“In that you are like the rest of us,” said Olivier Vinet, the substitute, smiling.
“Why do you blame the government?” asked the procureur-du-roi, Frederic Marest.
“The ministry is much embarrassed,” remarked young Martener. “It knows that this arrondissement belongs, in a certain way, to the Kellers, and it is very desirous not to thwart them. It is forced to keep on good terms with the only man who is comparable to Monsieur de Talleyrand. It is not to the prefect, but to the Comte de Gondreville that you ought to send the commissary of police.”
“Meanwhile,” said Frederic Marest, “the Opposition is bestirring itself; you see yourselves the influence of Monsieur Giguet. Our mayor, Monsieur Beauvisage, is presiding over that preparatory meeting.”
“After all,” said Olivier Vinet slyly to the sub-prefect, “Simon Giguet is your friend and schoolmate; he will belong to the Thiers’ party; you risk nothing in supporting his election.”
“The present ministry could dismiss me before its fall,” replied the sub-prefect, “and who knows when I should be reappointed?”
“Collinet, the grocer!—that makes the sixty-sixth elector who has entered the Giguet house,” said Monsieur Martener, who was practising his trade as examining-judge by counting the electors.
“If Charles Keller is the ministerial candidate,” resumed the sub-prefect, “I ought to have been told of it; the government makes a mistake in giving time for Simon Giguet to get hold of the electors.”
These four individuals had now reached, walking slowly, the spot where the avenue ceases and becomes an open square.
“There’s Monsieur Groslier,” said the judge, catching sight of a man on horseback.