Part 39 (2/2)

”Then you think it is amusing to see soldiers file past? I am not at all curious! You will describe it all to me and that will be quite sufficient for me.”

Vaudrey walked at the head of the cortege that accompanied through Place Vendome and Rue de la Paix, black with the crowd, the funeral procession of Collard--of Nantes--to the Madeleine. Troops of the line in parade uniforms lined the route. From time to time was heard the m.u.f.fled roll of drums shrouded in crepe. The funeral car was immense and was crowded with wreaths. As with bowed head he accompanied the funeral procession of his colleague, almost his friend,--but, bah! friends.h.i.+p of committees and sub-committees!--Sulpice was sufficiently an artist to be somewhat impressed with the contrast afforded by the display of official pomp crowning the rather obscure life of the Nantes advocate. He had ever obtrusively before him, as if haunted by the spectre of the Poor Man before Don Juan, the lean face of Garnier and the white moustache of Ramel. Which of the two had better served his cause, Ramel vanquished or Collard--of Nantes--dying in the full blaze of success?

He pondered over this during the whole of the ceremony. He thought of it while the notes of the organ swelled forth, while the blue flames of the burning incense danced, and while the b.u.t.ts of the soldiers' muskets sounded from time to time on the flagstones, as the men stood around the bier and followed the orders of the officer who commanded them.

On leaving the ceremony, Granet approached Sulpice while gently stroking his waxed moustache, and said in an ironical tone:

”Do you know that it is suggested that a statue be raised in Collard's honor?”

”Really?”

”Yes, because he is considered to have shown a great example.”

”What?”

”He is one of those rare cases of ministers dying in office. Imitate him, my dear minister,--to the latest possible moment.”

Sulpice made an effort to smile at Granet's pleasantry. This cunning fellow decidedly displeased him; but there was nothing to take offence at, it was mere diplomatic pleasantry expressed politely.

Before returning to the ministry, Vaudrey had himself driven to Rue p.r.o.ny. Jean, the domestic, told him that Madame had gone out; she had been under the necessity of going to her uncle's. After all, Sulpice thought this was a very simple matter; but he was determined to see Marianne, so he ordered his carriage to be driven to the artist's studio. Uncle Kayser opened the door, bewildered at receiving a call from the minister and, at the same time, showing that he was somewhat uneasy, coughing very violently, as if choked with emotion, or perhaps as a signal to some one.

”Is Mademoiselle Kayser here?” asked Sulpice.

”Yes--Ah! how odd it is--Chance wills that just now one of our friends--a connoisseur of pictures--”

Vaudrey had already thrust open the door of the studio and he perceived, sitting near Marianne and holding his hat in his hand, a young man with pale complexion and reddish beard, whom Mademoiselle Kayser, rising quickly and without any appearance of surprise, eagerly presented to him:

”Monsieur Jose de Rosas!”

In the simple manner in which she had p.r.o.nounced this name, she had infused so triumphant an expression, such manifest ostentation, that Vaudrey felt himself suddenly wounded, struck to the heart.

He recalled everything that Marianne had said to him about this man.

He greeted Rosas with somewhat frigid politeness and from the tone in which Marianne began to speak to him, he at once realized that she had some interest in allowing the Spaniard to surmise nothing. She unduly emphasized the t.i.tle by which she addressed him, repeating a little too frequently: ”Monsieur le Ministre.”--Whenever Vaudrey sought to catch her glance she looked away in a strange fas.h.i.+on and managed to avoid carrying on any formal conversation with Sulpice. On the contrary, she addressed Rosas affably, asking what he had done in London, what he had become and what he brought back new.

”Nothing,” Jose answered with a peculiar expression that displeased Vaudrey. ”Nothing but the conviction that one lives only in Paris surrounded by persons whom one vainly seeks to avoid and toward whom one always returns--in spite of one's self, at times.”

Vaudrey observed the almost proud, triumphant expression that flashed in Marianne's eyes. He vaguely realized an indirect confession expressed in that trite remark made by Rosas. The Spaniard's voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

Marianne smiled as she listened.

”You have taken a new journey, monsieur?” asked Sulpice, uncertain what bearing to a.s.sume.

”Oh! just a temporary absence! A trip to London--”

”Have you returned long?”

”Only this morning.”

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