Duroy took the sheets of paper folded in four from his pocket, saying: “Here it is sir.”
The manager seemed pleased, and remarked, with a smile: “Very good, very good. You are a man of your word. You must look through this for me, Forestier.”
But Forestier hastened to reply: “It is not worth while, Monsieur Walter. I did it with him to give him a lesson in the tricks of the trade. It is very well done.”
And the manager, who was gathering up the cards dealt by a tall, thin gentleman, a deputy belonging to the Left Center, remarked with indifference: “All right, then.”
Forestier, however, did not let him begin the new game, but stooping, murmured in his ear: “You know you promised me to take on Duroy to replace Marambot. Shall I engage him on the same terms?”
“Yes, certainly.”
Taking his friend’s arm, the journalist led him away, while Monsieur Walter resumed the game.
Norbert de Varenne had not lifted his head; he did not appear to have seen or recognized Duroy. Jacques Rival, on the contrary, had taken his hand with the marked and demonstrative energy of a comrade who may be reckoned upon in the case of any little difficulty.
They passed through the waiting-room again, and as everyone looked at them, Forestier said to the youngest of the women, in a tone loud enough to be heard by the rest: “The manager will see you directly. He is just now engaged with two members of the Budget Committee.”
Then he passed swiftly on, with an air of hurry and importance, as though about to draft at once an article of the utmost weight.