Dutocq related his good luck; des Lupeaulx’s face as he listened expressed no approbation; and the spy ended in terror an account which began triumphantly. “Dutocq, you have put your finger between the bark and the tree,” said the secretary, coldly. “If you don’t want to make powerful enemies I advise you to keep this paper a profound secret; it is a work of the utmost importance and already well known to me.” So saying, des Lupeaulx dismissed Dutocq by one of those glances that are more expressive than words. “Ha! that scoundrel of a Rabourdin has put his finger in this!” thought Dutocq, alarmed on finding himself anticipated; “he has reached the ear of the administration, while I am left out in the cold. I shouldn’t have thought it!” To all his other motives of aversion to Rabourdin he now added the jealousy of one man to another man of the same calling,--a most powerful ingredient in hatred. When des Lupeaulx was left alone, he dropped into a strange meditation. What power was it of which Rabourdin was the instrument? Should he, des Lupeaulx, use this singular document to destroy him, or should he keep it as a weapon to succeed with the wife? The mystery that lay behind this paper was all darkness to des Lupeaulx, who read with something akin to terror page after page, in which the men of his acquaintance were judged with unerring wisdom. He admired Rabourdin, though stabbed to his vitals by what he said of him. The breakfast-hour suddenly cut short his meditation. “His Excellency is waiting for you to come down,” announced the minister’s footman. The minister always breakfasted with his wife and children and des Lupeaulx, without the presence of servants. The morning meal affords the only moment of privacy which public men can snatch from the current of overwhelming business. Yet in spite of the precautions they take to keep this hour for private intimacies and affections, a good many great and little people manage to infringe upon it. Business itself will, as at this moment, thrust itself in the way of their scanty comfort. “I thought Rabourdin was a man above all ordinary petty manoeuvres,” began the minister; “and yet here, not ten minutes after La Billardiere’s death, he sends me this note by La Briere,--it is like a stage missive. Look,” said his Excellency, giving des Lupeaulx a paper which he was twirling in his fingers. Too noble in mind to think for a moment of the shameful meaning La Billardiere’s death might lend to his letter, Rabourdin had not withdrawn it from La Briere’s hands after the news reached him. Des Lupeaulx read as follows:-- “Monseigneur,--If twenty-three years of irreproachable services may claim a favor, I entreat your Excellency to grant me an audience this very day. My honor is involved in the matter of which I desire to speak.”