olleague, almost his friend,--but, bah! friendship of committees
and sub-committees!--Sulpice was sufficiently an artist to be somewhat
impressed with the contrast afforded by the display of official pomp
crowning the rather obscure life of the Nantes advocate. He had ever
obtrusively before him, as if haunted by the spectre of the Poor Man
before Don Juan, the lean face of Garnier and the white moustache of
Ramel. Which of the two had better served his cause, Ramel vanquished or
Collard--of Nantes--dying in the full blaze of success?

He pondered over this during the whole of the ceremony. He thought of it
while the notes of the organ swelled forth, while the blue flames of the
burning incense danced, and while the butts of the soldiers' muskets
sounded from time to time on the flagstones, as the men stood around
the bier and followed the orders of the officer who commanded them.

On leaving the ceremony, Granet approached Sulpice while gently stroking
his waxed moustache, and said in an ironical tone:

"Do you know that it is suggested that a statue be raised in Collard's
honor?"

"Really?"

"Yes, because he is considered to have shown a great example."

"What?"

"He is one of those rare cases of ministers dying in office. Imitate
him, my dear minister,--to the latest possible moment."

Sulpice made an effort to smile at Granet's pleasantry. This cunning
fellow decidedly displeased him; but there was nothing to take offence
at, it was mere diplomatic pleasantry expressed politely.

Before returning to the ministry, Vaudrey had himself driven to Rue
Prony. Jean, the domestic, told him that Madame had gone out; she had
been under the necessity of going to her uncle's. After all, Sulpice
thought this was a very simple matter; but he was determined to see
Marianne, so he ordered his carriage to be driven to the artist's
studio. Uncle Kayser opened the door, bewildered at receiving a call
from the minister and, at the same time, showing that he was somewhat
uneasy, coughing very violently, as if choked with emotion, or perhaps
as a signal to some one.

"Is Mademoiselle Kayser here?" asked Sulpice.

"Yes--Ah! how odd it is--Chance wills that just now one of our
friends--a connoisseur of pictures--"

Vaudrey had already thrust open the door of the studio and he perceived,
sitting near Marianne and holding his hat in his hand, a young man with
pale complexion and reddish beard, whom Mademoiselle Kayser, rising