“We will put you in the chair and sit on each side of you. Max, as vice-president, will be opposite to you,” said Mignonnet.
“Oh, the scoundrel will have Major Potel and Captain Renard for his seconds,” said Carpentier. “In spite of all that is rumored in the town about his nocturnal excursions, those two capital fellows have stood by him before now; they will be faithful to him—”
“You see, uncle, how well the pot is simmering,” said Philippe. “Sign nothing before the 3rd, for, by the day after, you shall be free, happy, adored by Flore, and rid of your finance minister.”
“You do not know him, nephew,” exclaimed Rouget in dismay. “Max has killed nine men in duels.”
“Yes, but he was not robbing them of a hundred thousand francs a year,” replied Philippe.
“A bad conscience spoils a man’s hand,” said Mignonnet sententiously.
“Within a few days,” said Philippe, “you and la Rabouilleuse will be living together like hearts à la fleur d’orange, as soon as she has got over her grief; for she will wriggle like a worm, and yelp, and melt into tears; but let the tap run!”
The two officers supported Philippe’s arguments, and tried their utmost to put some heart into Père Rouget, with whom they walked for about two hours. At last Philippe escorted his uncle home, saying as his last word: “Come to no decision without consulting me. I know what women are. I paid for one more dearly than Flore will ever cost you. And she taught me how to manage the fair sex for the rest of my days. Women are just naughty children; they are inferior animals to men; we must make them afraid of us, for our worst fate is to be led by the nose by those little brutes!”
It was about two in the afternoon when the old man went in. Kouski opened the door to him, in tears, or, at any rate, in obedience to Maxence’s orders, seeming to weep.
“What is the matter?” asked Jean-Jacques.
“Oh, monsieur! madame is gone away with Védie.”
“Go‑o‑one?” said the old man, in a voice of anguish.
The blow was so tremendous, that Rouget sat down on one of the steps of the stairs. A moment after, he rose, looked in the sitting-room, in the kitchen, went up to his own room, walked through all the bedrooms, came back into the sitting-room, sank into an armchair, and burst into tears.
“Where is she?” he cried, in the midst of sobs. “Where is she? Where is Max?”
“I do not know,” replied Kouski. “The Major went out without saying a word.”
Gilet, very astutely, had thought it diplomatic to wander round the town. By leaving the old man alone in his despair, he made him feel how deserted he was, and so made him amenable to his counsels. But to hinder Philippe from supporting his uncle at this crisis, Max had desired Kouski to let no one into the house. Flore being away, the old man had neither bit nor bridle, and the situation was excessively critical.
During his walk through the town Max saw himself avoided by many persons who, only the day before, would have been most eager to come and shake hands with him. There was a general reaction against him. The feats of the Knights of Idlesse were on every tongue. The story of Joseph Bridau’s arrest, which was now explained, cast dishonor on Max, whose life and deeds had, in this one day, met with their due reward. Gilet met Major Potel, who was looking for him, and who was quite beside himself.
“What is wrong, Potel?”
“My dear fellow, the Imperial Guard is blackguarded all through the town! The very clerks are abusing you, and that rebounds on me, and goes to my heart.”
“What are they complaining of?” asked Max.
“Of the tricks you played at night.”
“As if a little amusement were forbidden—”
“Oh! that is nothing,” said Potel.
Potel was an officer of the stamp of those who said to a burgomaster, “Pooh! if we burn your town, we will pay for it!” so he was not much concerned by the pranks of the Order.
“What else?” said Gilet.
“The Guard is divided against itself! That is what breaks my heart. It is Bridau who has unchained the town against you. The Guard against the Guard? No; that is all wrong. You cannot retreat, Max; you must meet Bridau. I declare I longed to pick a quarrel with that great scoundrel, and settle him out of hand; then these black coats would not have seen the Guard against the Guard. In war I say nothing against it; two brave fellows have a squabble, they fight it out, and there are no counter-jumpers by to laugh them to scorn.—No, that long rascal never was in the Guards. A man of the Guard ought not to behave so before all these townsfolk against another man of the Guard. Oh! the Guard is scoffed at, and at Issoudun too, where it used to be respected!”
“Come, Potel, do not fuss over nothing,” said Max. “Even if you should not see me at the anniversary dinner—”
“What! you are not coming to Lacroix’s the day after tomorrow?” cried Potel, interrupting his friend. “Why, you will be called a coward; you will seem to be keeping out of Bridau’s way! No, no. The foot grenadiers of the Guard must not retreat before the dragoons of the Guard! Arrange your other business as you will, but be there!”
“One more to send to the shades?” said Max. “Come, I think I can manage my business and be there too.—For,” said he to himself, “the power of attorney must not be made out to me. As old Héron said, that would look too much like robbery.”
The lion, thus entangled in the net laid for him by Philippe Bridau, set his teeth with an inward quiver; he avoided the eye of the
