The Prefect had some difficulty in hiding the sincere, if inconsistent, joy that this news gave him.
"Well done!" he thought. "I should have expected nothing less. Ah! I see, I see," he said aloud. "Monsieur de Sainfoy does not quite share his wife's ambitions. It is unfortunate for you, certainly. But if you wish to marry into an old family, there are others—"
Ratoneau stared at him and laughed.
"What do you take me for? Am I beaten so easily? No, monsieur! Mademoiselle de Sainfoy is the woman I mean to marry. I admire that white skin, that perfect distinction. You will not put me off with some ugly little brown toad out of Brittany, I assure you!"
The Prefect laughed.
"But what is to be done? Unless you can gain her father's consent—"
"That is the favour you will do me, Monsieur le Préfet. You will write to headquarters, do you see, and an order will be sent down—yes, an order which her father would not disobey if he were a dozen dukes rolled into one, instead of being what he is, a poor emigrant count helped back into France by wiser men than himself! Voilà, monsieur! Do you understand me now?"
"Ah—yes, General, I understand you," said Monsieur de Mauves.
He leaned back in the corner of the marble seat, calm and deliberate, gently stroking the little dog on his knee. Those long white fingers had lifted the lid of Henriette's basket, those keen eyes, now thoughtfully lowered, had seen the hiding-place of the Chouans in Monsieur Joseph's wood; yet no harm had come to the Royalist conspirators. And now, when an official of the Empire asked his help in a private matter, help strictly legal, even within the limits of an imperial command, again this blameworthy Prefect would not stir a finger. He was running himself into greater danger than he knew, in the satisfaction of his gentle instincts, when he glanced up into the bold, angry, eager face beside him, and said with uncompromising clearness: "Do not deceive yourself, monsieur. I shall not write to headquarters on any such subject, and no such order will be sent down through any action or influence of mine. The Comte de Sainfoy is my friend, remember."
Ratoneau was choking with rage.