He had, this time, a burdensome morning.  Prefects were arriving by the main entrance to the ministry, the vast antechambers on the left; and friends, more intimate suitors, waited on the right, elbowing the ushers, in order to have their cards handed to the secretary-general or to the minister.  There were some who, in an airy sort of way, said:  “Monsieur Vaudrey,” in order to appear to be on familiar terms.

Sulpice felt himself attacked on both sides at once; blockaded in his office; and he despatched the petitioners with all haste, extending his hand to them, smiling, cheerfully making them promises, happy to promise them, but grieved in principle to see humbug depicted on the human face.  From time to time, in the midst of his ministerial preoccupations and conversations, the disturbing smile of Marianne suddenly appeared like a flash of lightning in a storm; and though shaking his head, to give the appearance of listening and understanding, the minister was in reality far away, near a brilliant buffet and watching a silver spoon glide between two rosy lips.

In that procession, which was to be a daily one, of petitioners, of deputies urging appointments in favor of their constituents, asking the removal of mayors, the decoration of election agents, harassing the minister with recommendations and petitions which, although couched in a humble tone, always veiled a threat, Vaudrey did not often have to do with his friends.  It was a wearisome succession of lukewarm friends or recognized enemies, who rallied around a successful man.  This man, although a minister for so short a time, had already a vague, disquieting impression that the administration was the property of a great number of clients, always the same, frequenters of these corridors, guests in these antechambers, well known to the ushers, and who, whoever the minister might be, had the same access and the same influence with the ministry.

There were some whom the clerks saluted in a familiar way, as if they were old acquaintances:  intrepid office-seekers, unmoved by any changes in ministerial combinations.  Such entered Vaudrey’s cabinet in a deliberate, familiar manner, and as if feeling at home.  Sulpice had once heard one of them greet an usher by his first name:  “Good-morning, Gustave.”

The minister asked Gustave:  “Who is that gentleman?” The usher replied, with a tinge of respect in his tone:  “It is one of our visitors, Monsieur le Ministre, Monsieur Eugene Renaudin.  We call him only Monsieur Eugene.  We have known him a long time.”

This “Monsieur Eugene” had already petitioned for a prefecture, or a sub-prefecture, or—­it mattered little—­whatever place the minister might choose to give him.

His claims?  None:  he was an office-seeker.

The minister was already overwhelmed by this vulgar procession of petitioners and intermediaries, when an usher brought him a card bearing this name:  Lucien Granet.