第 43 页

about as if bent by the weight of his long equine head, and who looked so

shabby and untidy that one might have taken him for an old pauper. On

recognising the banker he darted forward, and bowed to him with

obsequious eagerness.

"Ah! Monsieur le Baron," said he, "how wicked some men must be! They are

killing me, I shall die of it all; and what will become of my wife, what

will become of my three daughters, who have none but me to help them?"

The whole of his woeful story lay in that lament. A victim of politics,

he had been foolish enough to quit Arras and his business there as a

solicitor, in order to seek triumph in Paris with his wife and daughters,

whose menial he had then become--a menial dismayed by the constant

rebuffs and failures which his mediocrity brought upon him. An honest

deputy! ah, good heavens! yes, he would have liked to be one; but was he

not perpetually "hard-up," ever in search of a hundred-franc note, and

thus, perforce, a deputy for sale? And withal he led such a pitiable

life, so badgered by the women folk about him, that to satisfy their

demands he would have picked up money no matter where or how.

"Just fancy, Monsieur le Baron, I have at last found a husband for my

eldest girl. It is the first bit of luck that I have ever had; there will

only be three women left on my hands if it comes off. But you can imagine

what a disastrous impression such an article as that of this morning must

create in the young man's family. So I have come to see the Minister to

beg him to give my future son-in-law a prefectoral secretaryship. I have

already promised him the post, and if I can secure it things may yet be

arranged."

He looked so terribly shabby and spoke in such a doleful voice that it

occurred to Duvillard to do one of those good actions on which he

ventured at times when they were likely to prove remunerative

investments. It is, indeed, an excellent plan to give a crust of bread to

some poor devil whom one can turn, if necessary, into a valet or an

accomplice. So the banker dismissed Chaigneux, undertaking to do his

business for him in the same way as he had undertaken to do Duthil's. And

he added that he would be pleased to see him on the morrow, and have a

chat with him, as he might be able to help him in the matter of his

daughter's marriage.

At this Chaigneux, scenting a loan, collapsed into the most lavish

thanks. "Ah! Monsieur le Baron, my life will not be long enough to enable

me to repay such a debt of gratitude."

As Duvillard turned round he was surprised to see Abbe Froment waiting in

a corner of the ante-room. Surely that one could not belong to the batch

of _suspects_, although by the manner in which he was pretending to read

a newspaper it seemed as if he were trying to hide some keen anxiety. At

last the Baron stepped forward, shook hands, and spoke to him cordially.

And Pierre thereupon related that he had received a letter requesting him

to call on the Minister that day. Why, he could not tell; in fact, he was

greatly surprised, he said, putting on a smile in order to conceal his

disquietude. He had been waiting a long time already, and hoped that he

would not be forgotten on that bench.

Just then the usher appeared, and hastened up to the banker. "The

Minister," said he, "was at that moment engaged with the President of the

Council; but he had orders to admit the Baron as soon as the President

withdrew." Almost immediately afterwards Barroux came out, and as

Duvillard was about to enter he recognised and detained him. And he spoke

of the denunciations very bitterly, like one indignant with all the

slander. Would not he, Duvillard, should occasion require it, testify

that he, Barroux, had never taken a centime for himself? Then, forgetting

that he was speaking to a banker, and that he was Minister of Finances,

he proceeded to express all his disgust of money. Ah! what poisonous,

murky, and defiling waters were those in which money-making went on!

However, he repeated that he would chastise his insulters, and that a

statement of the truth would suffice for the purpose.

Duvillard listened and looked at him. And all at once the thought of

Silviane came back, and took possession of the Baron, without any attempt

on his part to drive it away. He reflected that if Barroux had chosen to

give him a helping hand when he had asked for it, Silviane would now have

been at the Comedie Francaise, in which case the deplorable affair of the

previous night would not have occurred; for he was beginning to regard

himself as guilty in the matter; if he had only contented Silviane's whim

she would never have dismissed him in so vile a fashion.

"You know, I owe you a grudge," he said, interrupting Barroux.

The other looked at him in astonishment. "And why, pray?" he asked.

"Why, because you never helped me in the matter of that friend of mine

who wishes to make her _debut_ in 'Polyeucte.'"

Barroux smiled, and with amiable condescension replied: "Ah! yes,

Silviane d'Aulnay! But, my dear sir, it was Taboureau who put spokes in

the wheel. The Fine Arts are his department, and the question was

entirely one for him. And I could do nothing; for that very worthy and

honest gentleman, who came to us from a provincial faculty, was full of

scruples. For my own part I'm an old Parisian, I can understand anything,

and I should have been delighted to please you."

At this fresh resistance offered to his passion Duvillard once more

became excited, eager to obtain that which was denied him. "Taboureau,

Taboureau!" said he, "he's a nice deadweight for you to load yourself

with! Honest! isn't everybody honest? Come, my dear Minister, there's

still time, get Silviane admitted, it will bring you good luck for

to-morrow."

This time Barroux burst into a frank laugh: "No, no, I can't cast

Taboureau adrift at this moment--people would make too much sport of

it--a ministry wrecked or saved by a Silviane question!"

Then he offered his hand before going off. The Baron pressed it, and for

a moment retained it in his own, whilst saying very gravely and with a

somewhat pale face: "You do wrong to laugh, my dear Minister. Governments

have fallen or set themselves erect again through smaller matters than

that. And should you fall to-morrow I trust that you will never have

occasion to regret it."

Wounded to the heart by the other's jesting air, exasperated by the idea

that there was something he could not achieve, Duvillard watched Barroux

as he withdrew. Most certainly the Baron did not desire a reconciliation

with Silviane, but he vowed that he would overturn everything if

necessary in order to send her a signed engagement for the Comedie, and

this simply by way of vengeance, as a slap, so to say,--yes, a slap which

would make her tingle! That moment spent with Barroux had been a decisive

one.

