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to and fro, with his hands behind his back, he no longer wore his usualfatherly, good-natured air. He appeared as he really was, a bornwrestler, short, but broad shouldered, with sensual mouth, fleshy noseand stern eyes, that all proclaimed him to be unscrupulous, of iron willand fit for the greatest tasks. Still, in this case, in what directionlay his best course? Must he let himself be dragged down with Barroux?
Perhaps his personal position was not absolutely compromised? And yet howcould he part company from the others, swim ashore, and save himselfwhile they were being drowned? It was a grave problem, and with hisfrantic desire to retain power, he made desperate endeavours to devisesome suitable manoeuvre.
But he could think of nothing, and began to swear at the virtuous fits ofthat silly Republic, which, in his opinion, rendered all governmentimpossible. To think of such foolish fiddle-faddle stopping a man of hisacumen and strength! How on earth can one govern men if one is denied theuse of money, that sovereign means of sway? And he laughed bitterly; forthe idea of an idyllic country where all great enterprises would becarried out in an absolutely honest manner seemed to him the height ofabsurdity.
At last, however, unable as he was to come to a determination, itoccurred to him to confer with Baron Duvillard, whom he had long known,and whom he regretted not having seen sooner so as to urge him topurchase Sagnier's silence. At first he thought of sending the Baron abrief note by a messenger; but he disliked committing anything to paper,for the veriest scrap of writing may prove dangerous; so he preferred toemploy the telephone which had been installed for his private use nearhis writing-table.
"It is Baron Duvillard who is speaking to me?... Quite so. It's I, theMinister, Monsieur Monferrand. I shall be much obliged if you will cometo see me at once.... Quite so, quite so, I will wait for you."Then again he walked to and fro and meditated. That fellow Duvillard wasas clever a man as himself, and might be able to give him an idea. And hewas still laboriously trying to devise some scheme, when the usherentered saying that Monsieur Gascogne, the Chief of the Detective Police,particularly wished to speak to him. Monferrand's first thought was thatthe Prefecture of Police desired to know his views respecting the stepswhich ought to be taken to ensure public order that day; for two mid-Lentprocessions--one of the Washerwomen and the other of the Students--wereto march through Paris, whose streets would certainly be crowded."Show Monsieur Gascogne in," he said.A tall, slim, dark man, looking like an artisan in his Sunday best, thenstepped into the ministerial sanctum. Fully acquainted with theunder-currents of Paris life, this Chief of the Detective Force had acold dispassionate nature and a clear and methodical mind.Professionalism slightly spoilt him, however: he would have possessedmore intelligence if he had not credited himself with so much.He began by apologising for his superior the Prefect, who would certainlyhave called in person had he not been suffering from indisposition.However, it was perhaps best that he, Gascogne, should acquaint Monsieurle Ministre with the grave affair which brought him, for he knew every
