The Red Lily Part 37

Marguerite, looking at herself in the mirror, with her necklace and earrings, was singing the jewel song.

"We shall have to compose the declaration," said Count Martin. "I have thought of it. For my department I have found, I think, a fine formula."

Loyer shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear Martin, we have nothing essential to change in the declaration of the preceding Cabinet; the situation is unchanged."

He struck his forehead with his hand.

"Oh, I had forgotten. We have made your friend, old Lariviere, Minister of War, without consulting him. I have to warn him."

He thought he could find him in the boulevard cafe, where military men go. But Count Martin knew the General was in the theatre.

"I must find him," said Loyer.

Bowing to Therese, he said:

"You permit me, Countess, to take your husband?"

They had just gone out when Jacques Dechartre and Paul Vence came into the box.

"I congratulate you, Madame," said Paul Vence.

But she turned toward Dechartre:

"I hope you have not come to congratulate me, too."

Paul Vence asked her if she would move into the apartments of the Ministry.

"Oh, no," she replied.

"At least, Madame," said Paul Vence, "you will go to the b.a.l.l.s at the Elysees, and we shall admire the art with which you retain your mysterious charm."

"Changes in cabinets," said Madame Martin, "inspire you, Monsieur Vence, with very frivolous reflections."

"Madame," continued Paul Vence, "I shall not say like Renan, my beloved master: 'What does Sirius care?' because somebody would reply with reason 'What does little Earth care for big Sirius?' But I am always surprised when people who are adult, and even old, let themselves be deluded by the illusion of power, as if hunger, love, and death, all the ign.o.ble or sublime necessities of life, did not exercise on men an empire too sovereign to leave them anything other than power written on paper and an empire of words. And, what is still more marvellous, people imagine they have other chiefs of state and other ministers than their miseries, their desires, and their imbecility. He was a wise man who said: 'Let us give to men irony and pity as witnesses and judges.'"

"But, Monsieur Vence," said Madame Martin, laughingly, "you are the man who wrote that. I read it."

The two Ministers looked vainly in the theatre and in the corridors for the General. On the advice of the ushers, they went behind the scenes.

Two ballet-dancers were standing sadly, with a foot on the bar placed against the wall. Here and there men in evening dress and women in gauze formed groups almost silent.

Loyer and Martin-Belleme, when they entered, took off their hats. They saw, in the rear of the hall, Lariviere with a pretty girl whose pink tunic, held by a gold belt, was open at the hips.

She held in her hand a gilt pasteboard cup. When they were near her, they heard her say to the General:

"You are old, to be sure, but I think you do as much as he does."

And she was pointing disdainfully to a grinning young man, with a gardenia in his b.u.t.ton-hole, who stood near them.

Loyer motioned to the General that he wished to speak to him, and, pushing him against the bar, said:

"I have the pleasure to announce to you that you have been appointed Minister of War."

Lariviere, distrustful, said nothing. That badly dressed man with long hair, who, under his dusty coat, resembled a clown, inspired so little confidence in him that he suspected a snare, perhaps a bad joke.

"Monsieur Loyer is Keeper of the Seals," said Count Martin.

"General, you cannot refuse," Loyer said. "I have said you will accept.

If you hesitate, it will be favoring the offensive return of Garain. He is a traitor."

"My dear colleague, you exaggerate," said Count Martin; "but Garain, perhaps, is lacking a little in frankness. And the General's support is urgent."

"The Fatherland before everything," replied Lariviere with emotion.

"You know, General," continued Loyer, "the existing laws are to be applied with moderation."

He looked at the two dancers who were extending their short and muscular legs on the bar.

Lariviere murmured:

"The army's patriotism is excellent; the good-will of the chiefs is at the height of the most critical circ.u.mstances."

Loyer tapped his shoulder.

"My dear colleague, there is some use in having big armies."

"I believe as you do," replied Lariviere; "the present army fills the superior necessities of national defence."

"The use of big armies," continued Loyer, "is to make war impossible.

One would be crazy to engage in a war these immeasurable forces, the management of which surpa.s.ses all human faculty. Is not this your opinion, General?"

General Lariviere winked.

"The situation," he said, "exacts circ.u.mspection. We are facing a perilous unknown."

Then Loyer, looking at his war colleague with cynical contempt, said:

"In the very improbable case of a war, don't you think, my dear colleague, that the real generals would be the station-masters?"

The three Ministers went out by the private stairway. The President of the Council was waiting for them.

The last act had begun; Madame Martin had in her box only Dechartre and Miss Bell. Miss Bell was saying:

"I rejoice, darling, I am exalted, at the thought that you wear on your heart the red lily of Florence. Monsieur Dechartre, whose soul is artistic, must be very glad, too, to see at your corsage that charming jewel.

"I should like to know the jeweller that made it, darling. This lily is lithe and supple like an iris. Oh, it is elegant, magnificent, and cruel. Have you noticed, my love, that beautiful jewels have an air of magnificent cruelty?"