His hopes were thus completely annihilated; and already he was only thinking of earning his bread by the sweat of his brow, when one evening the porter brought him a letter. After breaking the seal with a trembling hand, he read these words which seemed to him to be written in letters of gold:-- "The minister of the general police will receive the citizen, Michael Perrin, on Thursday the 24th inst., at one o'clock." A person should, like our hero, have returned after having, in a state of utter despondency, traversed the streets of Paris, those streets so populous, but in which he would seek in vain for even an individual inclined to extend the hand of succour, to be able to form an idea of his joyful hope that he had at last found a protector--a powerful protector. Accordingly, he wrote, before retiring to rest, to Madeleine, _that he was to be with the minister of the general police on the ensuing Thursday_. On the appointed day, Michel Perrin was in the ante-chamber of the minister before noon. Seated on the edge of a bench, he endeavoured to banish the timidity natural to those who have continuously lived apart from the world, and which the sight of a mansion in which everything indicated power and opulence tended to augment. To embolden himself, he recurred to his college days, and he was repeating for perhaps the hundredth time that Joseph Fouché had been his class-fellow, when he was called in. Fouché was alone in his cabinet, seated before a desk covered with papers. He had hardly raised his head and fixed his small reddish eyes on the person entering, than assuming a cheerful manner--"There was no necessity," he said, "to announce you, for on my faith, I could not have met you in the street without recognising you."[13] At this friendly reception the poor pastor fully resumed his courage. "And you, too, citizen minister," he answered, cordially grasping the hand which Fouché extended to him, "you have so slightly changed that I believe myself recurring to the time when old Vieil allotted us our tasks." The figure of the minister assumed an appearance of cheerfulness which was by no means habitual. Perhaps the sight of an old college comrade served to relieve him of some disagreeable reflections, perhaps it recalled to a deputy of the convention the recollection of the time when his life was simple and innocent. "Sit down there," he said in a gay tone, "and tell me how you have got on in this world, since we lost sight of each other." "I have lived for many years as happily as possible," replied Michel with a sigh; "for shortly after my ordination, I obtained a living in the most agreeable village of Burgundy." "A poor position at present that of a pastor must be!" replied the minister, shaking his head. "So poor in fact that after having been thrust out of the door of my manse, ruined, persecuted, I have lived during the last seven years on the benefactions of some charitable, kind souls."