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women who, when young, had led lives of infamy in wealth, and who now,old and faded, led lives of infamy in poverty, were still and everwandering past him in search of bread, when suddenly a shadowy formgrazed him, and a voice murmured in his ear: "Warn your brother, thepolice are on Salvat's track, he may be arrested at any moment."The shadowy figure was already going its way, and as a gas ray fell uponit, Pierre thought that he recognised the pale, pinched face of VictorMathis. And at the same time, yonder in Abbe Rose's peaceful dining-room,he fancied he could again see the gentle face of Madame Mathis, so sadand so resigned, living on solely by the force of the last trembling hopewhich she had unhappily set in her son.III. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT
ALREADY at eight o'clock on that holiday-making mid-Lent Thursday, whenall the offices of the Home Department were empty, Monferrand, theMinister, sat alone in his private room. A single usher guarded his door,and in the first ante-chamber there were only a couple of messengers.The Minister had experienced, on awaking, the most unpleasant ofemotions. The "Voix du Peuple," which on the previous day had revived theAfrican Railway scandal, by accusing Barroux of having pocketed 20,000francs, had that morning published its long-promised list of thebribe-taking senators and deputies. And at the head of this listMonferrand had found his own name set down against a sum of 80,000francs, while Fonsegue was credited with 50,000. Then a fifth of thelatter amount was said to have been Duthil's share, and Chaigneux hadcontented himself with the beggarly sum of 3,000 francs--the lowest pricepaid for any one vote, the cost of each of the others ranging from 5 to20,000.
It must be said that there was no anger in Monferrand's emotion. Only hehad never thought that Sagnier would carry his passion for uproar andscandal so far as to publish this list--a page which was said to havebeen torn from a memorandum book belonging to Duvillard's agent, Hunter,and which was covered with incomprehensible hieroglyphics that ought tohave been discussed and explained, if, indeed, the real truth was to bearrived at. Personally, Monferrand felt quite at ease, for he had writtennothing, signed nothing, and knew that one could always extricate oneselffrom a mess by showing some audacity, and never confessing. Nevertheless,what a commotion it would all cause in the parliamentary duck-pond. He atonce realised the inevitable consequences, the ministry overthrown andswept away by this fresh whirlwind of denunciation and tittle-tattle.Mege would renew his interpellation on the morrow, and Vignon and hisfriends would at once lay siege to the posts they coveted. And he,Monferrand, could picture himself driven out of that ministerial sanctumwhere, for eight months past, he had been taking his ease, not with anyfoolish vainglory, but with the pleasure of feeling that he was in hisproper place as a born ruler, who believed he could tame and lead themultitude.
Having thrown the newspapers aside with a disdainful gesture, he rose andstretched himself, growling the while like a plagued lion. And then hebegan to walk up and down the spacious room, which showed all the fadedofficial luxury of mahogany furniture and green damask hangings. Stepping
