Monsieur Rabourdin shut himself up in the late chief’s office with Monsieur Baudoyer, and Phellion helped him to show the new incumbent all the administrative difficulties of his new position. At each separate affair which Rabourdin carefully explained, Baudoyer’s little eyes grew big as saucers. “Farewell, monsieur,” said Rabourdin at last, with a manner that was half-solemn, half-satirical. Sebastien meanwhile had made up a package of papers and letters belonging to his chief and had carried them away in a hackney coach. Rabourdin passed through the grand courtyard, while all the clerks were watching from the windows, and waited there a moment to see if the minister would send him any message. His Excellency was dumb. Phellion courageously escorted the fallen man to his home, expressing his feelings of respectful admiration; then he returned to the office, and took up his work, satisfied with his own conduct in rendering these funeral honors to the neglected and misjudged administrative talent. Bixiou [seeing Phellion re-enter]. “Victrix cause diis placuit, sed victa Catoni.” Phellion. “Yes, monsieur.” Poiret. “What does that mean?” Fleury. “That priests rejoice, and Monsieur Rabourdin has the respect of men of honor.” Dutocq [annoyed]. “You didn’t say that yesterday.” Fleury. “If you address me you’ll have my hand in your face. It is known for certain that you filched those papers from Monsieur Rabourdin.” [Dutocq leaves the office.] “Oh, yes, go and complain to your Monsieur des Lupeaulx, spy!” Bixiou [laughing and grimacing like a monkey]. “I am curious to know how the division will get along. Monsieur Rabourdin is so remarkable a man that he must have had some special views in that work of his. Well, the minister loses a fine mind.” [Rubs his hands.] Laurent [entering]. “Monsieur Fleury is requested to go to the secretary’s office.” All the clerks. “Done for!” Fleury [leaving the room]. “I don’t care; I am offered a place as responsible editor. I shall have all my time to myself to lounge the streets or do amusing work in a newspaper office.” Bixiou. “Dutocq has already made them cut off the head of that poor Desroys.” Colleville [entering joyously]. “Gentlemen, I am appointed head of this bureau.” Thuillier. “Ah, my friend, if it were I myself, I couldn’t be better pleased.” Bixiou. “His wife has managed it.” [Laughter.] Poiret. “Will any one tell me the meaning of all that is happening here to-day?” Bixiou. “Do you really want to know? Then listen. The antechamber of the administration is henceforth a chamber, the court is a boudoir, the best way to get in is through the cellar, and the bed is more than ever a cross-cut.” Poiret. “Monsieur Bixiou, may I entreat you, explain?”