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colleagues as well as the spectators might well have declared him

innocent. Nobody indeed could have looked more like an honest man.

"Ah! there's none like the governor," muttered Massot with enthusiasm.

"But be attentive, for here come the ministers. One mustn't miss Barroux'

meeting with Fonsegue, after this morning's article."

Chance willed it that as Barroux came along with his head erect, his face

pale, and his whole demeanour aggressive, he was obliged to pass Fonsegue

in order to reach the ministerial bench. In doing so he did not speak to

him, but he gazed at him fixedly like one who is conscious of defection,

of a cowardly stab in the back on the part of a traitor. Fonsegue seemed

quite at ease, and went on shaking hands with one and another of his

colleagues as if he were altogether unconscious of Barroux' glance. Nor

did he even appear to see Monferrand, who walked by in the rear of the

Prime Minister, wearing a placid good-natured air, as if he knew nothing

of what was impending, but was simply coming to some ordinary humdrum

sitting. However, when he reached his seat, he raised his eyes and smiled

at Monseigneur Martha, who gently nodded to him. Then well pleased to

think that things were going as he wished them to go, he began to rub his

hands, as he often did by way of expressing his satisfaction.

"Who is that grey-haired, mournful-looking gentleman on the ministerial

bench?" Pierre inquired of Massot.

"Why, that's Taboureau, the Minister of Public Instruction, the excellent

gentleman who is said to have no prestige. One's always hearing of him,

and one never recognises him; he looks like an old, badly worn coin. Just

like Barroux he can't feel very well pleased with the governor this

afternoon, for to-day's 'Globe' contained an article pointing out his

thorough incapacity in everything concerning the fine arts. It was an

article in measured language, but all the more effective for that very

reason. It would surprise me if Taboureau should recover from it."

Just then a low roll of drums announced the arrival of the President and

other officials of the Chamber. A door opened, and a little procession

passed by amidst an uproar of exclamations and hasty footsteps. Then,

standing at his table, the President rang his bell and declared the

sitting open. But few members remained silent, however, whilst one of the

secretaries, a dark, lanky young man with a harsh voice, read the minutes

of the previous sitting. When they had been adopted, various letters of

apology for non-attendance were read, and a short, unimportant bill was

passed without discussion. And then came the big affair, Mege's

interpellation, and at once the whole Chamber was in a flutter, while the

most passionate curiosity reigned in the galleries above. On the

Government consenting to the interpellation, the Chamber decided that the

debate should take place at once. And thereupon complete silence fell,

save that now and again a brief quiver sped by, in which one could detect

the various feelings, passions and appetites swaying the assembly.

Mege began to speak with assumed moderation, carefully setting forth the

various points at issue. Tall and thin, gnarled and twisted like a

vine-stock, he rested his hands on the tribune as if to support his bent

figure, and his speech was often interrupted by the little dry cough

which came from the tuberculosis that was burning him. But his eyes

sparkled with passion behind his glasses, and little by little his voice

rose in piercing accents and he drew his lank figure erect and began to

gesticulate vehemently. He reminded the Chamber that some two months

previously, at the time of the first denunciations published by the "Voix

du Peuple," he had asked leave to interpellate the Government respecting

that deplorable affair of the African Railways; and he remarked, truly

enough, that if the Chamber had not yielded to certain considerations

which he did not wish to discuss, and had not adjourned his proposed

inquiries, full light would long since have been thrown on the whole

affair, in such wise that there would have been no revival, no increase

of the scandal, and no possible pretext for that abominable campaign of

denunciation which tortured and disgusted the country. However, it had at

last been understood that silence could be maintained no longer. It was

necessary that the two ministers who were so loudly accused of having

abused their trusts, should prove their innocence, throw full light upon

all they had done; apart from which the Chamber itself could not possibly

remain beneath the charge of wholesale venality.

Then he recounted the whole history of the affair, beginning with the

grant of a concession for the African Lines to Baron Duvillard; and next

passing to the proposals for the issue of lottery stock, which proposals,

it was now said, had only been sanctioned by the Chamber after the most

shameful bargaining and buying of votes. At this point Mege became

extremely violent. Speaking of that mysterious individual Hunter, Baron

Duvillard's recruiter and go-between, he declared that the police had

allowed him to flee from France, much preferring to spend its time in

shadowing Socialist deputies. Then, hammering the tribune with his fist,

he summoned Barroux to give a categorical denial to the charges brought

against him, and to make it absolutely clear that he had never received a

single copper of the two hundred thousand francs specified in Hunter's

list. Forthwith certain members shouted to Mege that he ought to read the

whole list; but when he wished to do so others vociferated that it was

abominable, that such a mendacious and slanderous document ought not to

be accorded a place in the proceedings of the French legislature. Mege

went on still in frantic fashion, figuratively casting Sagnier into the

gutter, and protesting that there was nothing in common between himself

and such a base insulter. But at the same time he demanded that justice

and punishment should be meted out equally to one and all, and that if

indeed there were any bribe-takers among his colleagues, they should be

sent that very night to the prison of Mazas.

Meantime the President, erect at his table, rang and rang his bell

without managing to quell the uproar. He was like a pilot who finds the

tempest too strong for him. Among all the men with purple faces and

barking mouths who were gathered in front of him, the ushers alone

maintained imperturbable gravity. At intervals between the bursts of

shouting, Mege's voice could still be heard. By some sudden transition he

had come to the question of a Collectivist organisation of society such

as he dreamt of, and he contrasted it with the criminal capitalist

society of the present day, which alone, said he, could produce such

scandals. And yielding more and more to his apostolic fervour, declaring

that there could be no salvation apart from Collectivism, he shouted that

the day of triumph would soon dawn. He awaited it with a smile of

confidence. In his opinion, indeed, he merely had to overthrow that

ministry and perhaps another one, and then he himself would at last take

the reins of power in hand, like a reformer who would know how to pacify

the nation. As outside Socialists often declared, it was evident that the

blood of a dictator flowed in that sectarian's veins. His feverish,

stubborn rhetoric ended by exhausting his interrupters, who were

compelled to listen to him. When he at last decided to leave the tribune,

loud applause arose from a few benches on the left.

