“How kind, how obliging you are!” said Adrienne.  “Really, if the motive were not so serious, I should be ashamed of making you lose so much precious time, my dear M. Baleinier.  But I know your heart.”

“I have no other wish, than to prove to you my profound devotion, my sincere attachment,” said the doctor inhaling a pinch of snuff.  But at the same time, he cast an uneasy glance through the window, for the carriage was just crossing the Place de l’Odeon, and in spite of the snow, he could see the front of the Odeon theatre brilliantly illuminated.  Now Adrienne, who had just turned her head towards that side, might perhaps be astonished at the singular road they were taking.

In order to draw off her attention by a skillful diversion, the doctor exclaimed suddenly:  “Bless me!  I had almost forgotten.”

“What is the matter, M. Baleinier?” said Adrienne, turning hastily towards him.

“I had forgotten a thing of the highest importance, in regard to the success of our petition.”

“What is it, please?” asked the young girl, anxiously.

M. Baleinier gave a cunning smile.  “Every man,” said he, “has his weakness—­ministers even more than others.  The one we are going to visit has the folly to attach the utmost importance to his title, and the first impression would be unfavorable, if you did not lay great stress on the Minister.”

“Is that all, my dear M. Baleinier?” said Adrienne, smiling in her turn.  “I will even go so far as Your Excellency, which is, I believe, one of his adopted titles.”

“Not now—­but that is no matter; if you could even slide in a My Lord or two, our business would be done at once.”

“Be satisfied! since there are upstart ministers as well as City-turned gentlemen, I will remember Moliere’s M. Jourdain, and feed full the gluttonous vanity of your friend.”

“I give him up to you, for I know he will be in good hands,” replied the physician, who rejoiced to see that the carriage had now entered those dark streets which lead from the Place de l’Odeon to the Pantheon district; “I do not wish to find fault with the minister for being proud, since his pride may be of service to us on this occasion.”

“These petty devices are innocent enough,” said Mdlle. de Cardoville, “and I confess that I do not scruple to have recourse to them.”  Then, leaning towards the door-sash, she added:  “Gracious! how sad and dark are these streets.  What wind! what snow!  In which quarter are we?”

“What! are you so ungrateful, that you do not recognize by the absence of shops, your dear quarter of the Faubourg Saint Germain?”

“I imagine we had quitted it long ago.”

“I thought so too,” said the physician, leaning forward as if to ascertain where they were, “but we are still there.  My poor coachman, blinded by the snow, which is beating against his face, must have gone wrong just now—­but we are all right again.  Yes, I perceive we are in the Rue Saint Guillaume—­not the gayest of streets by the way—­but, in ten minutes, we shall arrive at the minister’s private entrance, for intimate friends like myself enjoy the privilege of escaping the honors of a grand reception.”