“Then—well, urgency wasn’t voted, but, in spite of a very fine defence, Barroux only secured a majority of two votes.”
“Two votes, the devil! Then he’s down, and we shall have a Vignon ministry next week.”
“That’s what everybody said in the lobbies.”
The Baron frowned, as if he were estimating what good or evil might result to the world from such a change. Then, with a gesture of displeasure, he said: “A Vignon ministry! The devil! that would hardly be any better. Those young democrats pretend to be virtuous, and a Vignon ministry wouldn’t admit Silviane to the Comédie.”
This, at first, was his only thought in presence of the crisis which made the political world tremble. And so the deputy could not refrain from referring to his own anxiety. “Well, and we others, what is our position in it all?”
This brought Duvillard back to the situation. With a fresh gesture, this time a superbly proud one, he expressed his full and impudent confidence. “We others, why we remain as we are; we’ve never been in peril, I imagine. Oh! I am quite at ease. Sagnier can publish his famous list if it amuses him to do so. If we haven’t long since bought Sagnier and his list, it’s because Barroux is a thoroughly honest man, and for my part I don’t care to throw money out of the window—I repeat to you that we fear nothing.”
Then, as he at last recognised Abbé Froment, who had remained in the shade, Duthil explained what service the priest desired of him. And Duvillard, in his state of emotion, his heart still rent by Silviane’s sternness, must have felt a covert hope that a good action might bring him luck; so he at once consented to intervene in favour of Laveuve’s admission. Taking a card and a pencil from his pocket-book he drew near to the window. “Oh! whatever you desire, Monsieur l’Abbé,” he said, “I shall be very happy to participate in this good work. Here, this is what I have written: ‘My dear, please do what M. l’Abbé Froment solicits in favour of this unfortunate man, since our friend Fonsègue only awaits a word from you to take proper steps.’”
At this moment through the open bay Pierre caught sight of Gérard, whom Silviane, calm once more, and inquisitive no doubt to know why Duthil had called, was escorting into the hall. And the sight of the young woman filled him with astonishment, so simple and gentle did she seem to him, full of the immaculate candour of a virgin. Never had he dreamt of a lily of more unobtrusive yet delicious bloom in the whole garden of innocence.
“Now,” continued Duvillard, “if you wish to hand this card to my wife at once, you must go to the Princess de Harn’s, where there is a matinée—”
“I was going there, Monsieur le Baron.”