"I thank you," said Rosas, suddenly stopping short on the pavement. "You treat me like a true friend."
"And if I seem to you to be too severe," added Lissac, smiling, "charge that to the account of bitterness. A man that has loved a woman is never altogether just toward her. If he has ceased to love her, he slights her, if he still loves her, he slanders her. I have perhaps, traduced Marianne, but I have not slighted you, that is certain. Now, take advantage of this gossip. But when?"
"I don"t know," replied the duke. "I will write you. I shall perhaps leave Paris!"
"What is that?"
"Just what I say."
"The deuce!" said Lissac. "Do you know that if you were to fly from the danger in question, I should be very uneasy? It would be very serious."
"That would not be a flight. At the most, a caprice," the duke replied.
They separated, less pleased with each other than they were at the commencement of their interview. Lissac felt that in some fashion or other, he had wounded Rosas even in adopting the flippant tone of the lounger, without any malice, and the Spaniard with his somewhat morose nature, retired within himself, almost gloomy, and reproached Guy for the first time for smiling or jesting on so serious a matter.
Discontented with himself, he entered his house. His servant was waiting for him. He brought him a blue envelope on a card-tray.
"A telegram for monsieur le duc."
Rosas tore it open in a mechanical way. It was from one of his London friends, Lord Lindsay, who having learned of Rosas"s return, sent him a pressing invitation. If he did not hasten to Paris to welcome him, it was simply because grave political affairs demanded his presence in London.
The duke, while taking off his gloves, looked at the crumpled despatch lying under the lamp. He was, like most travellers, superst.i.tious.
Perhaps this despatch had arrived in the nick of time to prevent him from committing some act of folly.
But what folly?
He still felt Marianne"s kiss on his lips, burning like ice.
To-morrow,--in a few hours,--his first thought, his only thought would be to find that woman again, to experience that voluptuous impression, that dream that had penetrated his heart. A danger, Lissac had said. The feline eyes of Marianne had a dangerous ardor; but it was their charm, their strength and their adorable seductiveness, that filtered like a flame through her long, fair lashes.
He closed his eyes to picture Mademoiselle Kayser, to inhale the atmosphere, to enjoy something of the perfume surrounding her.
A danger!
Guy was perhaps right. The best love is that which is never gathered, which remains immature, like a blossom in spring that never becomes a fruit. Lord Lindsay"s despatch arrived seasonably. It was a chance or a warning.
In any case, what would Rosas risk by pa.s.sing a few days in London, and losing the burning of that kiss? The sea-breezes would perhaps efface it.
"I am certainly feverish," the duke thought. "It was a.s.suredly necessary to speak to Lissac. It was also necessary to speak to her," he added, in a dissatisfied, anxious, almost angry tone.
A danger!
Lissac had acted imprudently in uttering that word, which addressed to such a man as Rosas, had something alluring about it. What irritated the duke was Guy"s reply, a.s.serting that he had not been Marianne"s lover, but that Marianne had had other lovers. Others? What did Lissac know of this? A species of jealous frenzy was blended with the feverish desire that Marianne"s kiss had injected into Rosas"s veins. He would have liked to know the truth, to see Marianne again, to urge Guy to further confidences. And, then, he felt that he would rather not have come, not have seen her again, not have gone to Sabine"s.
"Well, so be it! Lord Lindsay is right, I will go."
The following morning, Guy de Lissac found in his mail a brief note, sealed with the arms of the duke, with the motto: _Hasta la muerte_.
Jose wrote to him as he was leaving Paris:
"You are perhaps right. I am a little intoxicated with _Parisine_. I am going to London to visit a friend and if I ever recount my voyages there, it will only be to the serious-minded members of the Geographical Society. There, at least, there is no "danger." With many thanks and until we meet again.
"Your friend, "J. DE R----"
"Plague on it," said Lissac, who read the letter three times, "but our dear duke is badly bitten! _Ohime!_ Marianne Kayser has had a firm and sure tooth this time!--We shall see!--" he added, as he broke the seal of another letter, containing a request for a loan on the part of someone richer than himself.
VII
The soiree at Sabine Marsy"s had caused Vaudrey to feel something like the enervation that follows intoxication. The next morning he awoke with his head heavy, after a night of feverish sleep, interrupted by sudden starts, wherein he saw that pretty, fair girl standing before him devouring sherbet and smiling gayly.
Every morning since he had been at the ministry, Sulpice had experienced a joyous sensation at finding himself again on his feet and rejoicing in life. He paced about his apartments, feeling a sort of physical delight, opening his window and looking out on the commonplace garden through which so many ministers had pa.s.sed and which he called, as so many before him had done: _My garden_. His thoughts took him back then to that little convent garden at Gren.o.ble. What a distance he had travelled since then! and how good it was to live!
That morning, on the contrary, the black and bare trees in the garden appeared to him to be very gloomy. He felt morose. He had been awakened early so that the despatches from the provinces might be laid before him. The information in them was quite insignificant. But then his spirit was not present. Once again he was at Sabine"s, beside Marianne, so lovely in her sky-blue gown, and with her wavy locks.
If he had been free, he would have gladly sought the opportunity to see that woman again as soon as the morning commenced. He felt a kind of infantile joy in being thus perturbed and haunted. It seemed to him that this emotion made him feel younger. Formerly, on awakening, the dream of the night had followed him like some intoxication.
