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prime minister.--Trans.

"Barroux!--Ah! dash it, then, Monsieur Gascogne, you had better go out

this way. It is as well that nobody should meet you, as I wish you to

keep silent respecting Salvat's arrest. It's fully understood, is it not?

I alone am to know everything; and you will communicate with me here

direct, by the telephone, if any serious incident should arise."

The Chief of the Detective Police had scarcely gone off, by way of an

adjoining _salon_, when the usher reopened the door communicating with

the ante-room: "Monsieur le President du Conseil."

With a nicely adjusted show of deference and cordiality, Monferrand

stepped forward, his hands outstretched: "Ah! my dear President, why did

you put yourself out to come here? I would have called on you if I had

known that you wished to see me."

But with an impatient gesture Barroux brushed aside all question of

etiquette. "No, no! I was taking my usual stroll in the Champs Elysees,

and the worries of the situation impressed me so keenly that I preferred

to come here at once. You yourself must realise that we can't put up with

what is taking place. And pending to-morrow morning's council, when we

shall have to arrange a plan of defence, I felt that there was good

reason for us to talk things over."

He took an armchair, and Monferrand on his side rolled another forward so

as to seat himself with his back to the light. Whilst Barroux, the elder

of the pair by ten years, blanched and solemn, with a handsome face,

snowy whiskers, clean-shaven chin and upper-lip, retained all the dignity

of power, the bearing of a Conventionnel of romantic views, who sought to

magnify the simple loyalty of a rather foolish but good-hearted

_bourgeois_ nature into something great; the other, beneath his heavy

common countenance and feigned frankness and simplicity, concealed

unknown depths, the unfathomable soul of a shrewd enjoyer and despot who

was alike pitiless and unscrupulous in attaining his ends.

For a moment Barroux drew breath, for in reality he was greatly moved,

his blood rising to his head, and his heart beating with indignation and

anger at the thought of all the vulgar insults which the "Voix du Peuple"

had poured upon him again that morning. "Come, my dear colleague," said

he, "one must stop that scandalous campaign. Moreover, you can realise

what awaits us at the Chamber to-morrow. Now that the famous list has

been published we shall have every malcontent up in arms. Vignon is

bestirring himself already--"

"Ah! you have news of Vignon?" exclaimed Monferrand, becoming very

attentive.

"Well, as I passed his door just now, I saw a string of cabs waiting

there. All his creatures have been on the move since yesterday, and at

least twenty persons have told me that the band is already dividing the

spoils. For, as you must know, the fierce and ingenuous Mege is again

going to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for others. Briefly, we are

dead, and the others claim that they are going to bury us in mud before

they fight over our leavings." With his arm outstretched Barroux made a

theatrical gesture, and his voice resounded as if he were in the tribune.

Nevertheless, his emotion was real, tears even were coming to his eyes.

"To think that I who have given my whole life to the Republic, I who

founded it, who saved it, should be covered with insults in this fashion,

and obliged to defend myself against abominable charges! To say that I

abused my trust! That I sold myself and took 200,000 francs from that man

Hunter, simply to slip them into my pocket! Well, certainly there _was_ a

question of 200,000 francs between us. But how and under what

circumstances? They were doubtless the same as in your case, with regard

to the 80,000 francs that he is said to have handed you--"

But Monferrand interrupted his colleague in a clear trenchant voice: "He

never handed me a centime."

The other looked at him in astonishment, but could only see his big,

rough head, whose features were steeped in shadow: "Ah! But I thought you

had business relations with him, and knew him particularly well."

"No, I simply knew Hunter as everyone knew him. I was not even aware that

he was Baron Duvillard's agent in the African Railways matter; and there

was never any question of that affair between us."

This was so improbable, so contrary to everything Barroux knew of the

business, that for a moment he felt quite scared. Then he waved his hand

as if to say that others might as well look after their own affairs, and

reverted to himself. "Oh! as for me," he said, "Hunter called on me more

than ten times, and made me quite sick with his talk of the African

Railways. It was at the time when the Chamber was asked to authorise the

issue of lottery stock.* And, by the way, my dear fellow, I was then here

at the Home Department, while you had just taken that of Public Works. I

can remember sitting at that very writing-table, while Hunter was in the

same armchair that I now occupy. That day he wanted to consult me about

the employment of the large sum which Duvillard's house proposed to spend

in advertising; and on seeing what big amounts were set down against the

Royalist journals, I became quite angry, for I realised with perfect

accuracy that this money would simply be used to wage war against the

Republic. And so, yielding to Hunter's entreaties, I also drew up a list

allotting 200,000 francs among the friendly Republican newspapers, which

were paid through me, I admit it. And that's the whole story."**

* This kind of stock is common enough in France. A part of it is

extinguished annually at a public "drawing," when all such

shares or bonds that are drawn become entitled to redemption

at "par," a percentage of them also securing prizes of various

amounts. City of Paris Bonds issued on this system are very

popular among French people with small savings; but, on the

other hand, many ventures, whose lottery stock has been

authorised by the Legislature, have come to grief and ruined

investors.--Trans.

** All who are acquainted with recent French history will be

aware that Barroux' narrative is simply a passage from the

life of the late M. Floquet, slightly modified to suit the

requirements of M. Zola's story.--Trans.

Then he sprang to his feet and struck his chest, whilst his voice again

rose: "Well, I've had more than enough of all that calumny and falsehood!

And I shall simply tell the Chamber my story to-morrow. It will be my

only defence. An honest man does not fear the truth!"

But Monferrand, in his turn, had sprung up with a cry which was a

complete confession of his principles: "It's ridiculous, one never

confesses; you surely won't do such a thing!"

"I shall," retorted Barroux with superb obstinacy. "And we shall see if

the Chamber won't absolve me by acclamation."

