“Well, madame, the day has come, the great day when Jansoulet will confound his enemies—­confundantur hostes mei, quia injuste iniquitatem fecerunt in me—­because they have unjustly persecuted me.”

The old lady bent religiously before the Latin of the Church, but her face expressed a vague expression of uneasiness at this idea of enemies and of persecutions.

“These enemies are powerful and numerous, my noble lady, but let us not be alarmed beyond measure.  Let us have confidence in the decrees of Heaven and in the justice of our cause.  God is in the midst of it, it shall not be overthrown—­in medio ejus non commovebitur.”

A gigantic negro, resplendent with gold braid, interrupted him by announcing that the bicycles were ready for the daily lesson on the terrace of the Tuileries.  Before setting out, the children again shook solemnly their grandmother’s wrinkled and hardened hand.  She was watching them go, stupefied and oppressed, when all at once, by an adorable spontaneous movement, the youngest turned back when he had got to the door and, pushing the great negro aside, came to throw himself head foremost, like a little buffalo, into Mme. Jansoulet’s skirts, squeezing her to him, while holding out his smooth forehead, covered with brown curls, with the grace of a child offering its kiss like a flower.  Perhaps this one, nearer the warmth of the nest, the cradling knees of the nurses with their peasant songs, had felt the maternal influence, of which the Levantine had deprived him, reach his heart.  The old woman trembled all over with the surprise of this instinctive embrace.

“Oh! little one, little one,” said she, seizing the little silky, curly head which reminded her so much of another and she kissed it wildly.  Then the child unloosed himself, and ran off without saying anything, his head moist with hot tears.

Left alone with Cabassu, the mother, comforted by this embrace, asked some explanation of the priest’s words.  Had her son many enemies?

“Oh!” said Cabassu, “it is not astonishing, in his position.”

“But what is this great day—­this sitting of which you all speak?”

“Well, then, it is to-day that we shall know whether Bernard will be deputy or no.”

“What?  He is not one now, then?  And I have told them everywhere in the country.  I illuminated Saint-Romans a month ago.  Then they have made me tell a lie.”

The masseur had a great deal of trouble in explaining to her the parliamentary formalities of the verification of elections.  She only listened with one ear, walking up and down the linen-room feverishly.

“That’s where my Bernard is now, then?”

“Yes, madame.”

“And can women go to the Chamber?  Then why is his wife not there?  For one does not need telling that it is an important matter for him.  On a day like this he needs to feel all those whom he loves at his side.  See, my lad, you must take me there, to this sitting.  Is it far?”