"Do you know," said Massot to the General, "I met Mege taking a walk with

his three little children in the Jardin des Plantes the other day. He

looked after them as carefully as an old nurse. I believe he's a very

worthy fellow at heart, and lives in a very modest way."

But a quiver had now sped through the assembly. Barroux had quitted his

seat to ascend the tribune. He there drew himself erect, throwing his

head back after his usual fashion. There was a haughty, majestic,

slightly sorrowful expression on his handsome face, which would have been

perfect had his nose only been a little larger. He began to express his

sorrow and indignation in fine flowery language, which he punctuated with

theatrical gestures. His eloquence was that of a tribune of the romantic

school, and as one listened to him one could divine that in spite of all

his pomposity he was really a worthy, tender-hearted and somewhat foolish

man. That afternoon he was stirred by genuine emotion; his heart bled at

the thought of his disastrous destiny, he felt that a whole world was

crumbling with himself. Ah! what a cry of despair he stifled, the cry of

the man who is buffeted and thrown aside by the course of events on the

very day when he thinks that his civic devotion entitles him to triumph!

To have given himself and all he possessed to the cause of the Republic,

even in the dark days of the Second Empire; to have fought and struggled

and suffered persecution for that Republic's sake; to have established

that Republic amidst the battle of parties, after all the horrors of

national and civil war; and then, when the Republic at last triumphed and

became a living fact, secure from all attacks and intrigues, to suddenly

feel like a survival of some other age, to hear new comers speak a new

language, preach a new ideal, and behold the collapse of all he had

loved, all he had reverenced, all that had given him strength to fight

and conquer! The mighty artisans of the early hours were no more; it had

been meet that Gambetta should die. How bitter it all was for the last

lingering old ones to find themselves among the men of the new,

intelligent and shrewd generation, who gently smiled at them, deeming

their romanticism quite out of fashion! All crumbled since the ideal of

liberty collapsed, since liberty was no longer the one desideratum, the

very basis of the Republic whose existence had been so dearly purchased

after so long an effort!

Erect and dignified Barroux made his confession. The Republic to him was

like the sacred ark of life; the very worst deeds became saintly if they

were employed to save her from peril. And in all simplicity he, told his

story, how he had found the great bulk of Baron Duvillard's money going

to the opposition newspapers as pretended payment for puffery and

advertising, whilst on the other hand the Republican organs received but

beggarly, trumpery amounts. He had been Minister of the Interior at the

time, and had therefore had charge of the press; so what would have been

said of him if he had not endeavoured to reestablish some equilibrium in

this distribution of funds in order that the adversaries of the

institutions of the country might not acquire a great increase of

strength by appropriating all the sinews of war? Hands had been stretched

out towards him on all sides, a score of newspapers, the most faithful,

the most meritorious, had claimed their legitimate share. And he had

ensured them that share by distributing among them the two hundred

thousand francs set down in the list against his name. Not a centime of

the money had gone into his own pocket, he would allow nobody to impugn

his personal honesty, on that point his word must suffice. At that moment

Barroux was really grand. All his emphatic pomposity disappeared; he

showed himself, as he really was--an honest man, quivering, his heart

bared, his conscience bleeding, in his bitter distress at having been

among those who had laboured and at now being denied reward.

For, truth to tell, his words fell amidst icy silence. In his childish

simplicity he had anticipated an outburst of enthusiasm; a Republican

Chamber could but acclaim him for having saved the Republic; and now the

frigidity of one and all quite froze him. He suddenly felt that he was

all alone, done for, touched by the hand of death. Nevertheless, he

continued speaking amidst that terrible silence with the courage of one

who is committing suicide, and who, from his love of noble and eloquent

attitudes, is determined to die standing. He ended with a final

impressive gesture. However, as he came down from the tribune, the

general coldness seemed to increase, not a single member applauded. With

supreme clumsiness he had alluded to the secret scheming of Rome and the

clergy, whose one object, in his opinion, was to recover the predominant

position they had lost and restore monarchy in France at a more or less

distant date.

"How silly of him! Ought a man ever to confess?" muttered Massot. "He's

done for, and the ministry too!"

Then, amidst the general frigidity, Monferrand boldly ascended the

tribune stairs. The prevailing uneasiness was compounded of all the

secret fear which sincerity always causes, of all the distress of the

bribe-taking deputies who felt that they were rolling into an abyss, and

also of the embarrassment which the others felt at thought of the more or

less justifiable compromises of politics. Something like relief,

therefore, came when Monferrand started with the most emphatic denials,

protesting in the name of his outraged honour, and dealing blow after

blow on the tribune with one hand, while with the other he smote his

chest. Short and thick-set, with his face thrust forward, hiding his

shrewdness beneath an expression of indignant frankness, he was for a

moment really superb. He denied everything. He was not only ignorant of

what was meant by that sum of eighty thousand francs set down against his

name, but he defied the whole world to prove that he had even touched a

single copper of that money. He boiled over with indignation to such a

point that he did not simply deny bribe-taking on his own part, he denied

it on behalf of the whole assembly, of all present and past French

legislatures, as if, indeed, bribe-taking on the part of a representative

of the people was altogether too monstrous an idea, a crime that

surpassed possibility to such an extent that the mere notion of it was