He removed his hat and went straight toward the door, that was then opened to admit a pale-faced, lean man with long black whiskers that formed a sort of horsetail fringe to his face. Jéliotte was a former comrade in the law courts, an advocate in the Court of Appeal, and he entered, bowing ceremoniously to Sulpice, who with a pleased face and outstretched hands, went to welcome the old companion of his youth.
Jéliotte bowed with a certain affectation of respect, and smiled nervously.
"How happy I am to see you," Vaudrey said.
"You still address me in the old familiar way," Jéliotte answered, showing his slightly broken and yellow teeth.
"What an idea! Have I forfeited your good opinion, that I should abandon our familiar form of address?"
"Honors, then, have not changed you; well! so much the better," said Jéliotte. "You ask me how I am? Oh! always the same!—I work hard—I am out of your sight—but I applaud all your successes."
While Jéliotte was speaking of Vaudrey's successes, he sat on the edge of a chair, staring at his hat, and wagging his jaw as if he were cracking a nut between his frail teeth.
"I have been delighted at your getting into the cabinet. Delighted for your sake—"
"You ought also to be delighted on your own account, my good Jéliotte. Whatever I may hereafter be able to do—"
Jéliotte cut the minister short and said in a tone as dry as tinder: