Seeing that Felix shook his head with a look of incredulity, Minard hastened to say:—
“Yes, yes, the commander is quite right. Last night there was a hitch about signing the contract, and it was not signed. You were not there, by the bye, and your absence was much remarked upon.”
“We were invited,” said Phellion, “and up to the last moment we hesitated whether to go or not. But, as you will readily see, our position was a false one; besides, Felix—and I see now it must have been in consequence of his lecture at the Academy—was completely worn out with fatigue and emotion. To present ourselves without him would have seemed very singular; therefore we decided that it would be wisest and best to absent ourselves.”
The presence of the man whom he had just declared immortal did not deter Minard, when the occasion was thus made for him, from plunging eagerly into one of the most precious joys of bourgeois existence, namely, the retailing of gossip.
“Just imagine!” he began; “last night at the Thuilliers’ the most extraordinary things took place, one after another.”
First he related the curious episode of pere Picot. Then he told of the hearty approbation given to Felix’s conduct by the Abbe Gondrin, and the desire the young preacher had expressed to meet him.
“I’ll go and see him,” said Felix; “do you know where he lives?”
“Rue de la Madeleine, No. 8,” replied Minard. “But the great event of the evening was the spectacle of that fine company assembled to listen to the marriage-contract, and waiting in expectation a whole hour for the notary, who—never came!”
“Then the contract is not signed?” said Felix, eagerly.
“Not even read, my friend. Suddenly some one came in and told Brigitte that the notary had started for Brussels.”