delighted to please you."

At this fresh resistance offered to his passion Duvillard once more
became excited, eager to obtain that which was denied him. "Taboureau,
Taboureau!" said he, "he's a nice deadweight for you to load yourself
with! Honest! isn't everybody honest? Come, my dear Minister, there's
still time, get Silviane admitted, it will bring you good luck for
to-morrow."

This time Barroux burst into a frank laugh: "No, no, I can't cast
Taboureau adrift at this moment--people would make too much sport of
it--a ministry wrecked or saved by a Silviane question!"

Then he offered his hand before going off. The Baron pressed it, and for
a moment retained it in his own, whilst saying very gravely and with a
somewhat pale face: "You do wrong to laugh, my dear Minister. Governments
have fallen or set themselves erect again through smaller matters than
that. And should you fall to-morrow I trust that you will never have
occasion to regret it."

Wounded to the heart by the other's jesting air, exasperated by the idea
that there was something he could not achieve, Duvillard watched Barroux
as he withdrew. Most certainly the Baron did not desire a reconciliation
with Silviane, but he vowed that he would overturn everything if
necessary in order to send her a signed engagement for the Comedie, and
this simply by way of vengeance, as a slap, so to say,--yes, a slap which
would make her tingle! That moment spent with Barroux had been a decisive
one.

However, whilst still following Barroux with his eyes, Duvillard was
surprised to see Fonsegue arrive and manoeuvre in such a way as to escape
the Prime Minister's notice. He succeeded in doing so, and then entered
the ante-room with an appearance of dismay about the whole of his little
figure, which was, as a rule, so sprightly. It was the gust of terror,
still blowing, that had brought him thither.

"Didn't you see your friend Barroux?" the Baron asked him, somewhat
puzzled.

"Barroux? No!"

This quiet lie was equivalent to a confession of everything. Fonsegue was
so intimate with Barroux that he thee'd and thou'd him, and for ten years
had been supporting him in his newspaper, having precisely the same
views, the same political religion. But with a smash-up threatening, he
doubtless realised, thanks to his wonderfully keen scent, that he must
change his friendships if he did not wish to remain under the ruins
himself. If he had, for long years, shown so much prud