The Shadow of Great Britain

In such a perilous environment, I thought it was almost impossible to organize a National Guard loyal to the republican ideals locally. But instead of rushing back to Paris, I stayed to investigate for more than forty days. When I returned to Paris, out of loyalty to the republican ideals and the duty bestowed upon me by these ideals, I compiled my observations over these days in Paris into a report titled "Vendee Notes" and submitted it to General Lafayette.

In it, I made many recommendations: for instance, to avoid discontent from the bourgeoisie, we should abandon the plan to organize the National Guard in Vendee at this stage. In addition, we should open more roads, establish communication links in the West, guard against those clergy with restoration sentiments, and cancel the annuities of certain dissenting nobility, and so on."

Upon hearing this, Louis's face, flushed with alcohol, bore a smile as he laughed with a hand on Great Dumas' shoulder: "Alexander, I never thought you started doing spy work even earlier than Arthur."

Arthur took a sip of wine, speaking without raising his head: "Alexander, so you were also a cop, and the lowest kind at that—specializing in intelligence, just like me. Now I finally understand why you never mentioned this part of your past."

Great Dumas retorted fueled by alcohol: "Arthur, I am not the same as you!"

"Really?" Arthur, rubbing his temples, thought for a moment: "Isn't building an intelligence network just a fancy way of saying you're buying informants and traitors? Preventing clergy, canceling the annuities of dissenting nobility, aren't these just restrictions on speech and personal freedom?"

Great Dumas argued vehemently: "How can that be the same? You're doing it for money, for a living, while I am doing it for noble ideals."

"Oh..."

Arthur placed both hands on Great Dumas' shoulders, his eyes shining with a thankful light: "Thank you for understanding, Alexander, now I know you realize that I do it out of necessity, not because my ideal is to do this. But as your friend, I suggest you change your ideals, if your ideal is to do these jobs, that ideal is rather filthy."

Great Dumas, hearing this, unsure if it was due to too much drink causing his tongue to get tied, smacked his lips a couple of times and immediately retorted: "Arthur, in my view, you shouldn't be a diplomat, you should run for parliament. Your mouth is naturally capable of turning black into white and white into black, even a dying donkey could be revived by your words. I think if you lay in the coffin for three days and suddenly sat up again, it's likely because neither the angels nor the Devil want to take you due to your constant chatter, so both Heaven and Hell rejected you."

Just as Great Dumas finished his words, applause sounded next to Arthur's ear.

The Red Devil lifted a bottle of wine in one hand, with a cigar in his mouth, puffing away as he echoed: "Well said, Alexander, I agree!"

As for Arthur, he remained non-committal about Great Dumas' evaluation, he sat back on the sofa, crossing his legs, and mildly reminded: "Both Heaven and Hell rejected me? Please, Alexander, I'm no Eld. As for running for parliament, there's probably no hope until I figure out the mysteries of the ladies. In this aspect, be it Benjamin or Mr. Thiers, both outshine me. Oh, but I think Mr. Balzac may have hope in catching up with the two of them, although he's quite young, he's already delved deeply into this field."

"Balzac?" Great Dumas, though his head was swimming, still caught the name of that sinister plump fellow he always clashed with: "What about him?"

Arthur shrugged, pouring himself a drink: "Alexander, do you really want me to spell it all out? Unless it's necessary, I won't divulge anyone's privacy, it's a basic professional ethic for someone in the intelligence profession."

Even though Arthur said so, Great Dumas couldn't care less about such details.

Great Dumas, with alcohol-laden breath, plopped down beside Arthur, draping an arm around his shoulder, emphasizing: "Arthur, you can't do this to me, have you forgotten our friendship!"

"Friendship?" Arthur poured wine slowly: "Do you mean that night beneath the Tower of London, where if I had died even a second later, the bullet that blew my heart apart could have been fired by you?"

Great Dumas raised three fingers and swore to the heavens: "I swear by the name of God, Arthur, I never thought of doing that."

"Doing what?"

Great Dumas gritted his teeth and said: "Arthur, you haven't forgotten, have you? That time I just bought a new gun, and it was a revolver too. So please believe me, that night I didn't just intend to shoot you once!"

"Thank goodness, Alexander." Arthur smiled relievedly, then clamped Great Dumas' neck tightly in his armpit: "I also assure you, I've always considered you my brother. But now, I just want to send you to America, so you can see how formidable the American police are."

Great Dumas' face turned red, and he struggled hard to pry off Arthur's arm: "Arthur, are you trying to kill me? I can't breathe!"

"Yes, that's exactly how it feels."

Garibaldi watched them roughhousing with each other, this lively Italian sailor clapped his hands and laughed heartily: "Mr. Hastings, I used to think diplomats were all meticulous, but you are nothing like what I imagined, you are just like a sailor on a ship, no wonder you could write 'The St. George's Flag Rises High.'"