Thanks to the Dujarrier, Marianne had paid the rent of the house, the servants and the pressing debts. Claire Dujarrier advanced the hundred thousand francs demanded by Mademoiselle Kayser, and which she had apparently—in reality she took them from her own funds—borrowed from Adolphe Gochard, her lover, who had not a sou, and in whose favor Vaudrey signed in regular legal form, a bill of exchange at three months' date value received in cash. The Dujarrier merely retained twenty thousand francs as her commission and handed only eighty thousand to Marianne.
"But Vaudrey's acceptance to Gochard is for one hundred thousand!"
"You are silly, my girl! What if I lose the balance? If your minister should not pay?"
"What do you mean?"
"Stranger things have happened, my little one."
Vaudrey having paid, given his name, signed this bill of exchange, felt the extreme joy arising from the base self-love of the man who pays a lovely creature and who, nevertheless, believes himself loved.
In the early days, Sulpice went to Rue Prony only during the day or at night after dinner, or on leaving a reception or the theatre. Marianne awaited him. He came stealthily, distracted with joy. There, in the closed chamber he remained with Marianne, who was full of pride at the complete subjugation of the will of this man in her embrace. She amused herself occasionally by calling him Your Excellency, in reading to him from some book which spun out the ceremonial necessary in applying for an interview with a minister:
"If ever I ask you for an audience, do you know how I must address myself to the secretary? Listen to this book, it is funny: 'Ordinary toilet. The etiquette for the toilet is not very strict, but it is, however, in good taste to appear dressed as for a ceremonious call. For women, the toilet should be simple and the gloves new.'"
She laughed as she rested almost naked in Sulpice's arms, and repeated, looking into his eyes:
"A simple toilet!"