第 48 页

Salvat's arrest which they had expected. All they could discover was a

brief paragraph in a column of general news, setting forth that some

policemen on duty in the Bois de Boulogne had there arrested an

Anarchist, who was believed to have played a part in certain recent

occurrences. On the other hand, the papers gave a deal of space to the

questions raised by Sagnier's fresh denunciations. There were innumerable

articles on the African Railways scandal, and the great debate which

might be expected at the Chamber of Deputies, should Mege, the Socialist

member, really renew his interpellation, as he had announced his

intention of doing.

As Guillaume's wrist was now fast healing, and nothing seemed to threaten

him, he had already, on the previous evening, decided that he would

return to Montmartre. The police had passed him by without apparently

suspecting any responsibility on his part; and he was convinced that

Salvat would keep silent. Pierre, however, begged him to wait a little

longer, at any rate until the prisoner should have been interrogated by

the investigating magistrate, by which time they would be able to judge

the situation more clearly. Pierre, moreover, during his long stay at the

Home Department on the previous morning, had caught a glimpse of certain

things and overheard certain words which made him suspect some dim

connection between Salvat's crime and the parliamentary crisis; and he

therefore desired a settlement of the latter before Guillaume returned to

his wonted life.

"Just listen," he said to his brother. "I am going to Morin's to ask him

to come and dine here this evening, for it is absolutely necessary that

Barthes should be warned of the fresh blow which is falling on him. And

then I think I shall go to the Chamber, as I want to know what takes

place there. After that, since you desire it, I will let you go back to

your own home."

It was not more than half-past one when Pierre reached the

Palais-Bourbon. It had occurred to him that Fonsegue would be able to

secure him admittance to the meeting-hall, but in the vestibule he met

General de Bozonnet, who happened to possess a couple of tickets. A

friend of his, who was to have accompanied him, had, at the last moment,

been unable to come. So widespread was the curiosity concerning the

debate now near at hand, and so general were the predictions that it

would prove a most exciting one, that the demand for tickets had been

extremely keen during the last twenty-four hours. In fact Pierre would

never have been able to obtain admittance if the General had not

good-naturedly offered to take him in. As a matter of fact the old

warrior was well pleased to have somebody to chat with. He explained that

he had simply come there to kill time, just as he might have killed it at

a concert or a charity bazaar. However, like the ex-Legitimist and

Bonapartist that he was, he had really come for the pleasure of feasting

his eyes on the shameful spectacle of parliamentary ignominy.

When the General and Pierre had climbed the stairs, they were able to

secure two front seats in one of the public galleries. Little Massot, who

was already there, and who knew them both, placed one of them on his

right and the other on his left. "I couldn't find a decent seat left in

the press gallery," said he, "but I managed to get this place, from which

I shall be able to see things properly. It will certainly be a big

sitting. Just look at the number of people there are on every side!"

The narrow and badly arranged galleries were packed to overflowing. There

were men of every age and a great many women too in the confused, serried

mass of spectators, amidst which one only distinguished a multiplicity of

pale white faces. The real scene, however, was down below in the

meeting-hall, which was as yet empty, and with its rows of seats disposed

in semi-circular fashion looked like the auditorium of a theatre. Under

the cold light which fell from the glazed roofing appeared the solemn,

shiny tribune, whence members address the Chamber, whilst behind it, on a

higher level, and running right along the rear wall, was what is called

the Bureau, with its various tables and seats, including the presidential

armchair. The Bureau, like the tribune, was still unoccupied. The only

persons one saw there were a couple of attendants who were laying out new

pens and filling inkstands.

"The women," said Massot with a laugh, after another glance at the

galleries, "come here just as they might come to a menagerie, that is, in

the secret hope of seeing wild beasts devour one another. But, by the

way, did you read the article in the 'Voix du Peuple' this morning? What

a wonderful fellow that Sagnier is. When nobody else can find any filth

left, he manages to discover some. He apparently thinks it necessary to

add something new every day, in order to send his sales up. And of course

it all disturbs the public, and it's thanks to him that so many people

have come here in the hope of witnessing some horrid scene."

Then he laughed again, as he asked Pierre if he had read an unsigned

article in the "Globe," which in very dignified but perfidious language

had called upon Barroux to give the full and frank explanations which the

country had a right to demand in that matter of the African Railways.

This paper had hitherto vigorously supported the President of the

Council, but in the article in question the coldness which precedes a

rupture was very apparent. Pierre replied that the article had much

surprised him, for he had imagined that Fonsegue and Barroux were linked

together by identity of views and long-standing personal friendship.

Massot was still laughing. "Quite so," said he. "And you may be sure that

the governor's heart bled when he wrote that article. It has been much

noticed, and it will do the government a deal of harm. But the governor,

you see, knows better than anybody else what line he ought to follow to

save both his own position and the paper's."

