His Excellency the Minister Part 39

"Do you know, my dear, Madame Vaudrey is charming?"

He felt himself blush at these words hurled at him point-blank, then his cheeks grew cold. Never, till that moment, had Mademoiselle Kayser mentioned Adrienne's name.

"You like blondes, I see!" said Marianne. "I am almost inclined to be jealous!"

"Will you do me a great favor?" then interrupted Sulpice. "Never let us speak of her. Let us speak of ourselves."

"Yes," continued the perfidious Marianne in a patronizing tone, as if she had not heard him, "she is certainly charming! A trifle--just a trifle--bourgeoise--But charming! Decidedly charming!"

Knowing Vaudrey well, she understood what a keen weapon she was plunging straight into him. A little _bourgeoise_! This conclusion rendered by the Parisienne with a smile now haunted Sulpice, who was annoyed at himself and he sought to discover in his wife, the dear creature whom he had so tenderly loved, whom he still loved, some self-satisfying excuse for his pa.s.sion and adultery.

"Bah!" he thought. "Is it adultery? There is no adultery save for the wife. The husband's faithlessness is called a caprice, an adventure, a craving or madness of the senses. Only the wife is adulterous."

In all candor, what sin had he committed? Was Adrienne less loved? He would have sacrificed his life for her. He overwhelmed her with presents, created surprises for her that she received without emotion, and simply said in a doleful tone:

"How good you are, my dear!"

He was ruining neither her nor his children! Ah! if he but had children!

Why had not Adrienne had children? A woman should be a mother. It is maternity that in the marriage estate justifies a man in abandoning his freedom and a woman her shame.

A mother! And was Marianne a mother?

No, but Marianne was Marianne. Marianne was not created for the domestic fireside and the cradle. Her statuesque and seductively lovely limbs only craved for the writhings of pleasure, not the pangs of maternity.

Adrienne, on the contrary, was the wife, and the childless wife soon took another name: the friend. No, he robbed her of nothing, Adrienne lost none of his affection, none of his fortune. The money squandered at Rue p.r.o.ny, Vaudrey had acquired; it was the savings of the honest people of Saint-Laurent-du-Pont, the parents, the _old folks_, that he threw--as in smelting--into the crucible of the girl's mansion.

Adrienne expressed no desire that was not fulfilled, and Sulpice who was, moreover, confident and lulled by her quietude, felt no remorse. He did not enquire if his pa.s.sion for Marianne would endure. He flung himself upon this love as upon some prey; nor was desire the only influence that now attached him to this woman, he was drawn to her also by the admiration that he felt for her boldness of thought, her singular opinions, her careless expressions, her devilish spirit; her appetizing and voluptuous attractions surprised and ensnared him--

What a counselor and ally such a woman would be!

Well and good! When Vaudrey informed her that he was about to become first minister, to preside over the Council, to show his power--this was his eternal watchword--Marianne immediately comprehended the new situation and what increase of influence in the country such a fortunate event would give him.

He observed with pleasure that something like a joyful beam gleamed in Mademoiselle Kayser's gray eyes.

She also doubtless thought that it was desirable to take advantage of the occasion, to seize and cling to the opportunity.

"Then it is official?" she asked.

"Not yet. But it is certain."

What could Marianne hope for? Again, she had no well-defined object; but she watched her opportunity, and since Vaudrey's power was enlarged, well, she was to profit by it. Claire Dujarrier, who had already served her so well, could be useful to her again and advise her advantageously.

That will be seen.

"Are you desirous of attending Collard's funeral?" Vaudrey asked Marianne.

She laughed as she asked:

"Why! what do you think that would be to me?"

"It will be very fine. All the authorities, the magistrates, the Inst.i.tute, the garrison of Paris will be present."

"Then you think it is amusing to see soldiers file past? I am not at all curious! You will describe it all to me and that will be quite sufficient for me."

Vaudrey walked at the head of the cortege that accompanied through Place Vendome and Rue de la Paix, black with the crowd, the funeral procession of Collard--of Nantes--to the Madeleine. Troops of the line in parade uniforms lined the route. From time to time was heard the m.u.f.fled roll of drums shrouded in crepe. The funeral car was immense and was crowded with wreaths. As with bowed head he accompanied the funeral procession of his colleague, 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 b.u.t.ts 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 p.r.o.ny. 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 quickly and without any appearance of surprise, eagerly presented to him:

"Monsieur Jose de Rosas!"

In the simple manner in which she had p.r.o.nounced this name, she had infused so triumphant an expression, such manifest ostentation, that Vaudrey felt himself suddenly wounded, struck to the heart.

He recalled everything that Marianne had said to him about this man.

He greeted Rosas with somewhat frigid politeness and from the tone in which Marianne began to speak to him, he at once realized that she had some interest in allowing the Spaniard to surmise nothing. She unduly emphasized the t.i.tle by which she addressed him, repeating a little too frequently: "Monsieur le Ministre."--Whenever Vaudrey sought to catch her glance she looked away in a strange fashion and managed to avoid carrying on any formal conversation with Sulpice. On the contrary, she addressed Rosas affably, asking what he had done in London, what he had become and what he brought back new.

"Nothing," Jose answered with a peculiar expression that displeased Vaudrey. "Nothing but the conviction that one lives only in Paris surrounded by persons whom one vainly seeks to avoid and toward whom one always returns--in spite of one's self, at times."

Vaudrey observed the almost proud, triumphant expression that flashed in Marianne's eyes. He vaguely realized an indirect confession expressed in that trite remark made by Rosas. The Spaniard's voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

Marianne smiled as she listened.

"You have taken a new journey, monsieur?" asked Sulpice, uncertain what bearing to a.s.sume.

"Oh! just a temporary absence! A trip to London--"

"Have you returned long?"

"Only this morning."