She inquired insolently: “Do you often have such jobs as these, sir?”
He replied gravely: “As seldom as possible, madame.”
She smiled in his face, saying: “I congratulate you; it is dirty work.”
She affected not to look at or even to see her husband.
But the gentleman in the bed was dressing. He had put on his trousers, pulled on his boots, and now approached putting on his waistcoat. The commissary turned towards him, saying: “Now, sir, will you tell me who you are?”
He made no reply, and the official said: “I find myself obliged to arrest you.”
Then the man exclaimed suddenly: “Do not lay hands on me. My person is inviolable.”
Du Roy darted towards him as though to throw him down, and growled in his face: “Caught in the act, in the act. I can have you arrested if I choose; yes, I can.” Then, in a ringing tone, he added: “This man is Laroche-Mathieu, Minister of Foreign Affairs.”
The commissary drew back, stupefied, and stammered: “Really, sir, will you tell me who you are?”
The other had made up his mind, and said in forcible tones: “For once that scoundrel has not lied. I am, indeed, Laroche-Mathieu, the minister.” Then, holding out his hand towards George’s chest, in which a little bit of red ribbon showed itself, he added: “And that rascal wears on his coat the cross of honor which I gave him.”
Du Roy had become livid. With a rapid movement he tore the bit of ribbon from his buttonhole, and, throwing it into the fireplace,