Bixiou. “And history?”
Phellion [affecting modesty]. “Possibly.”
Bixiou [looking fixedly at him]. “Your diamond pin is loose, it is coming out. Well, you may know all that, but you don’t know the human heart; you have gone no further in the geography and history of that organ than you have in the environs of the city of Paris.”
Poiret [to Vimeux]. “Environs of Paris? I thought they were talking of Monsieur Rabourdin.”
Bixiou. “About that bet? Does the entire bureau Rabourdin bet against me?”
All. “Yes.”
Bixiou. “Du Bruel, do you count in?”
Du Bruel. “Of course I do. We want Rabourdin to go up a step and make room for others.”
Bixiou. “Well, I accept the bet,—for this reason; you can hardly understand it, but I’ll tell it to you all the same. It would be right and just to appoint Monsieur Rabourdin” [looking full at Dutocq], “because, in that case, long and faithful service, honor, and talent would be recognized, appreciated, and properly rewarded. Such an appointment is in the best interests of the administration.” [Phellion, Poiret, and Thuillier listen stupidly, with the look of those who try to peer before them in the darkness.] “Well, it is just because the promotion would be so fitting, and because the man has such merit, and because the measure is so eminently wise and equitable that I bet Rabourdin will not be appointed. Yes, you’ll see, that appointment will slip up, just like the invasion from Boulogne, and the march to Russia, for the success of which a great genius has gathered together all the chances. It will fail as all good and just things do fail in this low world. I am only backing the devil’s game.”
Du Bruel. “Who do you think will be appointed?”