His Excellency the Minister Part 45

"I do not know. I know nothing myself. Perhaps it is wrong of me not to keep myself informed of pa.s.sing events, but all that wearies me. I detest politics and journals--I am told quite enough about them.

Politics! that which takes my husband from me! My uncle, Doctor Reboux, often said to me: 'Never marry a doctor; he is only half a husband.'

Vaudrey is like a doctor. Always absent, with his everlasting night-sessions."

"Night-sessions?" asked Lissac.

"Yes, at the Chamber--continually--"

Guy determined to betray nothing of his astonishment; but he knew now as surely as if he had learned everything, why Sulpice neglected Adrienne.

The fool! some girl from the Opera! some office-seeker who was skilfully entangling His Excellency! That appertained to his functions then? He was exasperated at Vaudrey and alternately looked at him and at Adrienne. So perfect a woman! Ravis.h.i.+ng. What an exquisite profile, so delicate and with such a straight nose and a delightful mouth! Was Vaudrey mad then?

The guests rose from the table, and, as usual, the men went into the smoking-room, leaving the salon half-empty. Madame Gerson profited thereby to continue distilling her little slanders about Sabine, which she did while laughing heartily. In the smoking-room the men chatted away beneath the cloud that rose from their _londres_. The clarion tones of Warcolier rung out above all the other voices.

Guy, seated in a corner on a divan, was still thinking of Adrienne, of those _night-sessions_, of those expositions, of those agricultural compet.i.tions invented by Sulpice, and caught but s.n.a.t.c.hes of the conversation, jests, and nonsensical stories which were made at the cost of the colleagues of the Chamber and political friends:

"You know how Badiche learned at the last election that he was not elected?"

"No, how?"

"He returned to his house, anxious as to the result of the ballot. And he heard, what do you think? His children, a little boy and a little girl, who on receipt of the telegram that papa was waiting for and that mamma in her feverish expectation had opened, had already composed a song to the air of _The Young Man Poisoned_:

Resultat tres negatif, Ballottage positif!

Badiche est ballo-- Bate, Est ballotte!

Oui, Badiche est ballotte; C'est papa qu'est ballotte!

Happy precocity! genuine frightful gamins!"

"_Du Gavarni_!"

"Apropos, on what majority do you count, Monsieur le President?"

"One hundred and thirty-nine."

"That is a large one."

"I! my dear fellow,"--it was old Prangins speaking to Senator Crepeau,--"I do not count myself as likely to be included in the next ministry, no! I do not delude myself, but I shall be in the second--or rather in the third--no, in the fourth--yes, in the fourth ministry--a.s.suredly!"

An asthmatic cough, the cough of an old man, interrupted his remarks.

Guy heard Warcolier, as he held a small gla.s.s of kirsch in his hand, say with a laugh:

"I have a way of holding my electors in leash. Not only when I visit them do I address them as _my friend, my brave_, which flatters them, but from time to time, I write them autograph letters. They look upon that like ready money. Some of them, the good fellows, are flattered: 'He has written to me, he is not proud!' Others, the suspicious fellows, are rea.s.sured: 'Now--I have his signature, I have him!' And there you are!"

They laughed heartily.

"How they laugh _afterward_," thought Lissac, "at the electors whose shoes they would blacken _beforehand_."

"The course that I have followed is very simple," said another. "I desired to become sub-prefect so as to become a prefect and a prefect to become a deputy, and a deputy so as to reach a receiver-generals.h.i.+p. The salaries a.s.sured, why, there's the crowning of a career."

"Why, that fellow _plays the whole gamut_," again thought Guy, "but he is frank!"

"I read very little," now replied Crepeau to Warcolier--"I do not much care for pure literature--we politicians, we need substantial reading that will teach us to think."

"I believe you!--" murmured this Parisian Guy, still smoking and listening. "Go to school, my good man!"

The conversation thus intermingled and confused, horrified and irritated this _blase_ by its gravity and selfishness. He summed up an entire character in a single phrase and shook his head as he very shrewdly remarked: "Suppose _Universal Suffrage_ were listening?"

Lissac did not take any part in these conversations. It was his delight to observe. He drew amus.e.m.e.nt from all these wearisome commonplaces, according to his custom as a curious spectator.

He was about, however, to rise and approach Vaudrey, who was instinctively coming toward him, when the Prefect of Police, Monsieur Jouvenet, without noticing it, placed himself between the minister and his friend.

Jouvenet spoke in a low tone to Vaudrey, smiling at the same time very peculiarly and pa.s.sing his fingers through his whiskers. Whatever discretion the prefect employed, Guy was near enough to him to hear the name of Marianne Kayser, which surprised him.

Marianne! what question of Marianne could there be between these two men?

Lissac observed that Vaudrey suddenly became very pale.

He drew still nearer, pretending to finish a cup of coffee while standing. Then he heard these words very distinctly:

"A reporter saw you leave her house the other evening!"

Guy moved away very quickly. He felt a sort of sudden bewilderment, as if the few words spoken by the Prefect of Police were the natural result of his conversation with Adrienne, an immediate response thereto.

"It would be astonis.h.i.+ng if Marianne--" thought Lissac.

Besides, he would know soon. He would merely question Vaudrey.

As soon as Jouvenet, always polite, grave and impa.s.sive, had left "Monsieur le Ministre" in a state of visible nervousness, almost of anxiety, he entered upon his plan.

"You know Mademoiselle Kayser intimately then?" he asked Vaudrey, who, taken aback, looked at him for a moment without replying and endeavored to grasp Lissac's purpose.

"Am I imprudent?" further asked Guy.

"No, but who has told you--?"

"Nothing, your Prefect of Police only spoke a little too loud. He seemed to me to understand."

Vaudrey's hand rapidly seized Lissac's wrist.

"Hus.h.!.+ be silent!"

"Very well! Good!" said Lissac to himself. "Poor little Adrienne."

"I will tell you all about that later. Oh! nothing is more simple! It isn't what you think!"

"I am sure of that!" answered Lissac, with a smile.

In a mechanical way, and as if to evade his friend, Sulpice left the smoking-room for the salon, tritely observing:

"We must rejoin the ladies--the cigar kills conversation--"