General Caffarel was a gallant old officer, and it is said the scene was most piteous when, as part of his punishment, the police tore from his coat his own decoration of the Legion of Honor.  The War Minister tried to smother the scandal and to save the generals, but it got into the public prints, with many exaggerations.  General d’Andlau took to flight.  The police arrested Madame Limouzin, her accomplice, Madame Ratazzi, and several other persons.  The public grew very much excited.  It was said that state secrets were given over to pillage, that they were sold to the Germans, that the Government was at the mercy of thieves and jobbers.  “One figure,” wrote M. Monod, “stood out from the rest as a mark for suspicion.  It was that of M. Daniel Wilson.  He had never been popular with frequenters of the Elysee.  He was a rich man, both on his own and his wife’s side, and was an able man and a man of influence in business affairs.  He had been Under-Secretary of Finance and President of the Committee of the Budget.”  Many thought he had the best chance of any man for succeeding M. Grevy as president of France.  He was, however, one of those unquiet spirits who may be found frequently among speculators and financiers.  He had no scruple about using his position to promote his own business interests and the interests of the schemes in which he was engaged, nor did he hesitate to give useful information to leaders who favored his own views in the Chambers and were in opposition to the ministers he disliked.  Thus the son-in-law of the president intrigued against the president’s ministers, and Jules Ferry, leader of the Republican law and order party in the Chamber, and his followers, could not forgive him for having thus betrayed them.  Wilson belonged to the advanced section of the Republican party, the Reds; but he was not so popular with them that they were unwilling to attack him, provided they could thereby get rid of M. Grevy, and put a more advanced Republican in his place.

No positive accusation, however, in the matter of Madame Limouzin could have been brought against M. Wilson, had it not been discovered by that lady’s counsel that two of the letters seized and held as evidence—­letters from M. Wilson to Madame Limouzin—­were written on paper manufactured after their date,—­an incident not unfamiliar to readers of old-fashioned English novels.  The real letters, therefore, had undoubtedly been abstracted, and replaced by others of a less compromising kind.

The Ministry, which up to the time of this discovery had endeavored to keep the name of the president’s son-in-law from being connected with the sale of decorations of the Legion of Honor, was obliged to authorize his prosecution; and the Prefect of Police, who was suspected of having given back to M. Wilson his own letters, was forced to resign.[1]

[Footnote 1:  There is a similar incident in Balzac’s “Cousin Pons.”]