Antoine gave him the letter, and he had no sooner opened it than he rushed headlong downstairs in the direction of the secretary’s office.

The bureaus Rabourdin and Baudoyer, after idling and gossiping since the death of Monsieur de la Billardiere, were now recovering their usual official look and the dolce far niente habits of a government office.  Nevertheless, the approaching end of the year did cause rather more application among the clerks, just as porters and servants become at that season more unctuously civil.  They all came punctually, for one thing; more remained after four o’clock than was usual at other times.  It was not forgotten that fees and gratuities depend on the last impressions made upon the minds of masters.  The news of the union of the two divisions, that of La Billardiere and that of Clergeot, under one director, had spread through the various offices.  The number of the clerks to be retired was known, but all were in ignorance of the names.  It was taken for granted that Poiret would not be replaced, and that would be a retrenchment.  Little La Billardiere had already departed.  Two new supernumeraries had made their appearance, and, alarming circumstance! they were both sons of deputies.  The news told about in the offices the night before, just as the clerks were dispersing, agitated all minds, and for the first half-hour after arrival in the morning they stood around the stoves and talked it over.  But earlier than that, Dutocq, as we have seen, had rushed to des Lupeaulx on receiving his note, and found him dressing.  Without laying down his razor, the general-secretary cast upon his subordinate the glance of a general issuing an order.

“Are we alone?” he asked.

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Very good.  March on Rabourdin; forward! steady!  Of course you kept a copy of that paper?”

“Yes.”

“You understand me?  Inde iroe!  There must be a general hue and cry raised against him.  Find some way to start a clamor—­”

“I could get a man to make a caricature, but I haven’t five hundred francs to pay for it.”

“Who would make it?”

“Bixou.”

“He shall have a thousand and be under-head-clerk to Colleville, who will arrange with them; tell him so.”

“But he wouldn’t believe it on nothing more than my word.”

“Are you trying to make me compromise myself?  Either do the thing or let it alone; do you hear me?”

“If Monsieur Baudoyer were director—­”

“Well, he will be.  Go now, and make haste; you have no time to lose.  Go down the back-stairs; I don’t want people to know you have just seen me.”

While Dutocq was returning to the clerks’ office and asking himself how he could best incite a clamor against his chief without compromising himself, Bixiou rushed to the Rabourdin office for a word of greeting.  Believing that he had lost his bet the incorrigible joker thought it amusing to pretend that he had won it.