He was her humble servant; he was at her feet; he would move heaven and earth to do her bidding; but if it were a question of seeing Vanderlin, that was impossible; he regretted it profoundly, but it was impossible; two ambassadors, a nuncio, an Orleans prince, and an English banker were all waiting their turn of audience.
“One would think that he was a king!” she said irritably, while tears of rage and disappointment started to her eyes.
“Alas! madame, he exercises the only sovereignty truly potent in modern life—that of wealth,” said the minister. “He is greatly occupied, and the rules which regulate his interviews are rigorously observed. May I ask if you know him?”
“I know him, yes.” She added, after a moment’s hesitation, “I require to see him. Prince Khristof of Karstein-Lowenthal is dead.”
Gaulois was astonished.
“That was the father of the lady he divorced? His death can have nothing to do with Vanderlin?”
“Yes, it has; I require to see him.”
Gaulois was perplexed. At last he reluctantly consented to return to Vanderlin’s room, and inform him of her presence and her desire. She was again left alone; the rippling of the fountain the only sound on the silence. She had burnt her boats; she could not turn back now. The time again appeared to her interminable, though it was not more than eight minutes before the minister returned.
“Dearest lady, I have done my uttermost, but it is impossible that he can receive you here. If you will leave word where you are staying, he will have the honor of waiting on you at four o’clock. Alas! men of business are insensible and farouches! Allow me, duchess, to profit by Vanderlin’s austerity, and enjoy the felicity of driving you home.”
There was nothing else to be done. She was forced to let the loquacious and amiable Gaulois conduct her to his coupé, and was obliged to laugh and talk with him, and consent to be carried by him to breakfast with his wife at his official residence on the Quay d’Orsay. Since William Massarene had passed out of her life, she had never found it so hard to counterfeit the gaiety and interest which are necessary in social intercourse.