Let us see indeed, what in reality could such a woman be!  Terrible, perhaps, but certainly irresistible!

Not for years had Vaudrey felt such an anxiety or allowed himself to be, as it were, carried away by such a dominating influence.  Waking, he found Marianne the basis of all his thoughts, as she was during his slumber.

And so charming!

“Monsieur le Ministre de l’Interieur is the next to address the Council.”

Vaudrey had not noticed that Monsieur Collard—­of Nantes—­had finished his harangue, and that after the Minister of Justice, the Minister of Foreign Affairs had just concluded his remarks.  Vaudrey, therefore, needed a moment’s reflection, a hasty self-examination to recognize his own personality:  Monsieur le Ministre de l’Interieur! This title only called up his ego after a momentary reflection, a sort of simulated astonishment under the cloak of a pensive attitude.  Vaudrey’s colleagues did not perceive that this man seated beside them was, as it were, lost in meditation.

Sulpice, moreover, had little to say.  Nothing serious.  The confirmation of the favorable reports that had been made to him.  Within a week he would finish his plan of prefectorial changes.  He simply required the Council to deal at once with the nomination of the Undersecretaries of State.

It was then that Vaudrey realized the extraordinary influence that Lucien Granet must possess.  From the very opening of the discussion, the minister felt that his candidate, Jacquier—­of l’Oise—­was defeated in advance by Warcolier.  Granet must have laid siege to the ministers one by one.  The President was entirely in Warcolier’s favor.  Warcolier’s amiability, tact, the extraordinary facility with which he threw overboard previous opinions, were so many claims in his favor.  It was necessary to give pledges to new converts, to prove that the government was not closed against penitents.

“That is a very Christian theory,” said Vaudrey, “and truly, I am neither in favor of jacobinism nor suspicion, but there is something ironical in granting this amnesty to turncoats.”

“But it is decidedly politic,” said Monsieur Collard—­of Nantes.

“It is a premium offered to the new converts.”

“Eh! eh! that is not so badly done!”

Vaudrey knew perfectly well that it was useless to insist, he must put up with Warcolier.  It was his task to manage matters so that this man should not have unlimited power in the ministry.

Warcolier was elected and the President signed his appointment at the earliest possible moment.

“A nomination discounted in advance,” thought Vaudrey, who again recalled Granet’s polite but threatening smile.

He felt somewhat nervous and annoyed at this result.  But what could be done?  To divert his thoughts, he listened to his colleagues’ communications.  The Minister of War commenced to speak, and in a tone of irritated surprise, instead of the lofty, patriotic considerations that Vaudrey expected of him, Vaudrey heard him muttering behind his moustache about soldiers’ cap-straps, shakos, gaiter-buttons, shoulder-straps, cloth and overcoats.  That was all.  It was the vulgar report of a shoemaker or a tailor, or of a contractor detailing the items of his account.