The former clerk of Arcis, former Conventional, former Thermidorien, tribune, Councillor of State, count of the Empire and senator, peer of the Restoration, and now peer of the monarchy of July, made a servile bow to the princess.

“Fear nothing, madame,” he said; “we have ceased to make war on princes.  I bring you an assurance of the permit,” he added, seating himself beside her.

Malin was long in the confidence of Louis XVIII., to whom his varied experience was useful.  He had greatly aided in overthrowing Decazes, and had given much good advice to the ministry of Villele.  Coldly received by Charles X., he had adopted all the rancors of Talleyrand.  He was now in high favor under the twelfth government he had served since 1789, and which in turn he would doubtless betray.  For the last fifteen months he had broken the long friendship which had bound him for thirty-six years to our greatest diplomat, the Prince de Talleyrand.  It was in the course of this very evening that he made answer to some one who asked why the Prince showed such hostility to the Duc de Bordeaux, “The Pretender is too young!”

“Singular advice to give young men,” remarked Rastignac.

De Marsay, who grew thoughtful after Madame de Cadignan’s reproachful speech, took no notice of these jests.  He looked askance at Gondreville and was evidently biding his time until that now old man, who went to bed early, had taken leave.  All present, who had witnessed the abrupt departure of Madame de Cinq-Cygne (whose reasons were well-known to them), imitated de Marsay’s conduct and kept silence.  Gondreville, who had not recognized the marquise, was ignorant of the cause of the general reticence, but the habit of dealing with public matters had given him a certain tact; he was moreover a clever man; he saw that his presence was embarrassing to the company and he took leave.  De Marsay, standing with his back to the fire, watched the slow departure of the old man in a manner which revealed the gravity of his thoughts.

“I did wrong, madame, not to tell you the name of my negotiator,” said the prime minister, listening for the sound of Malin’s wheels as they rolled away.  “But I will redeem my fault and give you the means of making your peace with the Cinq-Cygnes.  It is now thirty years since the affair I am about to speak of took place; it is as old to the present day as the death of Henri IV. (which between ourselves and in spite of the proverb is still a mystery, like so many other historical catastrophes).  I can, however, assure you that even if this affair did not concern Madame de Cinq-Cygne it would be none the less curious and interesting.  Moreover, it throws light on a celebrated exploit in our modern annals,—­I mean that of the Mont Saint-Bernard.  Messieurs les Ambassadeurs,” he added, bowing to the two diplomats, “will see that in the element of profound intrigue the political men of the present day are far behind the Machiavellis whom the waves of the popular will lifted, in 1793, above the storm,—­some of whom have ‘found,’ as the old song says, ‘a haven.’  To be anything in France in these days a man must have been tossed in those tempests.”