“If I succeed in managing the election of Arcis according to the wishes of those who have sent me here, you, my dear friend, will be made a prefect. Here, read these”; and he held out two letters to his visitor.
“Very good, Monsieur le comte,” said Antonin, returning them.
“Make a list of all the votes on which the ministry may count. Above all, let no one suspect that you and I understand each other. I am a speculator in land, and I don’t care a fig for elections.”
“I will send the commissary of police to force you to inscribe your name on Poupart’s register.”
“So do. Adieu, monsieur. Heavens! what a region this is,” said the count, in a loud voice; “one can’t take a step without having the community, sub-prefect and all, on one’s back.”
“You will have to answer to the commissary of police, monsieur,” said Antonin, in an equally loud tone.
And for the next twenty minutes Madame Mollot talked of the altercation that took place between the sub-prefect and the stranger.
“Well, what wood is the beam that has plumped into our bog made of?” said Olivier Vinet when Antonin Goulard rejoined them on leaving the Mulet.
“He is a Comte Maxime who is here to study the geological system of Champagne, with a view to finding mineral waters,” replied the sub-prefect, with an easy manner.
“Say a speculator,” said Oliver.