The friends sat perfectly still. M. d'Escorailles, notwithstanding his extreme youth, had received the chevalier's cross a week previously. M. Kahn and M. Bouchard were already officers, and the colonel had just been named commander.
'Well, let us see: an officer's cross,' said Rougon, beginning to refer to his papers again. But he stopped short as if struck by a sudden idea. 'Aren't you mayor of some place or other, Monsieur Béjuin?' he inquired.
M. Béjuin contented himself with nodding twice, but M. Kahn answered more fully for him. 'Yes,' said he; 'he is Mayor of Saint Florent, the little commune where his glass works are.'
'Well, then, that's settled!' said the minister, delighted to have an opportunity of advancing one of his friends. 'You never ask for anything for yourself, Monsieur Béjuin, so I must look after you.'
M. Béjuin smiled and expressed his thanks. It was quite true that he never asked for anything, but he was always there, silent and modest, on the look-out for such crumbs as might fall, and ready to pick them up.
'Léon Béjuin—isn't it?—in the place of Pierre François Jusselin,' continued Rougon, as he altered the names.
'Béjuin, Jusselin; they rhyme,' observed the Colonel.
This remark struck the company as being very witty, and caused a deal of laughter. At last M. Bouchard took the signed documents away, and Rougon rose. His legs were paining him a little, he said. The wet weather affected him.
However, the morning was wearing on; a hum of life came from the various offices; quick steps resounded in the neighbouring rooms; doors were opened and closed, and whispers half-stifled by the velvet hangings were wafted hither and thither. Several clerks came into the room to obtain the minister's signature to other documents. It was a continual coming and going, the administrative machine was in full work, throwing out an enormous number of documents which were carried from office to office. And amidst all this hurrying to and fro, a score of people were wearily waiting in the ante-room till his excellency should be graciously pleased to receive them. Rougon, meantime, began to display feverish activity and energy; giving orders in a whisper in one corner of his room, then suddenly storming at some official in another, allotting some task, or deciding a knotty question with a word, while he stood there, huge and domineering, his neck swollen, and his face a picture of strength.
However, Merle came into the room again with that quiet composure which no rebuffs could ruffle. 'The prefect of the Somme——' he began.