“Ah!” he continued, giving her a side glance, “you are grand indeed; I find you just what I expected, glorious under defeat.  Do you know that it is a very rare thing to find a superior woman who answers to the expectations formed of her.  So defeat doesn’t dishearten you?  You are right; we shall triumph in the end,” he whispered in her ear.  “Your fate is always in your own hands,—­so long, I mean, as your ally is a man who adores you.  We will hold counsel together.”

“But is Baudoyer appointed?” she asked.

“Yes,” said the secretary.

“Does he get the cross?”

“Not yet; but he will have it later.”

“Amazing!”

“Ah! you don’t understand political exigencies.”

During this evening, which seemed interminable to Madame Rabourdin, another scene was occurring in the place Royale,—­one of those comedies which are played in seven Parisian salons whenever there is a change of ministry.  The Saillards’ salon was crowded.  Monsieur and Madame Transon arrived at eight o’clock; Madame Transon kissed Madame Baudoyer, nee Saillard.  Monsieur Bataille, captain of the National Guard, came with his wife and the curate of Saint Paul’s.

“Monsieur Baudoyer,” said Madame Transon.  “I wish to be the first to congratulate you; they have done justice to your talents.  You have indeed earned your promotion.”

“Here you are, director,” said Monsieur Transon, rubbing his hands, “and the appointment is very flattering to this neighborhood.”

“And we can truly say it came to pass without any intriguing,” said the worthy Saillard.  “We are none of us political intriguers; we don’t go to select parties at the ministry.”

Uncle Mitral rubbed his nose and grinned as he glanced at his niece Elisabeth, the woman whose hand had pulled the wires, who was talking with Gigonnet.  Falleix, honest fellow, did not know what to make of the stupid blindness of Saillard and Baudoyer.  Messieurs Dutocq, Bixiou, du Bruel, Godard, and Colleville (the latter appointed head of the bureau) entered.

“What a crew!” whispered Bixiou to du Bruel.  “I could make a fine caricature of them in the shapes of fishes,—­dorys, flounders, sharks, and snappers, all dancing a saraband!”

“Monsieur,” said Colleville, “I come to offer you my congratulations; or rather we congratulate ourselves in having such a man placed over us; and we desire to assure you of the zeal with which we shall co-operate in your labors.  Allow me to say that this event affords a signal proof to the truth of my axiom that a man’s destiny lies in the letters of his name.  I may say that I knew of this appointment and of your other honors before I heard of them, for I spend the night in anagrammatizing your name as follows:”  [proudly] “Isidore C. T. Baudoyer,—­Director, decorated by us (his Majesty the King, of course).”

Baudoyer bowed and remarked piously that names were given in baptism.