The king felt the thrust, and realised that it must be warded off, under the circumstances, for it might be fatal to himself. Then, in his most flattering tones and with that seductive charm of manner in which he excelled, the king set himself to smooth down this minister's wounded pride. But with the inflexible haughtiness of his character, Casimir Périer persisted.
"Sire," he said, "I have the honour to offer my resignation to Your Majesty."
The king saw he must make adequate amends.
"Wait ten minutes here, my dear Monsieur Périer," he said; "and in ten minutes you shall be free."
The minister bowed in silence, and let the king leave him.
In that ten minutes the king explained to the queen, to his sister and his son, the urgent necessity there was for him to keep M. Casimir Périer, and told them the resolution the latter had just taken to hand in his resignation. This was a fresh order altogether, and in a few seconds it was made known to all whom it concerned. The king opened the door of his cabinet, where the minister was still biting his nails and stamping his feet.
"Come!" he said.
Casimir Périer bowed lightly and followed the king. But thanks to the new command, everything was changed. The queen was gracious; Madame Adélaïde was affable; M. le duc d'Orléans had turned round, the aides-de-camp stood in a group ready to obey at the least sign from the king, and also from the minister; the courtiers smiled obsequiously. Finally, the lackeys, when M. Périer reached the door, flew into the ante-chambers and rushed down the stairs crying, "M. le president du Conseil's carriage!" A more rapid and startling reparation could not possibly have been obtained. Thus Casimir Périer remained a minister, and the new president of the council then started that arduous career which was to end in the grave in a year's time; he died only a few weeks before his antagonist Lamarque.
This was how matters stood when we took a fresh course, in the full tide of the trial of the artillery, to speak of M. Laffitte.
But, once for all, we are not writing history, only jotting down our recollections, and often we find that at the very moment when we have galloped off to follow up some byway of our memory we have left behind us events of the first importance. We are then obliged to retrace our steps, to make our apologies to those events, as the king had to do to M. Casimir Périer; to take them, as it were, by the hand, and to lead them back to our readers, who perhaps do not always accord them quite such a gracious reception as that which the Court of the Palais-Royal gave to the President of the Council on the evening of 14 March 1831.