"No, you will fall beneath an explosion of hisses, and drag all of us

down with you."

"What does it matter? We shall fall with dignity, like honest men!"

Monferrand made a gesture of furious anger, and then suddenly became

calm. Amidst all the anxious confusion in which he had been struggling

since daybreak, a gleam now dawned upon him. The vague ideas suggested by

Salvat's approaching arrest took shape, and expanded into an audacious

scheme. Why should he prevent the fall of that big ninny Barroux? The

only thing of importance was that he, Monferrand, should not fall with

him, or at any rate that he should rise again. So he protested no

further, but merely mumbled a few words, in which his rebellious feeling

seemingly died out. And at last, putting on his good-natured air once

more, he said: "Well, after all you are perhaps right. One must be brave.

Besides, you are our head, my dear President, and we will follow you."

They had now again sat down face to face, and their conversation

continued till they came to a cordial agreement respecting the course

which the Government should adopt in view of the inevitable

interpellation on the morrow.

Meantime, Baron Duvillard was on his way to the ministry. He had scarcely

slept that night. When on the return from Montmartre Gerard had set him

down at his door in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, he had at once gone to bed,

like a man who is determined to compel sleep, so that he may forget his

worries and recover self-control. But slumber would not come; for hours

and hours he vainly sought it. The manner in which he had been insulted

by that creature Silviane was so monstrous! To think that she, whom he

had enriched, whose every desire he had contented, should have cast such

mud at him, the master, who flattered himself that he held Paris and the

Republic in his hands, since he bought up and controlled consciences just

as others might make corners in wool or leather for the purposes of

Bourse speculation. And the dim consciousness that Silviane was the

avenging sore, the cancer preying on him who preyed on others, completed

his exasperation. In vain did he try to drive away his haunting thoughts,

remember his business affairs, his appointments for the morrow, his

millions which were working in every quarter of the world, the financial

omnipotence which placed the fate of nations in his grasp. Ever, and in

spite of all, Silviane rose up before him, splashing him with mud. In

despair he tried to fix his mind on a great enterprise which he had been

planning for months past, a Trans-Saharan railway, a colossal venture

which would set millions of money at work, and revolutionise the trade of

the world. And yet Silviane appeared once more, and smacked him on both

cheeks with her dainty little hand, which she had dipped in the gutter.

It was only towards daybreak that he at last dozed off, while vowing in a

fury that he would never see her again, that he would spurn her, and

order her away, even should she come and drag herself at his feet.

However, when he awoke at seven, still tired and aching, his first

thought was for her, and he almost yielded to a fit of weakness. The idea

came to him to ascertain if she had returned home, and if so make his

peace. But he jumped out of bed, and after his ablutions he recovered all

his bravery. She was a wretch, and he this time thought himself for ever

cured of his passion. To tell the truth, he forgot it as soon as he

opened the morning newspapers. The publication of the list of

bribe-takers in the "Voix du Peuple" quite upset him, for he had hitherto

thought it unlikely that Sagnier held any such list. However, he judged

the document at a glance, at once separating the few truths it contained

from a mass of foolishness and falsehood. And this time also he did not

consider himself personally in danger. There was only one thing that he

really feared: the arrest of his intermediary, Hunter, whose trial might

have drawn him into the affair. As matters stood, and as he did not cease

to repeat with a calm and smiling air, he had merely done what every

banking-house does when it issues stock, that is, pay the press for

advertisements and puffery, employ brokers, and reward services

discreetly rendered to the enterprise. It was all a business matter, and

for him that expression summed up everything. Moreover, he played the

game of life bravely, and spoke with indignant contempt of a banker who,

distracted and driven to extremities by blackmailing, had imagined that

he would bring a recent scandal to an end by killing himself: a pitiful

tragedy, from all the mire and blood of which the scandal had sprouted

afresh with the most luxuriant and indestructible vegetation. No, no!

suicide was not the course to follow: a man ought to remain erect, and

struggle on to his very last copper, and the very end of his energy.

At about nine o'clock a ringing brought Duvillard to the telephone

installed in his private room. And then his folly took possession of him

once more: it must be Silviane who wished to speak to him. She often

amused herself by thus disturbing him amidst his greatest cares. No doubt

she had just returned home, realising that she had carried things too far

on the previous evening and desiring to be forgiven. However, when he

found that the call was from Monferrand, who wished him to go to the

ministry, he shivered slightly, like a man saved from the abyss beside

which he is travelling. And forthwith he called for his hat and stick,

desirous as he was of walking and reflecting in the open air. And again

he became absorbed in the intricacies of the scandalous business which

was about to stir all Paris and the legislature. Kill himself! ah, no,

that would be foolish and cowardly. A gust of terror might be sweeping

past; nevertheless, for his part he felt quite firm, superior to events,

and resolved to defend himself without relinquishing aught of his power.

As soon as he entered the ante-rooms of the ministry he realised that the

gust of terror was becoming a tempest. The publication of the terrible

list in the "Voix du Peuple" had chilled the guilty ones to the heart;

and, pale and distracted, feeling the ground give way beneath them, they

had come to take counsel of Monferrand, who, they hoped, might save them.

The first whom Duvillard perceived was Duthil, looking extremely

feverish, biting his moustaches, and constantly making grimaces in his

efforts to force a smile. The banker scolded him for coming, saying that

it was a great mistake to have done so, particularly with such a scared

face. The deputy, however, his spirits already cheered by these rough

words, began to defend himself, declaring that he had not even read

Sagnier's article, and had simply come to recommend a lady friend to the

Minister. Thereupon the Baron undertook this business for him and sent

him away with the wish that he might spend a merry mid-Lent. However, the

one who most roused Duvillard's pity was Chaigneux, whose figure swayed