he little door in the Avenue Prony. He was happier when he
thought he had made a forward step in Marianne's affections than when he
had acquired new votes from the minority in the Chamber. Ambitious
projects yielded to the consuming desire that he felt toward this woman.
At the ministry, during the familiar conversations at table with
Adrienne and even during the hurly-burly attendant on private receptions
and morning interviews, he sometimes remained silent, lost in thought,
his mind wandering and, in reality, with Marianne.

Adrienne, at such times, with a sweet smile which made Sulpice shudder
with remorse, would beseech him to work less, to take some recreation,
and not allow himself to be so absorbed in politics.

"You are extremely pale, I assure you. You look worn out. You work too
hard."

"It is due to administrative changes. There are so many documents to
examine."

"I know that very well, but isn't Monsieur Warcolier there? In what way
does he help you?"

"In no way," replied the minister sharply, speaking with truth.

Public affairs, in fact, absorbed him, and he found it necessary to
steal the precious time to make a hasty trip to Rue Prony. A vacation,
it is true, was near. In less than a month, Vaudrey would have more
time at his disposal. But for more than three weeks yet, the minister
would have everything to modify and change,--everything to put into a
healthy shape, as Warcolier said--in the Hotel Beauvau.

What matter! He found the time to fly incognito to the Maison de Vanda,
leaving his coupe at the ministry. Marianne was always there for him
when he arrived. The male domestic or the femme de chambre received him
with all the deference that "domestics" show when they suspect that the
visitor brings any kind of subsidy to the house. To Vaudrey, there was a
sort of mystery in Mademoiselle Kayser's life. Ramel, who knew her uncle
Kayser, had told him of the poverty of the painter. How then, seeing
that her uncle was so shabby, could the niece be so sumptuously
established?

Kayser, whom he had once met at Marianne's, had answered such a question
by remarking that his niece was a _sly puss_ who understood life
thoroughly and would be sure to make headway. But that was all.

"I have suspected for a long time that that little head was not capable
of much," the painter had added. "I considered her a light-headed
creature, nothing more. Fool that I was! she is a shrewd woman, a clever
woman, a tr