Somewhat surprised, the commissary followed, but on the threshold of the room George stopped to allow him to pass. The other declined, out of politeness. Du Roy persisted, saying: “Pass first, sir.”
“After you, sir,” replied the commissary.
The journalist bowed, and in a tone of ironical politeness, said: “It is your turn, sir; I am almost at home here.”
Then he softly reclosed the door with an air of discretion.
An hour later George Du Roy entered the offices of the Vie Francaise . Monsieur Walter was already there, for he continued to manage and supervise with solicitude his paper, which had enormously increased in circulation, and greatly helped the schemes of his bank. The manager raised his head and said: “Ah! here you are. You look very strange. Why did you not come to dinner with us? What have you been up to?”
The young fellow, sure of his effect, said, emphasizing every word: “I have just upset the Minister of Foreign Affairs.”
The other thought he was joking, and said: “Upset what?”
“I am going to turn out the Cabinet. That is all. It is quite time to get rid of that rubbish.”
The old man thought that his leader-writer must be drunk. He murmured: “Come, you are talking nonsense.”
“Not at all. I have just caught Monsieur Laroche-Mathieu committing adultery with my wife. The commissary of police has verified the fact. The minister is done for.”
Walter, amazed, pushed his spectacles right back on his forehead, and said: “You are not joking?”