Formerly! but "formerly" he was not the important man, the distinguished personage of to-day.--He had not the charge of power as some others have the charge of souls. A minister has something else to do than to be under the sway of a vision. Sulpice dressed hurriedly, went down to his office, where a huge log-fire flamed behind an antique screen. He sat down in front of his large mahogany bureau, covered with papers, and on which was lying a huge black portfolio stuffed with doc.u.ments bearing this t.i.tle in stamped letters: _Monsieur le Ministre de l"Interieur_. In the centre of the bureau had been placed a leather portfolio filled with sheets of paper bearing the t.i.tle: _Doc.u.ments to be signed by Monsieur le Ministre_. Beside this were spread out various reports, bearing upon one corner of the sheet a printed headline: _Office of the Prefect of Police_ and _Director-General of the Press_.
Vaudrey settled down in his chair with the profound satisfaction of a man who has not grown weary of an acquired possession. This huge salon with its blackened pictures, cold marbles, and large, severe-looking bookcases, presented a sober bourgeois harmony that pleased him. It was like the salon of a well-to-do notary, with its tall windows overlooking the courtyard, already full of the shadows of importunate callers and favor seekers whom the secretary-general received in a room adjoining the ministerial cabinet. The minister inhaled once more the atmosphere of his new domicile before settling down to work. Every morning it was his custom to read the reports of the Director of the Press and of the Prefect of Police before all else.
He took up the report of the Prefect. Nothing serious. A slight accident on the Vincennes line near the fortifications of Paris. A train derailed. A few injured. In the Pa.s.sage de l"Opera, the previous evening, the early speech of the Minister of the Interior upon general policy, and that of the Finance Minister, who was to reply to the rumor, falsely or prematurely announcing the conversion of the five per cents, had caused an upward movement in value. All was satisfactory, all was quiet. The new minister enjoyed public confidence. Perfect.
Sulpice was delighted and pa.s.sed on to the report of the Director of the Press. Except a small number of disgruntled and irreconcilable party journals, all the French and foreign papers warmly praised and supported the newly-created ministry. The _Times_ declared that the coalition perfectly met the requirements of the existing situation. The Berlin papers did not take umbrage at it, although Monsieur Vaudrey had more than once declared his militant patriotism from the tribune. "In short,"
the daily report concluded, "there is a concert of praise, and public opinion is delighted to have finally secured a legitimate satisfaction through the choice of a h.o.m.ogeneous ministry, such as has long been desired."
"What strange literature," muttered Sulpice, almost audibly, as he threw the report with the other doc.u.ments.
He recalled how, on that morning when Sulpice Vaudrey sat there for the first time, the morning following Pichereau"s sudden dismissal from office, the editor of this daily press bulletin, like an automaton, mechanically and indifferently laid on the table of the minister a report wherein he said in full:
"Public opinion, by the mouth of the accepted journals, has for too long a time reposed confidence in the Pichereau administration, for the ministry to be troubled about the approaching and useless interpellation announced some days ago by Monsieur Vaudrey--of Isere--."
And it was to Vaudrey, the elected successor of Pichereau, that the report was handed naturally and as was due.
"The compilers of these little chronicles are very optimistic," thought Sulpice. "After all, probably, it is the office that is responsible for this, as, doubtless, ministers do not like to know the truth. I will see, however, that I get it."
He had, this time, a burdensome morning. Prefects were arriving by the main entrance to the ministry, the vast antechambers on the left; and friends, more intimate suitors, waited on the right, elbowing the ushers, in order to have their cards handed to the secretary-general or to the minister. There were some who, in an airy sort of way, said: "Monsieur Vaudrey," in order to appear to be on familiar terms.
Sulpice felt himself attacked on both sides at once; blockaded in his office; and he despatched the pet.i.tioners with all haste, extending his hand to them, smiling, cheerfully making them promises, happy to promise them, but grieved in principle to see humbug depicted on the human face.
From time to time, in the midst of his ministerial preoccupations and conversations, the disturbing smile of Marianne suddenly appeared like a flash of lightning in a storm; and though shaking his head, to give the appearance of listening and understanding, the minister was in reality far away, near a brilliant buffet and watching a silver spoon glide between two rosy lips.
In that procession, which was to be a daily one, of pet.i.tioners, of deputies urging appointments in favor of their const.i.tuents, asking the removal of mayors, the decoration of election agents, hara.s.sing the minister with recommendations and pet.i.tions which, although couched in a humble tone, always veiled a threat, Vaudrey did not often have to do with his friends. It was a wearisome succession of lukewarm friends or recognized enemies, who rallied around a successful man. This man, although a minister for so short a time, had already a vague, disquieting impression that the administration was the property of a great number of clients, always the same, frequenters of these corridors, guests in these antechambers, well known to the ushers, and who, whoever the minister might be, had the same access and the same influence with the ministry.
There were some whom the clerks saluted in a familiar way, as if they were old acquaintances: intrepid office-seekers, unmoved by any changes in ministerial combinations. Such entered Vaudrey"s cabinet in a deliberate, familiar manner, and as if feeling at home. Sulpice had once heard one of them greet an usher by his first name: "Good-morning, Gustave."
The minister asked Gustave: "Who is that gentleman?" The usher replied, with a tinge of respect in his tone: "It is one of our visitors, Monsieur le Ministre, Monsieur Eugene Renaudin. We call him only Monsieur _Eugene_. We have known him a long time."