My first mistake was when I believed
in honour; my second, when I let them shut the doors. Yes, to that he got
me to agree. Clever, clever; that was his first win.
TUMULTY. Who, Governor?
EX-PRES. (_with a dry laugh_). The man who told me he was on my side.
The reason?--a kindly means of saving faces for those whom he and I were
going to "persuade"--of making the "climb-down" easier for them! That
seemed a helpful, charitable sort of reason, didn't it? One it would have
been hard to refuse. I didn't; so the doors were shut to cover defeat and
disappointment over the secret treaties. Then they had me: three against
one! And their weight told--quite apart from mere argument; for each had
behind him the popular voice (and when one lost it--you may remember--
another came, and took his place). But against me the popular voice had
shut its mouth: I, too, was an electioneer--a defeated one. Of my lease of
power then, less than a year remained. After the Senate elections I was
nothing. In Paris they knew it: and I could see in their eyes that they
were glad. Yes, _he_ was glad, too.
(_As he speaks, his head sinks in depression. There is a pause._)
TUMULTY (_in his best sick-bed manner_). Governor, don't you think
that you'd better rest now?
EX-PRES. (_ignoring the remark_). And so the old secret diplomacy,
balancing for power, with war as the only sure end of it, came back to
life; and I--pledged to its secrecies with the rest--I had to stay dumb.
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