With a slight shrug of her shoulders, the Princess replied that poets were beginning to bore her. A fresh caprice, indeed, was drawing her into politics. For a week past she had found amusement in the surroundings of the ministerial crisis, into which the young deputy for Angouleme had initiated her. “They are all a little bit crazy at the Duvillards’, my dear fellow,” said she. “It’s decided, you know, that Gerard is to marry Camille. The Baroness has resigned herself to it, and I’ve heard from a most reliable quarter that Madame de Quinsac, the young man’s mother, has given her consent.”
At this Duthil became quite merry. He also seemed to be well informed on the subject. “Yes, yes, I know,” said he. “The wedding is to take place shortly, at the Madeleine. It will be a magnificent affair, no doubt. And after all, what would you have? There couldn’t be a better finish to the affair. The Baroness is really kindness personified, and I said all along that she would sacrifice herself in order to ensure the happiness of her daughter and Gerard. In point of fact that marriage will settle everything, put everything in proper order again.”
“And what does the Baron say?” asked Rosemonde.
“The Baron? Why, he’s delighted,” replied Duthil in a bantering way. “You read no doubt this morning that Dauvergne is given the department of Public Instruction in the new Ministry. This means that Silviane’s engagement at the Comedic is a certainty. Dauvergne was chosen simply on that account.”
At this moment the conversation was interrupted by little Massot, who, after a dispute with one of the ushers some distance away, had perceived a vacant place by the side of the Princess. He thereupon made her a questioning sign, and she beckoned to him to approach.
“Ah!” said he, as he installed himself beside her, “I have not got here without trouble. One’s crushed to death on the press bench, and I’ve an article to write. You are the kindest of women, Princess, to make a little room for your faithful admirer, myself.” Then, after shaking hands with Duthil, he continued without any transition: “And so there’s a new ministry at last, Monsieur le Depute. You have all taken your time about it, but it’s really a very fine ministry, which everybody regards with surprise and admiration.”
The decrees appointing the new ministers had appeared in the “Journal Officiel” that very morning. After a long deadlock, after Vignon had for the second time seen his plans fail through ever-recurring obstacles, Monferrand, as a last resource, had suddenly been summoned to the Elysee, and in four-and-twenty hours he had found the colleagues he wanted and secured the acceptance of his list, in such wise that he now triumphantly re-ascended to power after falling from it with Barroux in such wretched fashion. He had also chosen a new post for himself, relinquishing the department of the Interior for that of Finances, with the Presidency of the Council, which had long been his secret ambition. His stealthy labour, the masterly fashion in which he had saved himself while others sank, now appeared in its full beauty. First had come Salvat’s arrest, and the use he had made of it, then the wonderful subterranean campaign which he had carried on against Vignon, the thousand obstacles which he had twice set across his path, and finally the sudden denouement with that list he held in readiness, that formation of a ministry in a single day as soon as his services were solicited.
“It is fine work, I must compliment you on it,” added little Massot by way of a jest.
“But I’ve had nothing to do with it,” Duthil modestly replied.
“Nothing to do with it! Oh! yes you have, my dear sir, everybody says so.”