“Well, Monseigneur,” said des Lupeaulx, entering the little salon where they breakfasted, “have you seen the articles on Baudoyer?”

“For God’s sake, my dear friend,” replied the minister, “don’t talk of those appointments just now; let me have an hour’s peace!  They cracked my ears last night with that monstrance.  The only way to save Rabourdin is to bring his appointment before the Council, unless I submit to having my hand forced.  It is enough to disgust a man with the public service.  I must purchase the right to keep that excellent Rabourdin by promoting a certain Colleville!”

“Why not make over the management of this pretty little comedy to me, and rid yourself of the worry of it?  I’ll amuse you every morning with an account of the game of chess I should play with the Grand Almoner,” said des Lupeaulx.

“Very good,” said the minister, “settle it with the head examiner.  But you know perfectly well that nothing is more likely to strike the king’s mind than just those reasons the opposition journal has chosen to put forth.  Good heavens! fancy managing a ministry with such men as Baudoyer under me!”

“An imbecile bigot,” said des Lupeaulx, “and as utterly incapable as—­”

“—­as La Billardiere,” added the minister.

“But La Billardiere had the manners of a gentleman-in-ordinary,” replied des Lupeaulx.  “Madame,” he continued, addressing the countess, “it is now an absolute necessity to invite Madame Rabourdin to your next private party.  I must assure you she is the intimate friend of Madame de Camps; they were at the Opera together last night.  I first met her at the hotel Firmiani.  Besides, you will see that she is not of a kind to compromise a salon.”

“Invite Madame Rabourdin, my dear,” said the minister, “and pray let us talk of something else.”

CHAPTER VII

Scenes from domestic life

Parisian households are literally eaten up with the desire to be in keeping with the luxury that surrounds them on all sides, and few there are who have the wisdom to let their external situation conform to their internal revenue.  But this vice may perhaps denote a truly French patriotism, which seeks to maintain the supremacy of the nation in the matter of dress.  France reigns through clothes over the whole of Europe; and every one must feel the importance of retaining a commercial sceptre that makes fashion in France what the navy is to England.  This patriotic ardor which leads a nation to sacrifice everything to appearances—­to the “paroistre,” as d’Aubigne said in the days of Henri IV.—­is the cause of those vast secret labors which employ the whole of a Parisian woman’s morning, when she wishes, as Madame Rabourdin wished, to keep up on twelve thousand francs a year the style that many a family with thirty thousand does not indulge in.  Consequently, every Friday,—­the day of her dinner parties,—­Madame