“When they are down!” said Sulpice.

“That is so!” exclaimed Jeliotte.

“And is that all you had to say to me?” the minister asked.

“Is not that enough?”

“Yes! yes! Au revoir, Jeliotte.”

“Au revoir! Till—­you know when.”

“Yes.  When I feel my position threatened, I will call upon you.  Don’t be afraid.  That time will come.”

“The idiot!” said Sulpice, angrily shrugging his shoulders, when the advocate was gone.

He snatched his hat and went out hurriedly to his carriage, the messengers rising to bow to him as he passed through the antechamber.

It was hardly necessary for him to order his coachman to drive to the Elysee.  The duties of each day were so well ordered in advance, and besides, the attendants at the department knew quite as well as the minister if a Council was to be held at the Elysee.

Sulpice was somewhat upset.  Jeliotte’s visit, following that of Granet, presented the human species in an evil aspect.  He had never felt envious of any one, and it seemed to him that the whole world should be gratified at his modest bearing under success.

“For, after all, I triumph, that is certain!—­That animal of a Jeliotte is not such a simpleton!—­There are many who, if they were in my place, would swagger!”

So he complacently awarded himself a patent of modesty.

The carriage stopped at the foot of the steps of the Elysee.  Sulpice always felt an exquisite joy in alighting from his carriage, his portfolio pressed to his side, and leaping over the carpet-covered steps of the stone staircase leading to the Council Chambers.  He passed through them, as he did everywhere, between rows of spectators who respectfully bowed to him.  Devoted friends extended their hands respectfully toward his overcoat.  Certainly, he only knew the men by their heads, bald or crowned with locks, as the case might be.  His colleagues were gathered together, awaiting him, and chatting in the salon, decorated in white and gold, the invariable salon of official apartments with the inevitable Sevres vases with deep-blue, light-green or buff color grounds, placed upon consoles or pedestals.  The portfolios appeared stuffed or empty, limp or bursting with paper bundles, under the arms of their Excellencies.  Suddenly a door was opened, the ushers fell back and the President approached, looking very serious and taking his accustomed place opposite to the President of the Council with the formality of an orderly, the Minister of the Interior on the left of the President of the Republic, with the Minister of Foreign Affairs on the right.

Then, in turn, each minister, beginning at the right, reported the business of his department, sometimes debated in private council.  Each having completed his information, bowed to his neighbor on the right, and said: 

“I have finished.  It is your turn, my dear colleague.”