Dauvergne, a tall, fair, good-looking man, whose blue eyes smiled behind his glasses, listened to Chaigneux with an affable air. He was proving a great success at the Ministry of Public Instruction, although he knew nothing of University matters. However, like a real Parisian of Dijon, as people called him, he was possessed of some tact and skill, gave entertainments at which his young and charming wife outshone all others, and passed as being quite an enlightened friend of writers and artists. Silviane’s engagement at the Comédie, which so far was his most notable achievement, and which would have shaken the position of any other minister, had by a curious chance rendered him popular. It was regarded as something original and amusing.
On understanding that Chaigneux simply wished to make sure of his presence at the Comédie that evening, he became yet more affable. “Why, certainly, I shall be there, my dear deputy,” he replied. “When one has such a charming god-daughter one mustn’t forsake her in a moment of danger.”
At this Monferrand, who had been lending ear, turned round. “And tell her,” said he, “that I shall be there, too. She may therefore rely on having two more friends in the house.”
Thereupon Duvillard, quite enraptured, his eyes glistening with emotion and gratitude, bowed to the two ministers as if they had granted him some never-to-be-forgotten favour.
When Chaigneux, on his side also, had returned thanks with a low bow, he happened to perceive Fonsègue, and forthwith he darted towards him and led him aside. “Ah! my dear colleague,” he declared, “it is absolutely necessary that this matter should be settled. I regard it as of supreme importance.”
“What are you speaking of?” inquired Fonsègue, much surprised.
“Why, of Massot’s article, which you won’t insert.”
Thereupon, the director of the “Globe” plumply declared that he could not insert the article. He talked of his paper’s dignity and gravity; and declared that the lavishing of such fulsome praise upon a hussy—yes, a mere hussy, in a journal whose exemplary morality and austerity had cost him so much labour, would seem monstrous and degrading. Personally, he did not care a fig about it if Silviane chose to make an exhibition of herself, well, he would be there to see; but the “Globe” was sacred.
Disconcerted and almost tearful, Chaigneux nevertheless renewed his attempt. “Come, my dear colleague,” said he, “pray make a little effort for my sake. If the article isn’t inserted, Duvillard will think that it is my fault. And you know that I really need his help. My eldest daughter’s marriage has again been postponed, and I hardly know where to turn.” Then perceiving that his own misfortunes in no wise touched Fonsègue, he added: “And do it for your own sake, my dear colleague, your own sake. For when all is said Duvillard knows what is in the article, and it is precisely because it is so favourable a one that he wishes to see it in the ‘Globe.’ Think it over; if the article isn’t published, he will certainly turn his back on you.”
For a moment Fonsègue remained silent. Was he thinking of the colossal Trans-Saharan enterprise? Was he reflecting that it would be hard to quarrel at such a moment and miss his own share in the coming distribution of millions among faithful friends? Perhaps so; however, the idea that it would be more prudent to await developments gained the day with him. “No, no,” he said, “I can’t, it’s a matter of conscience.”