e opened. He appeared wet and spattered
with mud.

"I come from the Elysee," he said.

He had the gallantry to announce to Madame Martin, first, the good news
he was bringing:

"The decrees are signed. Your husband has the Finances. It is a good
portfolio."

"The President of the Republic," inquired M. Martin--Belleme, "made no
objection when my name was pronounced?"

"No; Berthier praised the hereditary property of the Martins,
your caution, and the links with which you are attached to certain
personalities in the financial world whose concurrence may be useful
to the government. And the President, in accordance with Garain's happy
expression, was inspired by the necessities of the situation. He has
signed."

On Count Martin's yellowed face two or three wrinkles appeared. He was
smiling.

"The decree," continued Loyer, "will be published tomorrow. I
accompanied myself the clerk who took it to the printer. It was surer.
In Grevy's time, and Grevy was not an idiot, decrees were intercepted in
the journey from the Elysee to the Quai Voltaire."

And Loyer threw himself on a chair. There, enjoying the view of Madame
Martin, he continued:

"People will not say, as they did in the time of my poor friend
Gambetta, that the republic is lacking in women. You will give us fine
festivals, Madame, in the salons of the Ministry."

Marguerite, looking at herself in the mirror, with her necklace and
earrings, was singing the jewel song.

"We shall have to compose the declaration," said Count Martin. "I have
thought of it. For my department I have found, I think, a fine formula."

Loyer shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear Martin, we have nothing essential to change in the declaration
of the preceding Cabinet; the situation is unchanged."

He struck his forehead with his hand.

"Oh, I had forgotten. We have made your friend, old Lariviere, Minister
of War, without consulting him. I have to warn him."

He thought he could find him in the boulevard cafe, where military men
go. But Count Martin knew the General was in the theatre.

"I must find him," said Loyer.

Bowing to Therese, he said:

"You permit me, Countess, to take your husband?"

They had just gone out when Jacques Dechartre and Paul Vence came into
the box.

"I congratulate you, Madame," said Paul Vence.

But she turned toward Dechartre:

"I hope you have not come to congratulate me, too."

Paul Vence asked her if she would move into the apartment