his Minister as I delivered this thrust, for which Pobiedonostzeff was evidently not prepared.

‘I do not understand your objection,’ he said, in some surprise. ‘Prince Napoleon is surely not interested on behalf of the Republican Government.’

‘The interest of Prince Napoleon is to know the truth,’ I responded sternly. ‘Conspirators are not always scrupulous about the means they employ. General Garnier is not a man who can be pronounced incapable of manufacturing evidence in favour of his schemes.’

The Procurator’s face flushed.

‘You venture to insinuate that General Garnier is a forger!’ he cried wrathfully.

‘Listen, M. Pobiedonostzeff. In the time of the late Tsar I was employed by the Russian Government, before it concluded the treaty of alliance with France, to obtain secret and precise information concerning the military strength of that country. I have never revealed the name of the officer from whom I purchased that information. Shall I do so now?’

The Russian Minister gazed at me in consternation, and his master appeared equally surprised. Glancing at a slip of paper which lay before him, Pobiedonostzeff asked—

‘Who are you, then? Your name cannot be Rémillard.’

‘It is V——,’ I answered.

The Procurator threw himself back in his seat, astonished.

‘Your police have not shown their usual astuteness, I am afraid,’ I observed, smiling.

The Tsar now interposed in a tone of more authority than I had ventured to hope from his not very strong face.

‘Do you suggest, M. V——, that the whole Staff of the French Army are engaged in a conspiracy to forge documents?’

‘Something of the kind, I am afraid, sire.’

‘But this notorious case, which has excited the attention of the whole of Europe—the Affaire Dreyfus?’

‘I am in a position to assure your Majesty that Captain Dreyfus had no more to do with Germany than M. Pobiedonostzeff here.’