Fleury. “‘Inquisitive man’ stands for ‘spy.’”

Poiret.  “I don’t understand.”

Bixiou.  “Very well; try again some other time.”

Monsieur Rabourdin, after taking Sebastien to his room, had gone straight to the minister; but the minister was at the Chamber of Deputies.  Rabourdin went at once to the Chamber, where he wrote a note to his Excellency, who was at that moment in the tribune engaged in a hot discussion.  Rabourdin waited, not in the conference hall, but in the courtyard, where, in spite of the cold, he resolved to remain and intercept his Excellency as he got into his carriage.  The usher of the Chamber had told him that the minister was in the thick of a controversy raised by the nineteen members of the extreme Left, and that the session was likely to be stormy.  Rabourdin walked to and for in the courtyard of the palace for five mortal hours, a prey to feverish agitation.  At half-past six o’clock the session broke up, and the members filed out.  The minister’s chasseur came up to find the coachman.

“Hi, Jean!” he called out to him; “Monseigneur has gone with the minister of war; they are going to see the King, and after that they dine together, and we are to fetch him at ten o’clock.  There’s a Council this evening.”

Rabourdin walked slowly home, in a state of despondency not difficult to imagine.  It was seven o’clock, and he had barely time to dress.

“Well, you are appointed?” cried his wife, joyously, as he entered the salon.

Rabourdin raised his head with a grievous motion of distress and answered, “I fear I shall never again set foot in the ministry.”

“What?” said his wife, quivering with sudden anxiety.

“My memorandum on the officials is known in all the offices; and I have not been able to see the minister.”

Celestine’s eyes were opened to a sudden vision in which the devil, in one of his infernal flashes, showed her the meaning of her last conversation with des Lupeaulx.

“If I had behaved like a low woman,” she thought, “we should have had the place.”

She looked at Rabourdin with grief in her heart.  A sad silence fell between them, and dinner was eaten in the midst of gloomy meditations.

“And it is my Wednesday,” she said at last.

“All is not lost, dear Celestine,” said Rabourdin, laying a kiss on his wife’s forehead; “perhaps to-morrow I shall be able to see the minister and explain everything.  Sebastien sat up all last night to finish the writing; the papers are copied and collated; I shall place them on the minister’s desk and beg him to read them through.  La Briere will help me.  A man is never condemned without a hearing.”

“I am curious to see if Monsieur des Lupeaulx will come here to-night.”

“He?  Of course he will come,” said Rabourdin; “there’s something of the tiger in him; he likes to lick the blood of the wounds he has given.”