She often came in late at meal times, out of breath, flushed, quivering, and before even taking off her veil would say: “I have something good today. Fancy, the Minister of Justice has just appointed two magistrates who formed a part of the mixed commission. We will give him a dose he will not forget in a hurry.”
And they would give the minister a dose, and another the next day, and a third the day after. The deputy, Laroche-Mathieu, who dined at the Rue Fontaine every Tuesday, after the Count de Vaudrec, who began the week, would shake the hands of husband and wife with demonstrations of extreme joy. He never ceased repeating: “By Jove, what a campaign! If we don’t succeed after all?”
He hoped, indeed, to succeed in getting hold of the portfolio of foreign affairs, which he had had in view for a long time.
He was one of those many-faced politicians, without strong convictions, without great abilities, without boldness, and without any depth of knowledge, a provincial barrister, a local dandy, preserving a cunning balance between all parties,