“Very good; I will go,” said Madame Marion.
Madame Beauvisage made a sign to Cecile, and together they left the salon.
The next day Antonin and Frederic Marest found themselves, according to their usual custom, with Monsieur Martener and Olivier, beneath the lindens of the Avenue of Sighs, smoking their cigars and walking up and down. This daily promenade is one of the petty pleasures of government officials in the provinces when they happen to be on good terms with one another.
After they had made a few turns, Simon Giguet came up and joined them saying to the sub-prefect with a mysterious air:—
“You ought to be faithful to an old comrade who wishes to get you the rosette of an officer and a prefecture.”
“You are beginning your political career betimes,” said Antonin, laughing. “You are trying to corrupt me, rapid puritan!”
“Will you support me?”
“My dear fellow, you know very well that Bar-sur-Aube votes here. Who can guarantee a majority under such circumstances? My colleague of Bar-sur-Aube would complain of me if I did not unite my efforts with his in support of the government. Your promise is conditional; whereas my dismissal would be certain.”
“But I have no competitors.”
“You think so,” said Antonin, “but some one is sure to turn up; you may rely on that.”