The morning on which the Chambers reassembled the young wife, still in bed, was giving a thousand recommendations to her husband, who was dressing himself in order to lunch with M. Laroche-Mathieu, and receive his instructions prior to the sitting for the next day's political leader in the Vie Francaise, this leader being meant to be a kind of semi-official declaration of the real objects of the Cabinet.
Madeleine was saying: "Above all, do not forget to ask him whether General Belloncle is to be sent to Oran, as has been reported. That would mean a great deal."
George replied irritably: "But I know just as well as you what I have to do. Spare me your preaching."
She answered quietly: "My dear, you always forget half the commissions I entrust you with for the minister."
He growled: "He worries me to death, that minister of yours. He is a nincompoop."
She remarked quietly: "He is no more my minister than he is yours. He is more useful to you than to me."
He turned half round towards her, saying, sneeringly: "I beg your pardon, but he does not pay court to me."
She observed slowly: "Nor to me either; but he is making our fortune."
He was silent for a few moments, and then resumed: "If I had to make a choice among your admirers, I should still prefer that old fossil De Vaudrec. What has become of him, I have not seen him for a week?"
"He is unwell," replied she, unmoved. "He wrote to me that he was even obliged to keep his bed from an attack of gout. You ought to call and ask how he is. You know he likes you very well, and it would please him."