Thuillier colored, and got out of his hobble as best he could. “Oh, hang it!” he said; “those men in gowns are all alike, I don’t know one from another.”
La Peyrade shrugged his shoulders and said aloud, but as if to himself: “Always the same; crafty, crooked, never straightforward.”
“Whom are you talking about?” asked Thuillier, rather nonplussed.
“Why, of you, my dear fellow, who take me for an imbecile, as if I and the whole world didn’t know that your pamphlet business came to an end two weeks ago. Why, then, summon you to court?”
“Well, I was sent for,” said Thuillier, with embarrassment; “something about registry fees,—it is all Greek to me, I can’t comprehend their scrawls.”
“And they chose,” said la Peyrade, “precisely the very day when the Moniteur, announcing the dissolution of the Chamber, made you think about being a candidate for the 12th arrondissement.”
“Why not?” asked Thuillier, “what has my candidacy to do with the fees I owe to the court?”
“I’ll tell you,” said la Peyrade, dryly. “The court is a thing essentially amiable and complaisant. ‘Tiens!’ it said to itself, ‘here’s this good Monsieur Thuillier going to be a candidate for the Chamber; how hampered he’ll be by his attitude to his ex-friend Monsieur de la Peyrade, with whom he wishes now he hadn’t quarrelled. I’ll summon him for fees he doesn’t owe; that will bring him to the Palais where la Peyrade comes daily; and in that way he can meet him by chance, and so avoid taking a step which would hurt his self-love.”
“Well, there you are mistaken!” cried Thuillier, breaking the ice. “I used so little craft, as you call it, that I’ve just come from your house, there! and your portress told me where to find you.”
“Well done!” said la Peyrade, “I like this frankness; I can get on with men who play above-board. Well, what do you want of me? Have you come to talk about your election? I have already begun to work for it.”