As soon as the chancellor was seated, he began to eat with a good appetite, talking all the time, and drinking alternately beer and champagne from a great silver goblet marked with his initials.  The conversation was in French.  Suddenly the chancellor remembered having met M. d’Herisson eight years before at the Princess Mentzichoff’s, and their relations became those of two gentlemen who recognize each other in good society.

The Parisians thought that d’Herisson had been far too lively on this occasion; but he feels sure that his sprightly talk and free participation in the good things of the table, formed a favorable contrast to the deep depression of Jules Favre at the same board the day before.  “M. de Bismarck,” he says, “is not at all like the conventional statesman.  He is not solemn.  He is very gay, and even when discussing the gravest questions often makes jokes, though under his playful sallies gleam the lion’s claws.”

They talked of hunting.  The chancellor related anecdotes of his own prowess, and by the time they returned to Jules Favre, the French aide-de-camp and the Prussian prime minister were on the best terms with each other.  But before long the chancellor gave a specimen of the violence of his displeasure.  “Three times,” says d’Herisson, “I saw him angry,—­once a propos of Garibaldi; once when speaking of the resistance of St. Quentin, an unwalled town, which he said should have submitted at once; and once it was my own fault.”

On the table stood a saucer with three choice cigars.  The chancellor took it up and offered it to Jules Favre, who replied that he never smoked; “There you are wrong,” said Bismarck; “when a conversation is about to take place which may lead to differences of opinion, it is better to smoke.  The cigar between a man’s lips, which he must not let fall, controls his physical impatience.  It soothes him imperceptibly.  He grows more conciliatory.  He is more disposed to make concessions.  And diplomacy is made up of reciprocal concessions.  You who don’t smoke have one advantage over me,—­you are more on the alert.  But I have an advantage over you,—­you will be more likely than I shall be to lose your self control and give way to sudden impressions.”

The negotiation was resumed very quietly.  With astonishing frankness the chancellor said simply and plainly what he wanted.  He went straight to his point, bewildering Jules Favre, a lawyer by profession, who was accustomed to diplomatic circumlocutions, and was not prepared for such imperious openness.

The chancellor spoke French admirably, “making use,” says d’Herisson “of strong and choice expressions, and never seeming at a loss for a word.”  But when the subject of Garibaldi and his army came up, his eyes began to flash, and he seemed to curb himself with difficulty.  “I intend,” he said, “to leave him and his followers out of the armistice.  He is not one of your own people.  You can very well leave him