“That is enough, my dear Abbe.  I understand.  When once I am returned as deputy, I have somebody’s fortune to make, and by making it large enough I shall be released from my promise.  In me you have a son, a man who will owe his happiness to you.  Great heavens! what have I done to deserve so true a friend?”

“You won a triumph for the Chapter,” said the Vicar-General, smiling.  “Now, as to all this, be as secret as the tomb.  We are nothing, we have done nothing.  If we were known to have meddled in election matters, we should be eaten up alive by the Puritans of the Left—­who do worse—­and blamed by some of our own party, who want everything.  Madame de Chavoncourt has no suspicion of my share in all this.  I have confided in no one but Madame de Watteville, whom we may trust as we trust ourselves.”

“I will bring the Duchess to you to be blessed!” cried Savarus.

After seeing out the old priest, Albert went to bed in the swaddling clothes of power.

* * * * *

Next evening, as may well be supposed, by nine o’clock Madame la Baronne de Watteville’s rooms were crowded by the aristocracy of Besancon in convocation extraordinary.  They were discussing the exceptional step of going to the poll, to oblige the daughter of the Rupts.  It was known that the former Master of Appeals, the secretary of one of the most faithful ministers under the Elder Branch, was to be presented that evening.  Madame de Chavoncourt was there with her second daughter Sidonie, exquisitely dressed, while her elder sister, secure of her lover, had not indulged in any of the arts of the toilet.  In country towns these little things are remarked.  The Abbe de Grancey’s fine and clever head was to be seen moving from group to group, listening to everything, seeming to be apart from it all, but uttering those incisive phrases which sum up a question and direct the issue.

“If the Elder Branch were to return,” said he to an old statesman of seventy, “what politicians would they find?”—­“Berryer, alone on his bench, does not know which way to turn; if he had sixty votes, he would often scotch the wheels of the Government and upset Ministries!” —­“The Duc de Fitz-James is to be nominated at Toulouse.”—­“You will enable Monsieur de Watteville to win his lawsuit.”—­“If you vote for Monsieur Savarus, the Republicans will vote with you rather than with the Moderates!” etc., etc.

At nine o’clock Albert had not arrived.  Madame de Watteville was disposed to regard such delay as an impertinence.

“My dear Baroness,” said Madame de Chavoncourt, “do not let such serious issues turn on such a trifle.  The varnish on his boots is not dry—­or a consultation, perhaps, detains Monsieur de Savarus.”

Rosalie shot a side glance at Madame de Chavoncourt.

“She is very lenient to Monsieur de Savarus,” she whispered to her mother.

“You see,” said the Baroness with a smile, “there is a question of a marriage between Sidonie and Monsieur de Savarus.”