“She sent Godard to Rabourdin’s door to find out what newspaper he takes,” said Gaudron; “and I mentioned the name to the secretary of his Eminence,--for we live at a crisis when the Church and Throne must keep themselves informed as to who are their friends and who their enemies.” “For the last five days I have been trying to find the right thing to say to his Excellency’s wife,” said Saillard. “All Paris will read that,” cried Baudoyer, whose eyes were still riveted on the paper. “Your eulogy costs us four thousand eight hundred francs, son-in-law!” exclaimed Madame Saillard. “You have adorned the house of God,” said the Abbe Gaudron. “We might have got salvation without doing that,” she returned. “But if Baudoyer gets the place, which is worth eight thousand more, the sacrifice is not so great. If he doesn’t get it! hey, papa,” she added, looking at her husband, “how we shall have bled!--” “Well, never mind,” said Saillard, enthusiastically, “we can always make it up through Falleix, who is going to extend his business and use his brother, whom he has made a stockbroker on purpose. Elisabeth might have told us, I think, why Falleix went off in such a hurry. But let’s invent my little speech. This is what I thought of: ‘Madame, if you would say a word to his Excellency--’” “‘If you would deign,’” said Gaudron; “add the word ‘deign,’ it is more respectful. But you ought to know, first of all, whether Madame la Dauphine will grant you her protection, and then you could suggest to Madame la comtesse the idea of co-operating with the wishes of her Royal Highness.” “You ought to designate the vacant post,” said Baudoyer. “‘Madame la comtesse,’” began Saillard, rising, and bowing to his wife, with an agreeable smile. “Goodness! Saillard; how ridiculous you look. Take care, my man, you’ll make the woman laugh.” “‘Madame la comtesse,’” resumed Saillard. “Is that better, wife?” “Yes, my duck.” “‘The place of the worthy Monsieur de la Billardiere is vacant; my son-in-law, Monsieur Baudoyer--’” “‘Man of talent and extreme piety,’” prompted Gaudron. “Write it down, Baudoyer,” cried old Saillard, “write that sentence down.” Baudoyer proceeded to take a pen and wrote, without a blush, his own praises, precisely as Nathan or Canalis might have reviewed one of their own books. “‘Madame la comtesse’--Don’t you see, mother?” said Saillard to his wife; “I am supposing you to be the minister’s wife.” “Do you take me for a fool?” she answered sharply. “I know that.” “‘The place of the late worthy de la Billardiere is vacant; my son-in-law, Monsieur Baudoyer, a man of consummate talent and extreme piety--’” After looking at Monsieur Gaudron, who was reflecting, he added, “‘will be very glad if he gets it.’ That’s not bad; it’s brief and it says the whole thing.” “But do wait, Saillard; don’t you see that Monsieur l’abbe is turning it over in his mind?” said Madame Saillard; “don’t disturb him.”