The secretary retires, and the servant shows in a man who calls himself GUILLET DE GETOILLI^RE—a tall, thin figure of thirty, with restless dark eyes. The door being shut behind him, he is left alone with the minister. Fox points to a seat, leans back, and surveys his visitor.
Thanks to you, sir, for this high privilege Of hailing England, and of entering here. Without a fore-extended confidence Like this of yours, my plans would not have sped.
Europe, alas! sir, has her waiting foot Upon the sill of further slaughter-scenes !
I fear it is so!—In your lines you wrote,
I think, that you are a true Frenchman born ?
GEVRILLI£RE I did, sir.
Fox How contrived you, then, to cross ?
It was from Embden that I shipped for Gravesend, In a small sailer called the " Toby/* sir, Masked under Prussian colours. Embden I reached On foot, on horseback, and by sundry shifts, From Paris over Holland, secretly.
And you are stored with tidings of much pith Whose tenour would be priceless to the state?