had brought with him a memorandum about the mayors and prefects who
had asked for the crosses of chevalier and officer in the Legion of
Honour. Rougon had twenty-five crosses to dispose of among the most
meritorious of the applicants. He took the memorandum, read over the
names and consulted various papers, while M. Bouchard went up to the
fire and shook hands with the three others. Then, with his back against
the mantelpiece, and his coat-tails raised in order that he might warm
his legs, the chief of department said: 'A miserably wet day, isn't it?
We shall have a late spring.'
'It's awful,' replied the colonel, 'I feel one of my attacks coming on.
I had shooting pains in my left foot all night.'
'And how is your wife?' asked M. Kahn after a short pause.
'Thank you, she is very well,' replied M. Bouchard. 'I am expecting to
see her here this morning.'
Then there was another pause. Rougon was still examining the papers. As
he came to a certain name, he stopped. 'Isidore Gaudibert--that isn't
the man who writes verses, is it?'
'Yes, that is the man,' M. Bouchard answered. 'He has been Mayor of
Barbeville since 1852. On every happy event, the Emperor's marriage,
the Empress's confinement, and the Prince Imperial's baptism, he has
sent charming verses to their Majesties.'
The minister pouted scornfully. The colonel, however, asserted that he
had read the odes and thought them very fine. He referred to one in
particular, in which the Emperor was compared to a piece of fireworks.
Then without any transition the friends began to eulogise the Emperor.
They were all enthusiastic Bonapartists now. The two cousins, the
colonel and M. Bouchard, were completely reconciled, and, instead of
throwing the Orleans Princes and the Count de Chambord at each other's
head, rivalled in singing their sovereign's praise.
'Oh, no! not this one!' Rougon suddenly exclaimed. 'This Jusselin is a
creature of Marsy's. There is no call for me to reward the friends of
my predecessor.' Then with a stroke of his pen, that cut through the
paper, he effaced the name. 'But we must find some one,' he resumed.
'It is an officer's cross.'
The friends sat perfectly still. M. d'Escorailles, notwithstanding his
extreme youth, had received the chevalier's cross a week previously. M.
Kahn and M. Bouchard were already officers, and the colonel had just
been named commander.
'Well, let us see: an officer's cross,' said Rougon, beginning to refer
to his papers again. But he stopped short as if struck by a sudden
idea. 'Aren't you mayor of some place or other, Monsieur Béjuin?' he
inquired.
M. Béjuin contented himself with nodding twice, but M. Kahn answered
more fully for him. 'Yes,' said he; 'he is Mayor of Saint Florent, the
little commune where his glass works are.'
'Well, then, that's settled!' said the minister, delighted to have
an opportunity of advancing one of his friends. 'You never ask for
anything for yourself, Monsieur Béjuin, so I must look after you.'
M. Béjuin smiled and expressed his thanks. It was quite true that he
never asked for anything, but he was always there, silent and modest,
on the look-out for such crumbs as might fall, and ready to pick them
up.
'Léon Béjuin--isn't it?--in the place of Pierre François Jusselin,'
continued Rougon, as he altered the names.
'Béjuin, Jusselin; they rhyme,' observed the Colonel.
This remark struck the company as being very witty, and caused a deal
of laughter. At last M. Bouchard took the signed documents away, and
Rougon rose. His legs were paining him a little, he said. The wet
weather affected him.
However, the morning was wearing on; a hum of life came from the
various offices; quick steps resounded in the neighbouring rooms;
doors were opened and closed, and whispers half-stifled by the velvet
hangings were wafted hither and thither. Several clerks came into the
room to obtain the minister's signature to other documents. It was a
continual coming and going, the administrative machine was in full
work, throwing out an enormous number of documents which were carried
from office to office. And amidst all this hurrying to and fro, a score
of people were wearily waiting in the ante-room till his excellency
should be graciously pleased to receive them. Rougon, meantime, began
to display feverish activity and energy; giving orders in a whisper
in one corner of his room, then suddenly storming at some official in
another, allotting some task, or deciding a knotty question with a
word, while he stood there, huge and domineering, his neck swollen, and
his face a picture of strength.
However, Merle came into the room again with that quiet composure which
no rebuffs could ruffle. 'The prefect of the Somme----' he began.
'Again!' interrupted Rougon violently.
