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
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
around his lips, and at last as if vanquished he sought no further.
"There's no help for it," said he, "the ministry's down."
The others exchanged glances, full of anxiety at the thought of another
Cabinet dealing with the African Railways affair. A Vignon Cabinet would
doubtless plume itself on behaving honestly.
"Well, then, what shall we do?"
But just then the telephone rang, and Monferrand rose to respond to the
summons: "Allow me."
He listened for a moment and then spoke into the tube, nothing that he
said giving the others any inkling of the information which had reached
him. This had come from the Chief of the Detective Police, and was to the
effect that Salvat's whereabouts in the Bois de Boulogne had been
discovered, and that he would be hunted down with all speed. "Very good!
And don't forget my orders," replied Monferrand.
Now that Salvat's arrest was certain, the Minister determined to follow
the plan which had gradually taken shape in his mind; and returning to
the middle of the room he slowly walked to and fro, while saying with his
wonted familiarity: "But what would you have, my friends? It would be
necessary for me to be the master. Ah! if I were the master! A Commission
of Inquiry, yes! that's the proper form for a first-class funeral to take
in a big affair like this, so full of nasty things. For my part, I should
confess nothing, and I should have a Commission appointed. And then you
would see the storm subside."
Duvillard and Fonsegue began to laugh. The latter, however, thanks to his
intimate knowledge of Monferrand, almost guessed the truth. "Just
listen!" said he; "even if the ministry falls it doesn't necessarily
follow that you must be on the ground with it. Besides, a ministry can be
mended when there are good pieces of it left."
Somewhat anxious at finding his thoughts guessed, Monferrand protested:
"No, no, my dear fellow, I don't play that game. We are jointly
responsible, we've got to keep together, dash it all!"
"Keep together! Pooh! Not when simpletons purposely drown themselves!
And, besides, if we others have need of you, we have a right to save you
in spite of yourself! Isn't that so, my dear Baron?"
Then, as Monferrand sat down, no longer protesting but waiting,
Duvillard, who was again thinking of his passion, full of anger at the
recollection of Barroux' refusal, rose in his turn, and exclaimed: "Why,
certainly! If the ministry's condemned let it fall! What good can you get
out of a ministry which includes such a man as Taboureau! There you have
an old, worn-out professor without any prestige, who comes to Paris from
Grenoble, and has never set foot in a theatre in his life! Yet the
control of the theatres is handed over to him, and naturally he's ever
doing the most stupid things!"
Monferrand, who was well informed on the Silviane question, remained
grave, and for a moment amused himself by trying to excite the Baron.
"Taboureau," said he, "is a somewhat dull and old-fashioned University
man, but at the department of Public Instruction he's in his proper
element."
"Oh! don't talk like that, my dear fellow! You are more intelligent than
that, you are not going to defend Taboureau as Barroux did. It's quite
true that I should very much like to see Silviane at the Comedie. She's a
very good girl at heart, and she has an amazing lot of talent. Would you
stand in her way if you were in Taboureau's place?"
"I? Good heavens, no! A pretty girl on the stage, why, it would please
everybody, I'm sure. Only it would be necessary to have a man of the same
views as were at the department of Instruction and Fine Arts."
His sly smile had returned to his face. The securing of that girl's
_debut_ was certainly not a high price to pay for all the influence of
Duvillard's millions. Monferrand therefore turned towards Fonsegue as if
to consult him. The other, who fully understood the importance of the
affair, was meditating in all seriousness: "A senator is the proper man
for Public Instruction," said he. "But I can think of none, none at all,
such as would be wanted. A man of broad mind, a real Parisian, and yet
one whose presence at the head of the University wouldn't cause too much
astonishment--there's perhaps Dauvergne--"
"Dauvergne! Who's he?" exclaimed Monferrand in surprise. "Ah! yes,
Dauvergne the senator for Dijon--but he's altogether ignorant of
University matters, he hasn't the slightest qualification."
"Well, as for that," resumed Fonsegue, "I'm trying to think. Dauvergne is
certainly a good-looking fellow, tall and fair and decorative. Besides,
he's immensely rich, has a most charming young wife--which does no harm,
on the contrary--and he gives real _fetes_ at his place on the Boulevard
St. Germain."
It was only with hesitation that Fonsegue himself had ventured to suggest
Dauvergne. But by degrees his selection appeared to him a real "find."
"Wait a bit! I recollect now that in his young days Dauvergne wrote a
comedy, a one act comedy in verse, and had it performed at Dijon. And
Dijon's a literary town, you know, so that piece of his sets a little
perfume of 'Belles-Lettres' around him. And then, too, he left Dijon
twenty years ago, and is a most determined Parisian, frequenting every
sphere of society. Dauvergne will do whatever one desires. He's the man
for us, I tell you."
