When Loyer walked that evening with Madame de Gromance in the gardens of the _préfecture_, lighted up by hundreds of Chinese lanterns, fixed to the trees--trees that had been planted in 1690 by the Benedictines of Sillé, so that two centuries later Madame Worms-Clavelin might enjoy their shade--the minister, who had been told by the Préfet himself that the “old Royalist” was the most deluded husband in the Department, whispered a few gallantries into the young woman’s pink ear. He was a Burgundian, and prided himself on being a daring one at that. Impressed by the beauty of the historic evening, he remarked as he took leave of Madame de Gromance that the illuminations made him inclined to dream. Madame de Gromance liked Loyer, and subsequently begged of him several little favours on behalf of her parish and district, which the old fellow granted, demanding nothing in return, quite content with being allowed to pat the arms and shoulders of the beautiful _ralliée_ and to ask in a jocular manner after her “Old Royalist.” She could therefore quite well allow that she knew Loyer, who was in the Radical Cabinet as Minister of Public Worship. “I know Loyer as one knows a person who does not belong to the same set as oneself. Why do you ask?” “Because if you know him well enough, I want you to ask him to do something for me.” “What! Do you want to bear off the academic honours like M. Bergeret?” “No,” said Philippe seriously. “It is something more important. I want you to speak to him about Abbé Guitrel.” In her surprise she stood up, revealing a glimpse of dazzling flesh above her stockings. Astonishment gave her the semblance of innocence. “Why?” she demanded. He was carefully knotting his tie. “I want Loyer to make him bishop.” “Bishop!” The word produced abundant and definite ideas in the mind of Madame de Gromance. For years and years she had seen the short, fat figure, mitre-crowned and covered with the gold-embroidered cope, rubicund, shapeless, dignified, of Monseigneur Charlot, officiating on fête-days at the cathedral. She had often dined with him, and had received him at her own table. In common with all the other ladies of the diocese, she admired the clever repartee and handsome red-stockinged calves of the cardinal-archbishop. She also knew a considerable number of bishops, all of whom were worthy men, but she had never reflected on the influences that confer episcopal dignity upon a priest. It seemed to her strange that a kind-hearted but common and coarse-minded man like Loyer should have the power to create a prelate like Monseigneur Charlot.