int so,
that is what I say about it!"

Guy had no reply for this imperturbable moralist and he regretted that
he had lost time in speaking to him. But his uncontrollable rage choked
him. Enough remained however to show all his feelings to Vaudrey.

The minister was not in his cabinet. A messenger asked Lissac if he
would speak to Monsieur Warcolier, the Under Secretary of State.

"I, I," then said a man who rose from the chair in which he had been
sitting in the antechamber, "I should be glad to see Monsieur
Warcolier--Monsieur Eugene, you know."

"Very well, Monsieur Eugene, I will announce you." Lissac explained that
his visit was not official, he called on a personal matter.

"Is the minister in his apartments?"

"Yes, monsieur, but to-day, you know--"

What was going on to-day, then? Lissac had not noticed, in fact, that a
marquee with red stripes was being erected at the entrance to the hotel,
and that upholsterers were bringing in wagons benches covered with red
velvet with which they were blocking the peristyle. There was a
reception at the ministry.

"That will not prevent Monsieur Vaudrey from seeing me," he said.

One of the messengers opened the doors in front of him and conducted him
to the floor above, where Monsieur le Ministre was then resting near the
fire and glancing over the papers after breakfast.

He appeared pleased but a little astonished at seeing Lissac.

"Eh! my dear Guy, what a good idea!--Have you arrived already for the
soiree? You received your invitation?"

"No," answered Lissac, "I have received nothing, or if the invitation
arrived, the agents of Monsieur Jouvenet have taken it away with many
other things."

"The agents! what agents?" asked the minister.

He had risen to receive Guy and remained standing in front of the
fireplace looking at his friend, who questioned him with his glance to
discover if Vaudrey could really be in ignorance as to such a matter.

"Ah, so! but," said Lissac with trembling voice and in a tone of angry
bitterness, "do you not know then, what takes place in Paris?"

"What is happening?" asked Sulpice, who had turned slightly pale.

"They arrest men for nothing, and keep them in close confinement for two
days in order to have time to search their correspondence for a document
that compromises certain persons. It is very proper, no doubt; but that
smacks too much of romanticism and the Bridge of Sighs. It is very
old-fashioned and worn-out. I w