he is making our fortune."

He was silent for a few moments, and then resumed: "If I had to make a
choice among your admirers, I should still prefer that old fossil De
Vaudrec. What has become of him, I have not seen him for a week?"

"He is unwell," replied she, unmoved. "He wrote to me that he was even
obliged to keep his bed from an attack of gout. You ought to call and
ask how he is. You know he likes you very well, and it would please
him."

George said: "Yes, certainly; I will go some time to-day."

He had finished his toilet, and, hat on head, glanced at himself in the
glass to see if he had neglected anything. Finding nothing, he came up
to the bed and kissed his wife on the forehead, saying: "Good-bye, dear,
I shall not be in before seven o'clock at the earliest."

And he went out. Monsieur Laroche-Mathieu was awaiting him, for he was
lunching at ten o'clock that morning, the Council having to meet at
noon, before the opening of Parliament. As soon as they were seated at
table alone with the minister's private secretary, for Madame
Laroche-Mathieu had been unwilling to change her own meal times, Du Roy
spoke of his article, sketched out the line he proposed to take,
consulting notes scribbled on visiting cards, and when he had finished,
said: "Is there anything you think should be modified, my dear
minister?"

"Very little, my dear fellow. You are perhaps a trifle too strongly
affirmative as regards the Morocco business. Speak of the expedition as
if it were going to take place; but, at the same time, letting it be
understood that it will not take place, and that you do not believe in
it in the least in the world. Write in such a way that the public can
easily read between the lines that we are not going to poke our noses
into that adventure."

"Quite so. I understand, and I will make myself thoroughly understood.
My wife commissioned me to ask you, on this point, whether General
Belloncle will be sent to Oran. After what you have said, I conclude he
will not."

The statesman answered, "No."

Then they spoke of the coming session. Laroche-Mathieu began to spout,
rehearsing the phrases that he was about to pour forth on his colleagues
a few hours later. He waved his right hand, raising now his knife, now
his fork, now a bit of bread, and without looking at anyone, addressing
himself to the invisible assembly, he poured out his dulcet eloquence,
the eloquence of a good-looking, dandified fellow. A t