Then he related what extraordinary confusion and emotion reigned among

the deputies in the lobbies through which he had strolled before coming

upstairs to secure a seat. After an adjournment of a couple of days the

Chamber found itself confronted by this terrible scandal, which was like

one of those conflagrations which, at the moment when they are supposed

to be dying out, suddenly flare up again and devour everything. The

various figures given in Sagnier's list, the two hundred thousand francs

paid to Barroux, the eighty thousand handed to Monferrand, the fifty

thousand allotted to Fonsegue, the ten thousand pocketed by Duthil, and

the three thousand secured by Chaigneux, with all the other amounts

distributed among So-and-so and So-and-so, formed the general subject of

conversation. And at the same time some most extraordinary stories were

current; there was no end of tittle-tattle in which fact and falsehood

were so inextricably mingled that everybody was at sea as to the real

truth. Whilst many deputies turned pale and trembled as beneath a blast

of terror, others passed by purple with excitement, bursting with

delight, laughing with exultation at the thought of coming victory. For,

in point of fact, beneath all the assumed indignation, all the calls for

parliamentary cleanliness and morality, there simply lay a question of

persons--the question of ascertaining whether the government would be

overthrown, and in that event of whom the new administration would

consist. Barroux no doubt appeared to be in a bad way; but with things in

such a muddle one was bound to allow a margin for the unexpected. From

what was generally said it seemed certain that Mege would be extremely

violent. Barroux would answer him, and the Minister's friends declared

that he was determined to speak out in the most decisive manner. As for

Monferrand he would probably address the Chamber after his colleague, but

Vignon's intentions were somewhat doubtful, as, in spite of his delight,

he made a pretence of remaining in the back, ground. He had been seen

going from one to another of his partisans, advising them to keep calm,

in order that they might retain the cold, keen _coup d'oeil_ which in

warfare generally decides the victory. Briefly, such was the plotting and

intriguing that never had any witch's cauldron brimful of drugs and

nameless abominations been set to boil on a more hellish fire than that

of this parliamentary cook-shop.

"Heaven only knows what they will end by serving us," said little Massot

by way of conclusion.

General de Bozonnet for his part anticipated nothing but disaster. If

France had only possessed an army, said he, one might have swept away

that handful of bribe-taking parliamentarians who preyed upon the country

and rotted it. But there was no army left, there was merely an armed

nation, a very different thing. And thereupon, like a man of a past age

whom the present times distracted, he started on what had been his

favourite subject of complaint ever since he had been retired from the

service.

"Here's an idea for an article if you want one," he said to Massot.

"Although France may have a million soldiers she hasn't got an army. I'll

give you some notes of mine, and you will be able to tell people the

truth."

Warfare, he continued, ought to be purely and simply a caste occupation,

with commanders designated by divine right, leading mercenaries or

volunteers into action. By democratising warfare people had simply killed

it; a circumstance which he deeply regretted, like a born soldier who

regarded fighting as the only really noble occupation that life offered.

For, as soon as it became every man's duty to fight, none was willing to

do so; and thus compulsory military service--what was called "the nation

in arms"--would, at a more or less distant date, certainly bring about

the end of warfare. If France had not engaged in a European war since

1870 this was precisely due to the fact that everybody in France was

ready to fight. But rulers hesitated to throw a whole nation against

another nation, for the loss both in life and treasure would be

tremendous. And so the thought that all Europe was transformed into a

vast camp filled the General with anger and disgust. He sighed for the

old times when men fought for the pleasure of the thing, just as they

hunted; whereas nowadays people were convinced that they would

exterminate one another at the very first engagement.

"But surely it wouldn't be an evil if war should disappear," Pierre

gently remarked.

This somewhat angered the General. "Well, you'll have pretty nations if

people no longer fight," he answered, and then trying to show a practical

spirit, he added: "Never has the art of war cost more money than since

war itself has become an impossibility. The present-day defensive peace

is purely and simply ruining every country in Europe. One may be spared

defeat, but utter bankruptcy is certainly at the end of it all. And in

any case the profession of arms is done for. All faith in it is dying

out, and it will soon be forsaken, just as men have begun to forsake the

priesthood."

Thereupon he made a gesture of mingled grief and anger, almost cursing

that parliament, that Republican legislature before him, as if he

considered it responsible for the future extinction of warfare. But

little Massot was wagging his head dubiously, for he regarded the subject

as rather too serious a one for him to write upon. And, all at once, in

order to turn the conversation into another channel, he exclaimed: "Ah!

there's Monseigneur Martha in the diplomatic gallery beside the Spanish

Ambassador. It's denied, you know, that he intends to come forward as a

candidate in Morbihan. He's far too shrewd to wish to be a deputy. He

already pulls the strings which set most of the Catholic deputies who

have 'rallied' to the Republican Government in motion."

Pierre himself had just noticed Monseigneur Martha's smiling face. And,

somehow or other, however modest might be the prelate's demeanour, it

seemed to him that he really played an important part in what was going

on. He could hardly take his eyes from him. It was as if he expected that

he would suddenly order men hither and thither, and direct the whole

march of events.

"Ah!" said Massot again. "Here comes Mege. It won't be long now before

the sitting begins."

The hall, down below, was gradually filling. Deputies entered and

descended the narrow passages between the benches. Most of them remained

standing and chatting in a more or less excited way; but some seated

themselves and raised their grey, weary faces to the glazed roof. It was

a cloudy afternoon, and rain was doubtless threatening, for the light

became quite livid. If the hall was pompous it was also dismal with its

heavy columns, its cold allegorical statues, and its stretches of bare

marble and woodwork. The only brightness was that of the red velvet of

the benches and the gallery hand-rests.

Every deputy of any consequence who entered was named by Massot to his

companions. Mege, on being stopped by another member of the little

Socialist group, began to fume and gesticulate. Then Vignon, detaching

himself from a group of friends and putting on an air of smiling

composure, descended the steps towards his seat. The occupants of the

galleries, however, gave most attention to the accused members, those

whose names figured in Sagnier's list. And these were interesting

studies. Some showed themselves quite sprightly, as if they were entirely

at their ease; but others had assumed a most grave and indignant

demeanour. Chaigneux staggered and hesitated as if beneath the weight of

some frightful act of injustice; whereas Duthil looked perfectly serene

save for an occasional twitch of his lips. The most admired, however, was

Fonsegue, who showed so candid a face, so open a glance, that his