The usher bowed and then resumed, 'The prefect of the Somme has begged
me to ask your excellency if you can receive him this morning. If your
excellency cannot, then he would be much obliged to your excellency if
you would kindly fix a time for to-morrow.'
'I will see him this morning. Confound it all, let him have a little
patience!'
Merle had left the door open, and the ante-room could be seen. It was
a spacious apartment, with a large table in the centre and a line of
arm-chairs, covered with red velvet, along the walls. All the chairs
were occupied, and there were even two ladies standing by the table.
Every face was turned towards the minister's room, with a wistful,
supplicating expression, as if seeking permission to enter. Near the
door, the prefect of the Somme, a pale little man, was talking with
his colleagues from the Jura and the Cher. He was on the point of
rising, in the expectation that he was at last about to be received in
audience, when Rougon again spoke. 'In ten minutes,' he said to Merle.
'Just at present I cannot see anyone.'
While he was speaking, however, he caught sight of M. Beulin-d'Orchère
crossing the ante-chamber, and thereupon he darted forward, and drew
him by the hand into his private room.
'Come in, my friend, come in!' he exclaimed. 'You have just come,
haven't you? You haven't been waiting? Well, what news have you
brought?'
Then Merle closed the door, and the occupants of the ante-chamber were
left in silence and consternation. Rougon and M. Beulin-d'Orchère
talked together in whispers near one of the windows. The judge, who
had recently been appointed first president of the Court of Paris, was
ambitious of holding the Seals; but the Emperor, when sounded on the
matter, had shown himself quite impenetrable.
'Very good, very good,' said Rougon, suddenly raising his voice. 'Your
information is excellent. I will take steps, I promise you.'
He was just showing the judge out by way of his private room, when
Merle appeared once more. 'Monsieur La Rouquette,' he announced this
time.
'No, no! I am busy, and he bores me,' said Rougon, signing
energetically to the usher to close the door.
M. La Rouquette distinctly heard what was said; still, this did not
prevent him from entering the minister's room with a smiling face. 'How
is your excellency?' he said, offering his hand. 'It's my sister who
has sent me. You seemed a little tired at the Tuileries yesterday. You
know that a proverb is to be acted in the Empress's apartments next
Monday. My sister is taking a part in it. Combelot has designed the
costumes. You will come, won't you?'
He stood there for a whole quarter of an hour prattling away in
wheedling fashion, addressing Rougon sometimes as 'your excellency,'
and sometimes as 'dear master.' He dragged in a few stories of the
minor theatres, praised a ballet girl, and begged for a line to the
director of the tobacco manufactory so that he might get some good
cigars. And he concluded by saying some abominable things about M. de
Marsy, though still continuing to jest.
'Well, he's not such a bad fellow, after all,' remarked Rougon, when
the young deputy had taken himself off. 'I must go and dip my face in
the basin. My cheeks feel as if they were burning.'
He disappeared for a moment behind a curtain, and then a great
splashing of water, accompanied by snorting and blowing, was heard.
Meantime, M. d'Escorailles, who had finished classifying his letters,
took a little file with a tortoise-shell handle from his pocket, and
began to trim his nails. M. Béjuin and the colonel were still gazing up
at the ceiling, so buried in their easy-chairs that it seemed doubtful
whether they would ever be able to get out of them again. M. Kahn,
however, was going through a heap of newspapers on a table near him.
He just turned them over, glanced at their titles, and then threw them
aside. Then he got up.
'Are you going?' asked Rougon, who now reappeared, wiping his face with
a towel.
'Yes,' replied M. Kahn, 'I've read the papers, so I'm off.'
Rougon, however, asked him to wait a moment. And then, taking him
aside, he told him that he hoped to go down to Deux-Sèvres during
the following week, to attend the inauguration of the operations for
the new line from Niort to Angers. He had several reasons, he said,
for wishing to visit the district. At this M. Kahn manifested great
delight. He had succeeded in getting the grant early in March, and
was now floating the scheme. And he was conscious of the additional
importance which the minister's presence would lend to the initial
ceremony, the details of which he was already arranging.
'Then I may reckon upon you to fire the first mine?' he said, as he
took his leave.
Rougon had returned to his writing-table, where he was consulting a
list of names. The crowd in the ante-room was now growing more and more
impatient. 'I've barely got a quarter of an hour,' he said. 'Well, I'll
see such as I can.'