Duvillard thereupon declared that he knew him, and considered him a very
decent fellow. Besides, he or another, it mattered nothing!
"Dauvergne, Dauvergne," repeated Monferrand. "_Mon Dieu_, yes! After all,
why not? He'll perhaps make a very good minister. Let us say Dauvergne."
Then suddenly bursting into a hearty laugh: "And so we are reconstructing
the Cabinet in order that that charming young woman may join the Comedie!
The Silviane cabinet--well, and what about the other departments?"
He jested, well knowing that gaiety often hastens difficult solutions.
And, indeed, they merrily continued settling what should be done if the
ministry were defeated on the morrow. Although they had not plainly said
so the plan was to let Barroux sink, even help him to do so, and then
fish Monferrand out of the troubled waters. The latter engaged himself
with the two others, because he had need of them, the Baron on account of
his financial sovereignty, and the director of "Le Globe" on account of
the press campaign which he could carry on in his favour. And in the same
way the others, quite apart from the Silviane business, had need of
Monferrand, the strong-handed man of government, who undertook to bury
the African Railways scandal by bringing about a Commission of Inquiry,
all the strings of which would be pulled by himself. There was soon a
perfect understanding between the three men, for nothing draws people
more closely together than common interest, fear and need. Accordingly,
when Duvillard spoke of Duthil's business, the young lady whom he wished
to recommend, the Minister declared that it was settled. A very nice
fellow was Duthil, they needed a good many like him. And it was also
agreed that Chaigneux' future son-in-law should have his secretaryship.
Poor Chaigneux! He was so devoted, always ready to undertake any
commission, and his four women folk led him such a hard life!
"Well, then, it's understood." And Monferrand, Duvillard and Fonsegue
vigorously shook hands.
However, when the first accompanied the others to the door, he noticed a
prelate, in a cassock of fine material, edged with violet, speaking to a
priest in the ante-room. Thereupon he, the Minister, hastened forward,
looking much distressed. "Ah! you were waiting, Monseigneur Martha! Come
in, come in quick!"
But with perfect urbanity the Bishop refused. "No, no, Monsieur l'Abbe
Froment was here before me. Pray receive him first."
Monferrand had to give way; he admitted the priest, and speedily dealt
with him. He who usually employed the most diplomatic reserve when he was
in presence of a member of the clergy plumply unfolded the Barthes
business. Pierre had experienced the keenest anguish during the two hours
that he had been waiting there, for he could only explain the letter he
had received by a surmise that the police had discovered his brother's
presence in his house. And so when he heard the Minister simply speak of
Barthes, and declare that the government would rather see him go into
exile than be obliged to imprison him once more, he remained for a moment
quite disconcerted. As the police had been able to discover the old
conspirator in the little house at Neuilly, how was it that they seemed
altogether ignorant of Guillaume's presence there? It was, however, the
usual gap in the genius of great detectives.
"Pray what do you desire of me, Monsieur le Ministre?" said Pierre at
last; "I don't quite understand."
"Why, Monsieur l'Abbe, I leave all this to your sense of prudence. If
that man were still at your house in forty-eight hours from now, we
should be obliged to arrest him there, which would be a source of grief
to us, for we are aware that your residence is the abode of every virtue.
So advise him to leave France. If he does that we shall not trouble him."
Then Monferrand hastily brought Pierre back to the ante-room; and,
smiling and bending low, he said: "Monseigneur, I am entirely at your
disposal. Come in, come in, I beg you."
The prelate, who was gaily chatting with Duvillard and Fonsegue, shook
hands with them, and then with Pierre. In his desire to win all hearts,
he that morning displayed the most perfect graciousness. His bright,
black eyes were all smiles, the whole of his handsome face wore a
caressing expression, and he entered the ministerial sanctum leisurely
and gracefully, with an easy air of conquest.
And now only Monferrand and Monseigneur Martha were left, talking on and
on in the deserted building. Some people had thought that the prelate
wished to become a deputy. But he played a far more useful and lofty part
in governing behind the scenes, in acting as the directing mind of the
Vatican's policy in France. Was not France still the Eldest Daughter of
the Church, the only great nation which might some day restore
omnipotence to the Papacy? For that reason he had accepted the Republic,
preached the duty of "rallying" to it, and inspired the new Catholic
group in the Chamber. And Monferrand, on his side, struck by the progress
of the New Spirit, that reaction of mysticism which flattered itself that
it would bury science, showed the prelate much amiability, like a
strong-handed man who, to ensure his own victory, utilised every force
that was offered him.
IV
THE MAN HUNT