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.  I was a drowning man, then, Tumulty—­clutching at straws, till I became an adept at it.  There, perhaps, as you say, I did do “wonders”—­of a kind:  all I could, anyway.  That was my plight, while there in Paris we held high court, and banqueted, and drank healths from dead men’s skulls.  Did nobody guess—­outside—­what was going on?  I gave one signal that I thought was plain enough, when I sent for the George Washington to bring me home again.  But, though I listened for it then, there seemed no response.  People were so busy, you say, holding their breath; and that I couldn’t hear.

TUMULTY (zealous, in a pause, to show his interest).  Well, Governor, well?

EX-PRES.  And then, rather than let me so go and spoil the general effect (the one power still left to me!), they began to make concessions—­ concessions which, I see now, didn’t amount to much; and so they persuaded me, and I stayed on, and signed my failure with the rest.

TUMULTY (for a diversion pointing to the covered cup). 
Pardon me, Governor, you must obey orders, you know.  They are not mine.

EX-PRES. (taking up the cup with a dry smile).  Executive authority has taught me that obeying orders is much simpler than giving them:  you know when you’ve got them done. (Removing the cover, he drains the cup and sets it down again.) There! now let your conscience be at rest. (After a pause he resumes:) Tumulty, when I faced failure, when I knew that I had failed——­Yes; don’t trouble to contradict me.  I know, dear friend, I know that you don’t agree; and, God bless you!  I also know why.——­When I knew that, after the whole thing was over, and I was out again and free, do you suppose I wasn’t tempted to go out and cry the truth (as some were expecting and wishing for it to be cried) in the ears of the whole world?—­let all know that I had failed, and so—­that way at least—­separate myself from the Evil Thing which there sat smiling at itself in its Hall of Mirrors—­seeing no frustrate ghosts, no death’s heads at that feast, as I saw them?...  I came out a haunted man—­all the more because those I was amongst didn’t believe in ghosts—­not then.  People who have been overwhelmingly victorious in a great war find that difficult.  But they will—­some day.