Then he rang his bell, and, when Merle appeared, he said to him: 'Show
in the prefect of the Somme.' But he immediately added, still keeping
his eyes on the list of names: 'Wait a moment. Are Monsieur and Madame
Charbonnel there? Show them in.'
The usher's voice could be heard calling out, 'Monsieur and Madame
Charbonnel.' And thereupon the couple from Plassans appeared, followed
by the astonished eyes of the other occupants of the ante-chamber. M.
Charbonnel wore a dress-coat with square tails and a velvet collar, and
Madame Charbonnel was dressed in puce silk, with a bonnet trimmed with
yellow ribbons. They had been patiently waiting for two hours.
'You ought to have sent your card in to me,' said Rougon. 'Merle knows
you.' Then, interrupting their stammering greeting, in which the
words 'your excellency' again and again recurred, he gaily exclaimed:
'Victory! The Council of State has given judgment. We have beaten that
terrible bishop!'
The old lady's emotion upon hearing this was so great that she was
obliged to sit down, while her husband leant for support against an
arm-chair.
'I learned this good news yesterday evening,' the minister continued.
'And as I was anxious to tell it to you, myself, I asked you to come
here. It's a pretty little windfall, five hundred thousand francs, eh?'
He began to jest, feeling quite happy at the sight of the emotion on
their faces. Some time elapsed before Madame Charbonnel, in a choking
timorous voice, could ask: 'Is it really all over, then? Really? Can't
they start the suit again?'
'No, no; be quite easy about it,' answered Rougon. 'The fortune is
yours.'
Then he gave them certain particulars. The Council of State had
refused to allow the Sisters of the Holy Family to take possession of
the bequest upon the ground that natural heirs were living, and that
the will did not present the necessary appearances of genuineness.
Monseigneur Rochart was in a terrible rage, said Rougon; he had met
the bishop the previous day at the Ministry of Public Instruction,
and still laughed at the recollection of his angry looks. He seemed,
indeed, quite delighted with his triumph over the prelate.
'His Grace hasn't been able to gobble me up, you see,' he continued;
'I am too big a mouthful for him. I don't think, though, that it's all
over between us. I could see that by the look of his eyes. He is a man
who never forgets anything, I should imagine. However, the rest will be
my own business.'
The Charbonnels were profuse in their expressions of gratitude and
respect. They should leave Paris that same evening, they said; for
all at once great anxiety had come upon them. Their cousin Chevassu's
house, at Faverolles, had been left in the charge of a bigoted old
woman who was extremely devoted to the Sisters of the Holy Family, and
on learning the issue of the trial she might perhaps strip the house of
its contents and go off with them. The Sisters, said the Charbonnels,
were capable of anything.
'Yes, get off this evening,' the minister advised. 'If anything should
happen to bother you down there, just write and let me know about it.'
Then on opening the door to show them out, he noticed the marked
astonishment of the occupants of the ante-chamber. The prefect of the
Somme was exchanging a smile with his colleagues of the Jura and the
Cher, while an expression of scorn wreathed the lips of the two ladies
standing by the table. And thereupon Rougon raised his voice, saying:
'You will write to me, won't you? You know how devoted I am to you.
When you get to Plassans tell my mother that I am in good health.'
Thus speaking, he crossed the ante-chamber with them, accompanying them
to the outer door so as to exalt them before all the waiting people,
feeling in no wise ashamed of them, but proud, rather, of having come
himself from their little town, and of now being able to raise them
as high as he pleased. And the favour-seekers and the functionaries
bowed low, doing reverence, as it were, to the puce silk gown and
square-tailed coat of the Charbonnels.
When Rougon returned to his own room, he found that the colonel had
risen from his chair.
'Good-bye till this evening,' said Jobelin. 'It's getting rather too
warm in here.'
Then he bent forward to whisper a few words concerning his son Auguste,
whom he was about to remove from college, as he quite despaired of the
young fellow ever passing his examination. Rougon had promised to take
him into his office, although according to the regulations all the
clerks ought to hold a bachelor's degree.
'Very well, bring him here,' said the minister. 'I will have the
regulation relaxed; I will manage it somehow. And he shall have a
salary at once, as you are anxious about it.'
Thereupon the colonel went off, and M. Béjuin remained alone in front
of the fire. He wheeled his chair into a central position, and seemed
quite unaware that the room was growing empty. He always remained in
this fashion till every one else had gone, in the hope of being offered
something which had been hitherto forgotten.
