One of their strongest arguments was that the invasion of Mexico by the
French army must necessarily give umbrage to the United States, with
which traditions of friendship had long existed; and they urged that,
whatever the crippled condition of the Union, such a course could not
fail eventually to lead to dangerous complications.

One day in March, 1862, before the news of the rupture between the
French and their allies had reached Paris, M. Jubinal invited me to
accompany him to the Hotel des Ventes, Rue Drouot, where an important
collection of tapestries and other objects of art was on view to be
sold. There were comparatively few amateurs in the rooms when we
entered. My companion was pointing out to me the beauties of a piece
which he particularly coveted when some one came behind us and called
him by name. We both turned around and faced a middle-aged man whose
dress, manner, and general bearing showed him to be a personage of some
importance. M. Jubinal, who evidently knew him well, addressed him as
"M. le Duc," and his strong likeness to the Emperor, as well as a few
stray words, soon led me to guess, even before my guardian had gone
through the form of an introduction, that he was no less a personage
than the Duc de Morny.

The Duc de Morny's position during the period that elapsed between the
revolution of 1848 and 1865 was one unique in France; and yet it is
doubtful whether his fame would have been as worldwide as it has become
had it not been for the part he played in the Mexican imbroglio.

Brought up as a child by a charming woman of graceful intellect and
literary pretensions, he had met early in life the Duc d'Orleans, who
had led him into the gay Parisian world of which he was the leader.
After a brief military career in Africa, he resigned from the army, and