ry one else, Warcolier never made comparisons, he did not even
prefer himself: he worshipped himself. The world belonged to him, he
trod the ground with a firm step, swinging his arms, his paunch smooth,
his head erect and his shoulders thrown forward. He seemed to inhale, at
every step, the odor of triumph. He was not the man to compromise with a
defeated adversary.

Of Warcolier's literary efforts, people were familiar with his _History
of Work and Workers_ that he had formerly dedicated to His Majesty
Napoleon III. in these flattering terms: "To you, sire, who have
substituted for the nobility of birth, that of work, and for the pride
of ancestry, that of shedding blood for one's country."

Later, in 1875, Warcolier had re-issued his _History of Work_ and his
dedication was anxiously awaited. It did not take him long to get over
the difficulty. He dedicated his work to another sovereign: "To the
People, who have substituted the nobility of work for that of birth, and
that of blood shed for the country for that of blood shed by ancestors."

And that very name which was formerly read at the foot of professions of
faith:--_Appeal to Honest People. The Revolution overwhelms us!_ is now
found at the foot of proclamations wherein this devil of a Warcolier
exclaims:--_Appeal to Good Citizens. Reaction now threatens us!_

This was the man whom Granet and his friends had worked so hard to
thrust into the position of Undersecretary of State of the Interior.
Vaudrey reserved his opinion on this subject to be communicated to the
President by and by.

The hour for the meeting of the Council drew near. Sulpice saw, through
the white curtains of the window, his horses harnessed to his coupe and
prancing in the courtyard, although it was but a short distance from
Place Beauvau to the Elysee. He slipped the reports of the Prefect of
Police and the Director of the Press into his portfolio and was about to
leave, when the usher brought him another card.

"It is useless, I cannot see any one else."

"But the gentleman said that if the minister saw his name, he would most
assuredly see him."

Vaudrey took the card that was extended to him on the tray:

"Jeliotte! He is right. Show him in."

He removed his hat and went straight toward the door, that was then
opened to admit a pale-faced, lean man with long black whiskers that
formed a sort of horsetail fringe to his face. Jeliotte was a former
comrade in the law courts, an advo