“You want to know that. Well! they replied: ‘We know such candidates as your M. Guitrel. Once nominated, they are worse than the others. They show more zeal against us. That is easily accounted for. They have more to beg pardon for of their own party.’”
“Is it possible, monsieur le préfet, that they talked like this in high places?”
“Ha! yes. And my interlocutor added this: ‘I do not like candidates for the episcopacy who show too much zeal for our institutions. If I could get a hearing, the choice would be made from among the others. In the civil and political ranks they prefer officials who are most devoted, most attached to the government. Nothing can be better. But there are no priests devoted to the Republic. In this case, the wise thing is always to take the most honest men.’”
And the préfet, throwing the chewed end of his cigar into the middle of the floor, finished with these words:
“You see, my poor Guitrel, that your affairs are not making headway.”
M. Guitrel stammered:
“I do not see, Monsieur le préfet, I do not perceive anything, in such speeches, that is calculated to produce in you this impression of … discouragement. On the contrary, I should rather derive from it a sentiment of … confidence. …”
M. le préfet Worms-Clavelin lit a cigar and said with a laugh:
“Who knows whether they are not right, at the bureaux? … But reassure yourself, my dear abbé, I do not abandon you. Let’s see, whom have we on our side?”
He opened his left hand, in order to count on his fingers.