While Therese reassured Miss Bell, Loyer, imperious and somewhat noisy, caused the door of the box to be opened. He appeared wet and spattered with mud.
“I come from the Elysee,” he said.
He had the gallantry to announce to Madame Martin, first, the good news he was bringing:
“The decrees are signed. Your husband has the Finances. It is a good portfolio.”
“The President of the Republic,” inquired M. Martin—Belleme, “made no objection when my name was pronounced?”
“No; Berthier praised the hereditary property of the Martins, your caution, and the links with which you are attached to certain personalities in the financial world whose concurrence may be useful to the government. And the President, in accordance with Garain’s happy expression, was inspired by the necessities of the situation. He has signed.”
On Count Martin’s yellowed face two or three wrinkles appeared. He was smiling.
“The decree,” continued Loyer, “will be published tomorrow. I accompanied myself the clerk who took it to the printer. It was surer. In Grevy’s time, and Grevy was not an idiot, decrees were intercepted in the journey from the Elysee to the Quai Voltaire.”
And Loyer threw himself on a chair. There, enjoying the view of Madame Martin, he continued:
“People will not say, as they did in the time of my poor friend Gambetta, that the republic is lacking in women. You will give us fine festivals, Madame, in the salons of the Ministry.”