However, whilst still following Barroux with his eyes, Duvillard was

surprised to see Fonsegue arrive and manoeuvre in such a way as to escape

the Prime Minister's notice. He succeeded in doing so, and then entered

the ante-room with an appearance of dismay about the whole of his little

figure, which was, as a rule, so sprightly. It was the gust of terror,

still blowing, that had brought him thither.

"Didn't you see your friend Barroux?" the Baron asked him, somewhat

puzzled.

"Barroux? No!"

This quiet lie was equivalent to a confession of everything. Fonsegue was

so intimate with Barroux that he thee'd and thou'd him, and for ten years

had been supporting him in his newspaper, having precisely the same

views, the same political religion. But with a smash-up threatening, he

doubtless realised, thanks to his wonderfully keen scent, that he must

change his friendships if he did not wish to remain under the ruins

himself. If he had, for long years, shown so much prudence and diplomatic

virtue in order to firmly establish the most dignified and respected of

Parisian newspapers, it was not for the purpose of letting that newspaper

be compromised by some foolish blunder on the part of an honest man.

"I thought you were on bad terms with Monferrand," resumed Duvillard.

"What have you come here for?"

"Oh! my dear Baron, the director of a leading newspaper is never on bad

terms with anybody. He's at the country's service."

In spite of his emotion, Duvillard could not help smiling. "You are

right," he responded. "Besides, Monferrand is really an able man, whom

one can support without fear."

At this Fonsegue began to wonder whether his anguish of mind was visible.

He, who usually played the game of life so well, with his own hand under

thorough control, had been terrified by the article in the "Voix du

Peuple." For the first time in his career he had perpetrated a blunder,

and felt that he was at the mercy of some denunciation, for with

unpardonable imprudence he had written a very brief but compromising

note. He was not anxious concerning the 50,000 francs which Barroux had

handed him out of the 200,000 destined for the Republican press. But he

trembled lest another affair should be discovered, that of a sum of money

which he had received as a present. It was only on feeling the Baron's

keen glance upon him that he was able to recover some self-possession.

How silly it was to lose the knack of lying and to confess things simply

by one's demeanour!

But the usher drew near and repeated that the Minister was now waiting

for the Baron; and Fonsegue went to sit down beside Abbe Froment, whom he

also was astonished to find there. Pierre repeated that he had received a

letter, but had no notion what the Minister might wish to say to him. And

the quiver of his hands again revealed how feverishly impatient he was to

know what it might be. However, he could only wait, since Monferrand was

still busy discussing such grave affairs.

On seeing Duvillard enter, the Minister had stepped forward, offering his

hand. However much the blast of terror might shake others, he had

retained his calmness and good-natured smile. "What an affair, eh, my

dear Baron!" he exclaimed.

"It's idiotic!" plainly declared the other, with a shrug of his

shoulders. Then he sat down in the armchair vacated by Barroux, while the

Minister installed himself in front of him. These two were made to

understand one another, and they indulged in the same despairing gestures

and furious complaints, declaring that government, like business, would

no longer be possible if men were required to show such virtue as they

did not possess. At all times, and under every _regime_, when a decision

of the Chambers had been required in connection with some great

enterprise, had not the natural and legitimate tactics been for one to do

what might be needful to secure that decision? It was absolutely

necessary that one should obtain influential and sympathetic support, in

a word, make sure of votes. Well, everything had to be paid for, men like

other things, some with fine words, others with favours or money,

presents made in a more or less disguised manner. And even admitting

that, in the present cases, one had gone rather far in the purchasing,

that some of the bartering had been conducted in an imprudent way, was it

wise to make such an uproar over it? Would not a strong government have

begun by stifling the scandal, from motives of patriotism, a mere sense

of cleanliness even?

"Why, of course! You are right, a thousand times right!" exclaimed

Monferrand. "Ah! if I were the master you would see what a fine

first-class funeral I would give it all!" Then, as Duvillard looked at

him fixedly, struck by these last words, he added with his expressive

smile: "Unfortunately I'm not the master, and it was to talk to you of

the situation that I ventured to disturb you. Barroux, who was here just

now, seemed to me in a regrettable frame of mind."

"Yes, I saw him, he has such singular ideas at times--" Then, breaking

off, the Baron added: "Do you know that Fonsegue is in the ante-room? As

he wishes to make his peace with you, why not send for him? He won't be

in the way, in fact, he's a man of good counsel, and the support of his

newspaper often suffices to give one the victory."

"What, is Fonsegue there!" cried Monferrand. "Why, I don't ask better

than to shake hands with him. There were some old affairs between us that

don't concern anybody! But, good heavens! if you only knew what little

spite I harbour!"

When the usher had admitted Fonsegue the reconciliation took place in the

simplest fashion. They had been great friends at college in their native

Correze, but had not spoken together for ten years past in consequence of

some abominable affair the particulars of which were not exactly known.

However, it becomes necessary to clear away all corpses when one wishes

to have the arena free for a fresh battle.

"It's very good of you to come back the first," said Monferrand. "So it's

all over, you no longer bear me any grudge?"

"No, indeed!" replied Fonsegue. "Why should people devour one another

when it would be to their interest to come to an understanding?"

Then, without further explanations, they passed to the great affair, and

the conference began. And when Monferrand had announced Barroux'

determination to confess and explain his conduct, the others loudly

protested. That meant certain downfall, they would prevent him, he surely

would not be guilty of such folly. Forthwith they discussed every

imaginable plan by which the Ministry might be saved, for that must

certainly be Monferrand's sole desire. He himself with all eagerness

pretended to seek some means of extricating his colleagues and himself

from the mess in which they were. However, a faint smile, still played