g to think he
was more interesting than the others, with his apparent ignorance of her
world and his superb cynicism.

Gamin arose. He had to see several persons before submitting his list
to the President of the Republic. Count Martin offered his carriage, but
Garain had one.

"Do you not think," asked Count Martin, "that the President might object
to some names?"

"The President," replied Garain, "will be inspired by the necessities of
the situation."

He had already gone out of the door when he struck his forehead with his
hand.

"We have forgotten the Ministry of War."

"We shall easily find somebody for it among the generals," said Count
Martin.

"Ah," exclaimed Garain, "you believe the choice of a minister of war is
easy. It is clear you have not, like me, been a member of three cabinets
and President of the Council. In my cabinets, and during my presidency
the greatest difficulties came from the Ministry of War. Generals are
all alike. You know the one I chose for the cabinet that I formed. When
we took him, he knew nothing of affairs. He hardly knew there were
two Chambers. We had to explain to him all the wheels of parliamentary
machinery; we had to teach him that there were an army committee,
finance committee, subcommittees, presidents of committees, a budget. He
asked that all this information be written for him on a piece of paper.
His ignorance of men and of things amazed and alarmed us. In a fortnight
he knew the most subtle tricks of the trade; he knew personally all the
senators and all the deputies, and was intriguing with them against us.
If it had not been for President Grevy's help, he would have overthrown
us. And he was a very ordinary general, a general like any other. Oh,
no; do not think that the portfolio of war may be given hastily, without
reflection."

And Garain still shivered at the thought of his former colleague.

Therese rose. Senator Loyer offered his arm to her, with the
graceful attitude that he had learned forty years before at Bullier's
dancing-hall. She left the politicians in the drawing-room, and hastened
to meet Dechartre.

A rosy mist covered the Seine, the stone quays, and the gilded trees.
The red sun threw into the cloudy sky the last glories of the year.
Therese, as she went out, relished the sharpness of the air and the
dying splendor of the day. Since her return to Paris, happy, she found
pleasure every morning in the changes of the weather. It seemed to h