llent thing for both," said the Minister of State
with pale irony. "For you, especially, who are a violent fellow, and
who at this moment need so much self-control. Take care on that point,
Jansoulet. Beware of the hot retorts, the steps taken in a fit of temper
to which they would like to drive you. Repeat to yourself now that you
are a public man, on a platform, all of whose actions are observed from
far. The newspapers are abusing you; don't read them, if you cannot
conceal the emotion which they cause you. Don't do what I did, with my
blind man of the Pont de la Concorde, that frightful clarinet-player,
who for the last ten years has been blighting my life by playing all
day 'De tes fils, Norma.' I have tried everything to get him away from
there--money, threats. Nothing has succeeded in inducing him to go. The
police? Ah, yes, indeed. With modern ideas, it becomes quite a business
to clear off a blind man from a bridge. The Opposition newspapers would
talk of it, the Parisians would make a story out of it--'_The Cobbler
and the Financier_.' 'The Duke and the Clarinet.' No, I must resign
myself. It is, besides, my own fault. I never ought to have let this
man see that he annoyed me. I am sure that my torture makes half the
pleasure of his life now. Every morning he comes forth from his wretched
lodging with his dog, his folding-stool, his frightful music, and says
to himself, 'Come, let us go and worry the Duc de Mora.' Not a day
does he miss, the wretch! Why, see, if I were but to open the window a
trifle, you would hear his deluge of little sharp notes above the noise
of the water and the traffic. Well, this journalist of the _Messenger_,
he is your clarinet; if you allow him to see that his music wearies you,
he will never finish. And with this, my dear deputy, I will remind you
that you have a meeting at three o'clock at the office, and I must send
you back to the Chamber."

Then turning to Jenkins:

"You know what I asked of you, doctor--pearls for the day after
to-morrow; and let them be extra strong!"

Jenkins started, shook himself as at the sudden awakening from a dream:

"Certainly, my dear duke. You shall be given some stamina--oh, yes;
stamina, breath enough to win the great Derby stakes."

He bowed, and left the room laughing, the veritable laugh of a wolf
showing its gleaming white teeth. The Nabob took leave in his turn, his
heart filled with gratitude, but not daring to let anything of it appear