But one afternoon, as he entered the editor's room, Boisrenard held out
the current number of the _Plume_, saying: "Here's another spiteful dig
at you."
"Ah! what about?"
"Oh! a mere nothing--the arrest of a Madame Aubert by the police."
George took the paper, and read, under the heading, "Duroy's Latest":
"The illustrious reporter of the _Vie Francaise_ to-day informs us that
Madame Aubert, whose arrest by a police agent belonging to the odious
_brigade des moeurs_ we announced, exists only in our imagination. Now
the person in question lives at 18 Rue de l'Ecureuil, Montmartre. We
understand only too well, however, the interest the agents of Walter's
bank have in supporting those of the Prefect of Police, who tolerates
their commerce. As to the reporter of whom it is a question, he would do
better to give us one of those good sensational bits of news of which he
has the secret--news of deaths contradicted the following day, news of
battles which have never taken place, announcements of important
utterances by sovereigns who have not said anything--all the news, in
short, which constitutes Walter's profits, or even one of those little
indiscretions concerning entertainments given by would-be fashionable
ladies, or the excellence of certain articles of consumption which are
of such resource to some of our compeers."
The young fellow was more astonished than annoyed, only understanding
that there was something very disagreeable for him in all this.