Through some strange caprice, he felt a desire to see Adrienne very soon after leaving Marianne, perhaps to know how he would feel and if “cela se voyait” as they say.  There was also a feeling of remorse involved in this eagerness.  He wished to satisfy himself that Adrienne was not suffering, and as formerly, to smile on her as if redoubled affection would, in his own eyes, obliterate his fault.

Adrienne was in her salon.  Sulpice heard the sound of voices beyond the door.  Some one was talking.

“Madame has a visitor?” he inquired of the domestic.

“Yes, Monsieur le Ministre—­Monsieur de Lissac.”

“What!  Guy! what chance brings him here!” Sulpice thought.

He opened the door and entered, extending his hand to his friend.

“How lucky! it is very kind of you to come.”

Guy stood, hat in hand, while Vaudrey stooped toward Adrienne to kiss her brow unceremoniously in the presence of his friend.

“Oh!” said Lissac, “I have not come to greet Your Excellency.  It is your charming wife that I have called on.”

“I thank you for it,” said Sulpice, “my poor Adrienne does not receive many visits outside the circle of official relations.”

“And she does not get very much entertainment!  So I promise myself to come and pay court to her—­or such court as you would wish—­from time to time.  Madame,” said Lissac jocosely, “it is a fact that this devilish minister deserves that you should receive declarations from morning to night while he is over yonder ogling his portfolio.  Such a husband as he is, is not to be found again—­”

Adrienne, blushing a little, looked at Vaudrey with her usual expression of tender devotion as profound as her soul.  Sulpice made an effort to smile at Lissac’s pleasantries.

“No, take care, you know!” added Guy.  “As Madame Vaudrey is so often alone, I shall allow myself to come here sometimes to keep her company, and I won’t guarantee to you that I won’t fall in love with her.”

He turned respectfully toward Adrienne and added, with the correct bearing of a gentleman: 

“Madame, all this is only to make him comprehend that nothing in the world, not even a rag of morocco,—­is his portfolio a morocco one?—­is worth the happiness of having such a wife as you.  And the miserable fellow doesn’t suspect it.  You see, I speak of you as the Opposition journals do.”

Sulpice tried to smile but he divined under Guy’s jesting, a serious and truthful purpose.  Perhaps Adrienne had just been allowing herself to complain of the sadness and dreariness of her life.  He was hurt by it.  After all, he did all that he could to gratify his wife.  But a man like him was not, in fact, born to remain forever tied down.  The wife of a minister must bear her part of the burden, since there must be a burden.

As if Adrienne had divined Sulpice’s very thoughts, she quickly added, interrupting the jester who had somewhat confused the minister: