26
MONSIEUR LE MINISTRE.
ffi
'£
leaned over his wife, who had remained seated,
and kissed her unceremoniously.
" Oh, it was not the minister I called to see.
It was his charming wife," replied Guy, laugh-
ing.
"I thank you all the same," said Sulpice.
My poor Adrienne has not many visitors outside
of our official circle."
" And she naturally finds her life rather dull,
consequently I have promised to drop in fre-
quently. The fact is, madame," added Lissac
gayly, •' this good-for-nothing minister richly
deserves to have you the recipient of declarations
Of love from morning until night, while be is
poring over his portfolio. I never saw such a
husband!"
Adrienne blushed a little as she lifted her
gentle, loving eyes to her husband's face. Sul-
pice tried to laugh at Lissac's pleasantries.
"You had better take care," continued Guy.
"If Madame Vaudrey is left alone so much, I
shall often allow myself the pleasure of keeping
her company, and I shall not promise not to'
fall in love with her."
He turned respectfully toward Adrienne, add-
ing in a gentlemanly tone:
"I say this, madame, to make him under-
stand that nothing in the world, not even a
piece of morocco—his portfolio is morocco, is
it not?—can compare with the happiness of
having a wife like you. And the wretch does
not even suspect it! You see I speak of him as
if I were one of the opposition journals."
Sulpice tried to smile, but be fancied he
could detect a vein of seriousness in his friend's
raillery. Perhaps Adrienne had just beeu com-
plaining to her visitor of the loneliness of her
life. The thought annoyed him. After all,
did he not do everything in his power to please
his wife? But a man like himself was not born
to be tied forever to a woman's apron-strings;
besides, a minister's wife must bear her share
of the burden.
It seemed as if Adrienne must have read her
husband's thoughts, for she put an end to the
raillery which appeared to rather annoy her
husband, by saying, gently:
" Do not listen to Monsieur de Lissac. I am
not only perfectly contented, but happy."
Vaudrey took her hand and pressed it rather
nervously. His wife's confiding smile, strange
to say, reminded him of Marianne's which was
so unlike it.
" My dear wife," he murmured.
He tried to find a word that would go straight
from heart to heart, but failed.
"Well, I will leave you," said Guy, "but if
you will permit it, madame, I will drop in now
and then, and bring you some of the gossip of
the outer world."
" You will always be welcome, Monsieur de
Lissac," replied Adrienne, offering him her
hand.
Guy bowed over it with the most profound
respect.
Sulpice escorted his friend through the salons
to tbe antechamber.
"Will you allow me to tell jou something?"
asked Lissac. "Your wife is lonely. Take
care. This great house is not very cheerful,
and it is as cold as it is dull. In fact, it re-
minds me of a prison. Keep in with the ma-
jority, my friend, but do not neglect your wife.
I have no desire to take an unfair advantage of
you, so I warn you that if I often find her as
melancholy as she appeared to-day, I shall tell
her that I adore her. Yes, I certainly shall, for
she is charming. I would give all your honors
for a lock of her hair. Adieu, Monsieur le
Minhstre."
" Simpleton," said Vaudrey, giving him a
friendly slap on the shoulder.
" Possibly; but if you neglect her I shall cer-
tainly fall in love with her, but it had better be
me than some other fellow. Au revoir!"
" Au revoir," repeated Sulpice.
Again he tried to smile as he turned away,
and hastened down lo his cabinet where a pile
of reports awaited him.
the Chaussée d'Antin to become acquainted
with the wives of the deputies; besides, the ma-
jority of these remained in the provinces or re-
sided at Versailles from motives of economy;
and now that her husband had become a min-
ister, her visitors seemed more like petitioners
or clients than friends. The'official receptions
always saddened her. There was always the
same commonplace conversation, the same flat-
tering speeches, or annoying insinuations. They
talked only of the approaching elections, the
ministerial majority, reports and lists of voters,
—and even young girls dhscussed these topics
with all the glibness of old politicians.
Poor Adrienne exerted hereelf to the uttermost
to become interested in these things, for she felt
that her husband's interests should be hers as
well. Still, she had dreamed of an entirely
different existence, and on bright sunshiny
days, she thought how delightful it must be at
ber dear little country home ou the banks of the
Isère.
She did not allow any one to detect her mel-
ancholy, however, for she knew that people al-
ready accused her of being a trifle triste, and
a minister's wife should know how to smile.
Mme. Marsy invariably reminded her of that
when she called. This lady, who never gave
herself the slightest uneasiness in regard to ber
son, allowing all a mother's duties to devolve
upon his grandparent, was always in exuber-
ant spirits^ in spite of the many vicissitudes
through which she had passed, and her hus-
band's rather tragical death. She tried to be-
come Adrienne's intimate friend and adviser,
and often assured Mme. Gerson that the minis-
ter's wife would be really charming if she had a
little chic.
"But unfortunately she is a thorough pro-
vincial, and the strangest thing of all is, that
she cares nothing whatever about politics."
" She certainly never troubles herself in the
least about them," said pretty Mme. Gerson,
laughing heartily.
,rAh! if Sabine or Blanche Gerson had been
in the position of this little Grenoble lady, Paris
would have seen what an Athenian republic
was!"
Sabine Marsy was very shrewd. She was
continually giving Adrienne bits of advice
which were really reproaches, though offered in
tbe most amiable manner; and even Mme. Ger-
son hinted that it would be well for Mme.
Vaudrey to study "The Code of Official Eti-
quette."
Mine. Gerson, like Mme. Marsy, had grad-
ually succeeded iu establishing an appar-
ent intimacy with Adrienne. They liked to
be able to tell what was going on at the Minis-
try, and to be among the first on the list when
the minister gave a reception or ball. Sa-
bine Marsy aspired to be a power in politics;
Mme. Gerson, or Blanche, as her friend called
her, had the same ambition. She wished to go
everywhere; everything interested ber. She
belonged body and soul to that terrible power
calledï chic, the Parisian tyrant which has ruined
more human lives than the King of Dahomey
sacrifices on fête days. Everything in her eyes
belonged to two great classes: that which was
chic and that which was not chic. Not only her
clothing, hats, gloves, and jewels, but also the
books she read, the plays she attended, the ope-
ratic selection she played upon the piano, the
opinions she expressed on any subject—all
these must be chic.
Mme. Gerson would have preferred knowing
her reputation to be compromised to know-
ing that she was laughed at, or her opinions
considered ridiculous, aud, as a natural conse-
quence, Adrienne was always able to tell in ad-
vance exactly what Blanche's opinion on any
subject would be.
Blanche would have been heart-broken not to
have been seen in the President's salon on the
occasion of a grand reception at the Elysée, or
bowed to from the stand by some minister on
the day of the Grand Prix. Though slender
and apparently delicate, she possessed all a
fashionable Parisian lady's wonderful powers of
endurance, and dragged her tired husband to
receptions, balls, and soirees, talking loudly,
criticising everything, chattering and laughing,
taking an intense delight in feeling ber little
feet sink deep into the official moquettes, and
iu hearing the usher announce:
" Monsieur and Madame Geison."
The poor husband, wearied by the labors of
the day, afler a hasty repast, hastily donned his
dress coat and white cravat, and sprung hastily
into the carriage to act as escort for his wife
to snatch a few moments' sieeo in
chair; waking in haste, returnine u0Yl°y ana.
going to bed iu haste, only to get up i» J?    st
way the following morning, dragon»,,
a convict's ball  aud chain
ih[.gmg|alon8^
little creature who smiled and pi-waUgal)le
fascinating wiles on others, danced with! ^
adorned herself for others, and reserved f0"'ers'
only her weariness, yawns, pallor and i ^
aches. For these two worshipers of ch '
existence in winter was as arduous
of a convict, and
when summer came it.
i tombale the sea air „7
air or!
reck-
CHAPTER II.