Merle now received orders to introduce the prefect of the Somme.
Instead of going to the door, however, he stepped up to the
writing-table. 'If your excellency will kindly permit me,' he said,
with a pleasant smile, 'I will at once acquit myself of a little
commission.'
Rougon rested his elbows on his blotting-pad and listened.
'It is about poor Madame Correur,' continued Merle. 'I went to see
her this morning. She was in bed. She has got a nasty boil in a very
awkward place; such a big one too; and although there is nothing
dangerous about it, it gives her a great deal of pain.'
'Well?' said the minister.
'Well, the poor lady very much wanted to come and see your excellency
to get the answers you had promised her. Just as I was coming away,
she asked me if I would bring her them after my day's work. Would your
excellency be so good as to let me do so?'
The minister quietly turned and said: 'Monsieur d'Escorailles, give me
those papers there, in that cupboard.'
It was to a collection of documents concerning Madame Correur that he
referred. They were tightly packed in a large case of stout grey paper.
There were letters, and plans, and petitions, in all kinds of writing
and spelling; requests for tobacco-agencies, for licenses to sell
stamps, petitions for pecuniary assistance, grants and pensions. Each
sheet bore a marginal note of five or six lines, followed by Madame
Correur's big masculine-looking signature.
Rougon turned the papers over and glanced at some brief memoranda
which he himself had written on them with a red pencil: 'Madame
Jalaguier's pension is raised to eighteen hundred francs,' he said. 'A
tobacco-agency is granted to Madame Leturc. Madame Chardon's tender is
accepted. Nothing has yet been done in Madame Testanière's matter. Ah!
you can say, too, that I have been successful in Mademoiselle Herminie
Billecoq's case. I have mentioned it to some ladies who will provide
the dowry necessary for her marriage with the officer who seduced her.'
'I thank your excellency a thousand times,' said Merle, with a low bow.
As he was going out, a charming blonde head, surmounted by a pink
bonnet, peeped in at the door, and a fluty voice inquired: 'Can I come
in?'
Then, without waiting for a reply, Madame Bouchard entered the room.
She had not seen the usher in the ante-chamber, so she had come
straight on. Rougon, who addressed her as 'my dear child,' asked her to
sit down, after momentarily detaining her little gloved hands within
his own. 'Have you come about anything important?' he asked.
'Yes, very important,' answered Madame Bouchard with a smile.
Rougon thereupon told Merle to admit nobody. M. d'Escorailles, who
had just finished trimming his nails, had advanced to greet Madame
Bouchard. She signed to him to stoop, and immediately whispered a few
words to him. He nodded assent, and then, taking his hat, turned to
Rougon, saying: 'I'm going to breakfast. There doesn't seem to be
anything else of importance excepting that matter of the inspectorship.
We shall have to give it to someone.'
The minister looked perplexed. 'Yes, certainly,' he said, 'we shall
have to appoint somebody. A whole heap of men have already been
suggested to me; but I don't care to appoint people whom I don't know.'
Then he glanced round the room as though trying to find somebody, and
his eye fell upon M. Béjuin, still silently lounging before the fire,
with an expression of complete unconcern upon his face.
'Monsieur Béjuin,' said Rougon.
M. Béjuin opened his eyes, but remained quite still.
'Would you like to be an inspector?' added the minister. 'I may tell
you that it's a post worth six thousand francs a year. There is nothing
to do, and the place is quite compatible with your position as a
deputy.'
M. Béjuin nodded gently. Yes, yes, he would accept the post. And so
the matter was settled. However, he still lingered before the fire
for a few more minutes, when it probably struck him that there was no
likelihood of his picking up any more crumbs that morning, for with a
dragging step he took himself off in the rear of M. d'Escorailles.
'There! we are alone now! Come, my dear child, what's the matter?' said
Rougon to pretty Madame Bouchard.
He wheeled up an easy-chair and sat down in front of her in the centre
of the room. And then for the first time he noticed her dress. It was
of very soft pale rose cashmere, and hung round her in close, clinging
folds. There seemed, also, to be something very bewitching about her
appearance that morning.
'Well, what's the matter?' repeated Rougon.
Madame Bouchard smiled without making any immediate answer. She sat
back in her chair, with parted lips showing her pearly white teeth.
