"The minister has gone out," answered one of the ushers, laughing in his face. "I shall wait for him; I shall wait the whole day if it be necessary." "Wait for him, then, in the street," said the usher, "for you cannot remain here." "Be it so," replied the poor pastor, resolved to place himself before the gate of the hotel, but he had barely crossed the courtyard, when Fouché, on his return, alighted from his carriage. Michel Perrin did not hesitate to rush towards the door. "I beg of you to hear me for a minute, citizen minister," said he, in an altered tone. Fouché, although somewhat surprised at the sight of this excited applicant, recognised Michel Perrin, and permitted him to follow him. "Well! what now?" asked he, when they were alone. "Have you discovered some conspiracy, to be thus almost beside yourself?" "I have discovered that you have made a jest of the friend of your youth," replied the good pastor, with a courage derived from resentment. "Poor as I am, and powerful as you are, I would never wish to have been subjected to such treatment." "May I die if I know what you are speaking about," replied Fouché, looking closely at him to ascertain if he was in his right senses. "Have you not issued your orders to your citizen Desmarest?" "Undoubtedly; he has even told me," added Fouché, laughing, "that you earned your money very badly." "Ah! my deepest regret is having received that sum of money, for unfortunately I am unable to return it: I have sent the half to my poor sister Madeleine. I have remaining at most only"---- "Eh! who says a word about your returning money, you fool? As long as I choose to employ you, what has Desmarest to say about it?" "To employ me! to employ me as a spy!" cried Michel, reddening with indignation. "Methinks your scruples arise rather late, when you have been attached to the police for fifteen days," replied Fouché. "It was only on this day that I discovered it," cried the poor pastor. "What! did you not know it? Was it only to-day you ascertained your function?" said the minister, as, struck by the comic tendency of the matter, he indulged in great laughter. "I should never have supposed it," answered Michel Perrin, proudly; "your man told me of it." "It was a fortunate thing that he afforded you such an interesting disclosure," said Fouché, who vainly endeavoured to resume his gravity; "but, in fact, Michel, did you not come to me, stating that you were dying of hunger, and that you were resolved to do anything to provide the means of supporting life?" "Certainly; I would have agreed to sweep your apartments, to carry the fuel for your stoves, to do everything that might be done without forfeiting reputation and losing self-respect." And, in saying these words, the poor pastor raised his fine head, which fretting and privation had already covered with snowy locks.