In the crowd of visitors that thronged
Mme. Vaudrey's salons on her regular reception
days, there were very few in whose society she
took any real satisfaction; but she always expe-
rienced a feeling of pleasure when Denis Ramel
or Guy de Lissac presented themselves.
adrienne was terribly lonely: she knew
scarcely any one in Paris, for she had not
had time since Vaudrey installed himself in  leaving her, while the gayety was at its height,
quite time for them
in the country sunshine, and in this wav7
regain some of the strength they had -
lessly squandered.
" How infinitely I prefer my own cmi.t lit „,
thought Mme. Vaudrey.                  q  et '*"
Sabine and Mme. Gerson, with the wlv
the other ministers, aud the wives of the l'8
of bureaus,  were the most  assiduous ofy
rienne's visitors, though they considered her
tremely countrified, while they excited her*
tonishment and dismay, for they seemed to 1*
so many machines that chattered as a niu''"
box plays.
" They bore you, do they not?" asked Gnv
de Lissac one evening. He felt no little com
passion for this thoughtful woman, wh0 wa« «
hundred times prettier than Mme. Gerson wl7«
beauty was lauded to the skies by all tbe news
papers—this minister's wife, whose retirin?
though by no means awkward, manner, had a
great charm, especially for a thorough man ol
the world like Guy.
"They do not bore me," replied Adrienne -
' ' but they make me feel extremely uncomfort»
able."
" Yes, I understand, they are always on the '
go—regular express trains, in short. They
enjoy themselves so much that they bave not
even time to smile. When the locomotive
moves so swiftly, how is it possible to distin-
guish the landscape?"
Adrienne   instinctively felt  that this irony '
concealed real kindness of -heart.   Lissac's wit
pleased, though it sometimes astonished her.
Prompted at first by curiosity, and afterward
by a feeling of profound respect, Guy bad begun
to study this extremely sensitive nature which
was so full of love for her husband, and which
was sometimes seized with a feeling of agonized
suffocation, as if a vacuum had been created
around it by some pneumatic machine.
It seemed   to   her  that this   vast mansion, -
though peopled with phantoms, was as destitute
of all home-like associations and as common- ¦
place as any dingy second class boarding house,
These rooms, constructed years ago fnr Marshal
de Beauvau, these walls, which had listened to
Mme.   d'Houdétots despairing  sobs at Saint- -
Lambert's death-bed, seemed to Advienne per-
meated   with   ennui,   overpowering, solemn, '
official ennui.                                                i  .
She loathed their solitude, feeling lost in
these long gloomy salons with their chairs stiffly
ranged along the walls, and evidently awaiting
no one, mere show chairs, and in tlie great '
deserted chambers, where the glass doors of the
book-cases were lined with green curtains to
conceal the fact that there were no books behind
them.
She experienced a feeling of suffocation in
this gilded, tapestry-lined abode which seemed
so unspeakably gloomv and desolate, and in
which there was not â single object to recall _
her delightful provincial home in Grenoble,
with its gardens full of lilacs where she some-
times sat and read, while Sulpice wrote by w ¦
open window in his own room up stairs.  Ai-
those dear rooms in that humble country home, -
the happiness of that peaceful, secluded book,
Even the less hapDV days spent in the apart .
ments on the Chaussée d'Antin were reverten
to with longing, for there she had at least vm
a little at home, and free to come and goauu .
think and speak without being oppressed oy »
conviction that watchful eyes and ««" ™.
ever upon her, criticising her every word w.
She had even begun to wonder if Sulpice too,
was not unhappy in this life of bondag einui'
feverish existence which seemed to ue_nw ^s
bim so pale and nervous, and so
himself
utterly unite .
ucb, 1
"If you had not once loved me so m.--^
should think you no longer loved me,  »"¦ -^
to him on one occasion, with one oi uer 6
smiles.                                               . „„„ rjva',
"What nonsense!   You have but one       ,
Adrienne."                                ,  .   ..weverT
" I am well aware of that, but she takes       ^