Little curls peeped from under her pink bonnet, and there was a coaxing
expression on her little face, an air of mingled supplication and
submission.
'It is something I want to ask of you,' she murmured at last; and then,
in an animated way, she added: 'Promise me that you'll do it.'
But Rougon would promise nothing. He wanted to know what it was first.
He mistrusted ladies. And as she bent towards him, he said to her: 'Is
it something very unusual, that you daren't tell me? Well, I must get
it out of you by questions. Let us set about it methodically. Is it
something for your husband?'
But Madame Bouchard shook her head, while still continuing to smile.
'No! Is it for Monsieur d'Escorailles, then? You were plotting
something together in whispers a little while ago.'
But Madame Bouchard again shook her head; and pulled a pretty little
face which clearly signified that it had been necessary for her to get
rid of M. d'Escorailles. Then, as Rougon was wondering what it could
be that she wanted, she drew her chair still nearer to him. 'You won't
scold me, will you?' she said. 'You do like me a little, don't you?
Well, it's for a young man. You don't know him, but I'll tell you his
name directly, when you have promised to give him the post. Oh, it's
quite an insignificant one that I want for him. You will only have to
say a word and we shall be very, very grateful to you.'
'Is he a relation of yours?' Rougon inquired.
Madame Bouchard sighed deeply, glanced at him with languishing eyes,
and then let her hands slip down so that Rougon might take them in his
own. And finally in a very low voice, she replied: 'No, he's a friend
of mine--a particular friend--Oh! I am very unhappy!'
Her eyes added all that she left unsaid.
'But this is very shocking!' exclaimed the minister, and then, as she
still leant towards him, raising her little gloved hand to his lips to
silence him, he roughly repulsed her, compelling her to rise to her
feet. She remained before him with pale lips and downcast eyes. 'Yes,
it is disgraceful! abominable!' he continued. 'Monsieur Bouchard is an
excellent man. He worships you. He trusts you with blind confidence.
No, no, indeed! I will certainly not help you to deceive him. I refuse,
refuse absolutely, do you hear? It is of no use mincing words with you,
my pretty young woman!'
Then he checked himself, and, gradually becoming calmer, assumed an air
of great dignity. Seeing that Madame Bouchard had begun to tremble, he
made her sit down again while he himself remained erect, lecturing her
severely. It was a real sermon that he preached to her. He told her
that she was offending against all laws, both human and divine; that
she was standing on the brink of a precipice, and preparing for herself
an old age full of remorse. Then, fancying that he could detect a
faint smile hovering round the corners of her lips, he proceeded to
draw a picture of the old age he predicted, when her beauty would be
in ruins, her heart for ever empty, and her brow flushed with shame
beneath her white hair. And afterwards he discussed her conduct
from a social point of view, in this respect showing much severity,
and he went on to rail at modern licentiousness, at the disgraceful
dissoluteness of the times. Then he spoke of himself. He was the
guardian of the laws, he said, and could never abuse his power by
lending himself to the encouragement of vice. Without virtue it seemed
to him that government was impossible. Finally, he concluded by defying
his enemies to name a single act of nepotism in his administration, a
single favour granted by him that, was due to intrigue.
Pretty Madame Bouchard listened with downcast head, huddling herself up
in her chair and letting her delicate neck show from under the ribbons
of her pink bonnet. When Rougon had at last finished speaking, she rose
and made her way to the door, without saying a word. But as she laid
her fingers upon the handle, she raised her head and began to smile
again. 'He is named Georges Duchesne,' she murmured. 'He is principal
clerk in my husband's division, and wants to be assistant----'
'No, no!' cried Rougon.
Then she slowly left the room, casting a long contemptuous glance
at the minister, who came back from the door with an expression of
weariness on his face. He had beckoned to Merle to follow him. The door
remained ajar.
'The editor of the _Vœu National_, whom your excellency sent for, has
just arrived,' said the usher in a low tone.
'Very good,' replied Rougon; 'but I'll see the officials who have been
waiting so long first.'
Just at that moment, however, a valet appeared at the door which led to
the minister's private apartments, and announced that _déjeuner_ was
ready, and that Madame Delestang was waiting for his excellency in the
drawing room.
At this Rougon stepped forward. 'Tell them to serve at once,' he
replied briskly. 'So much the worse for the gentlemen; I will see them
afterwards. I'm frightfully hungry.'