“Hi! A word in your ear, dear M. de Terremondre. Now that the die is cast, and that you and your friends have quarrelled with the Jews, be very careful that you owe them nothing, and give them back the God you have taken from them--for you have taken their God.” “Jehovah?” asked M. de Terremondre. “Yes, Jehovah! If I were in your place, I would beware of Him. He was a Jew at heart, and who knows whether He has not always remained a Jew? Who knows whether at this moment He is not avenging His people? All that we have seen lately, the confessions that burst forth like thunderclaps, the plain speaking, the revelations proceeding from all parts, the assembly of red-robed judges which you were not able to hinder even when you seemed all-powerful, who can tell whether Jehovah has not dealt these crushing blows? They savour of His old biblical style, and I seem to recognize His handiwork.” M. de Terremondre’s horse was already disappearing behind the bushes round the bend of the path, and Riquet trotted along contentedly through the grass. “Beware!” repeated M. Bergeret. “Do not keep their God.” CHAPTER XX Madame Worms-Clavelin came along through the rainy darkness, holding up her umbrella, and walking with the brisk, decided step which, for a wonder, had not grown heavy from long years spent in provincial towns. The door of the carriage that was waiting for her in front of the gates of the Park Monceau, opened a little, and then stood wide, and Madame Worms-Clavelin slipped calmly in and took a seat beside the young secretary, who immediately inquired as to her health. “I am always well,” she replied, adding, “What awful weather!” Streams of rain were running down the carriage windows; the street noises were drowned in the damp air, and all that could be heard was the gentle drip of the raindrops. When the carriage began to roll with a muffled sound over the paved road, she asked: “Where are we going?” “Where you like.” “I don’t mind--Neuilly way, I should think.” Having given instructions to the driver, Maurice Cheiral turned to the _préfet’s_ wife and said: “I have much pleasure in informing you that the appointment of Abbé Guitrel (Joachim) to the See of Tourcoing will be announced in to-morrow’s _Officiel_. I do not want to boast, but I can assure you that it has not been a very easy matter to arrange. The Nuncio is great at procrastination. People of that description make use of a prodigious amount of inactivity--Well, anyhow, everything is settled.” “That’s good,” replied Madame Worms-Clavelin. “I am sure you have rendered a service to the progressive republican party, and that the Moderates will have every reason to be pleased with their new bishop.” “At any rate,” went on Maurice Cheiral, “you are satisfied.” After a long silence he continued: “Just think, I never slept all night. I was thinking of you, and longing to see you again.”