She is like a woman.
It's excitement she wants, perhaps.

And she will buy it at any cost, and then find afterward she has paid too dear for it.

That is like a woman, too.

But it isn't another Bonaparte she wants, I am sure of that." "So am I," answered Colville, with a side glance toward Barebone, a mere flicker of the eyelids.
"Not unless it is a Napoleon of that ilk." "And he is not," completed Colville..
"But--" the Scotchman paused, for a waiter came at this moment to tell him that his dinner was ready at a table nearer to the fire.

"But," he went on, in French, for the waiter lingered, "but he might be able to persuade France that it is himself she wants--might he not, now?
With money at the back of it, eh ?" "He might," admitted Colville, doubtfully.
The Scotchman moved away, but came back again.
"I am thinking," he said, with a grim smile, "that like all intelligent people who know France, you are aware that it is a King she wants." "But not an Orleans King," replied Colville, with his friendly and indifferent laugh.
The Scotchman smiled more grimly still and went away.
He was seated too near for Colville and Loo to talk of him.