They want us to pay some of the taxes – the corvée or the taille. As if a Duke or a Minister is going to pay taxes! Ridiculous!"
"Ridiculous, I say," assented Achille, "though my Marquis says that in England even noblemen pay taxes."
"Then we'll not go to England, friend Eglinton. Imagine shaving a Duke or a Marquis who had paid taxes like a shopkeeper!"
A chorus of indignation from the three gentleman rose at the suggestion.
"Preposterous indeed!"
"We all know that England is a nation of shopkeepers. M. de Voltaire, who has been there, said so to us on his return."
M. Achille, in view of the fact that he represented the Marquis of Eglinton, commonly styled "le petit Anglais," was not quite sure whether his dignity demanded that he should resent this remark of M. de Voltaire's or not.
Fortunately he was saved from having to decide this delicate question immediately by the reëntry of Paul into the room.
The young footman was carrying a bundle of papers, which he respectfully presented to M. Joseph on a silver tray. The great man looked at Paul somewhat puzzled, rubbed his chin, and contemplated the papers with a thoughtful eye.
"What are these?" he asked.
"The petitions, M. Joseph," replied the young man.
"Oh! Ah, yes!" quoth the other airily. "Quite so; but – I have no time to read them now. You may glance through them, Paul, and let me know if any are worthy of my consideration."
M. Joseph was born in an epoch when reading was not considered an indispensable factor in a gentleman's education. Whether the petitions of the thirty aspirants to the new post of Comptroller of Finance would subsequently be read by M. Paul or not it were impossible to say; for the present he merely took up the papers again, saying quite respectfully:
"Yes, M. Joseph."
"Stay! you may take cards, dice, and two flagons of Bordeaux into my boudoir."
"Yes, M. Joseph."
"Have you dismissed every one from the ante-chamber?"
"All except an old man, who refuses to go."
"Who is he?"
"I do not know; he – "
Further explanation was interrupted by a timid voice issuing from the open door.
"I only desire five minutes' conversation with M. le Duc d'Aumont."
And a wizened little figure dressed in seedy black, with lean shanks encased in coarse woollen stockings, shuffled into the room. He seemed to be carrying a great number of papers and books under both arms, and as he stepped timidly forward some of these tumbled in a heap at his feet.
"Only five minutes' conversation with M. le Duc."
His eyes were very pale, and very watery, and his hair was of a pale straw colour. He stooped to pick up his papers, and dropped others in the process.
"M. le Duc is not visible," said M. Joseph majestically.
"Perhaps a little later – " suggested the lean individual.
"The Duke will not be visible later either."
"Then to-morrow perhaps; I can wait – I have plenty of time on my hands."
"You may have, but the Duke hasn't."
In the meanwhile the wizened little man had succeeded in once more collecting his papers together. With trembling eager hands he now selected a folded note, which evidently had suffered somewhat through frequent falls on dusty floors; this he held out toward M. Joseph.
"I have a letter to Monsieur le valet de chambre of the Duke," he said humbly.
"A letter of introduction? – to me?" queried Joseph, with a distinct change in his manner and tone. "From whom?"
"My daughter Agathe, who brings Monsieur's chocolate in to him every morning."
"Ah, you are Mlle. Agathe's father!" exclaimed Joseph with pleasant condescension, as he took the letter of introduction, and, without glancing at it, slipped it into the pocket of his magnificent coat. Perhaps a thought subsequently crossed his mind that the timorous person before him was not quite so simple-minded as his watery blue eyes suggested, and that the dusty and crumpled little note might be a daring fraud practised on his own influential personality, for he added with stern emphasis: "I will see Mlle. Agathe to-morrow, and will discuss your affair with her."
Then, as the little man did not wince under the suggestion, M. Joseph said more urbanely:
"By the way, what is your affair? These gentlemen" – and with a graceful gesture he indicated his two friends – "these gentlemen will pardon the liberty you are taking in discussing it before them."
"Thank you, Monsieur; thank you, gentlemen," said the wizened individual humbly; "it is a matter of – er – figures."
"Figures!"
"Yes! This new Ministry of Finance – there will be an auditor of accounts wanted – several auditors, I presume – and – and I thought – "
"Yes?" nodded M. Joseph graciously.
"My daughter does bring you in your chocolate nice and hot, M. Joseph, does she not? – and – and I do know a lot about figures. I studied mathematics with the late M. Descartes; I audited the books of the Société des Comptables of Lyons for several years; and – and I have diplomas and testimonials – "
And, carried away by another wave of anxiety, he began to fumble among his papers and books, which with irritating perversity immediately tumbled pell-mell on to the floor.
"What in the devil's name is the good of testimonials and diplomas to us, my good man?" said M. Joseph haughtily. "If, on giving the matter my serious consideration, I come to the conclusion that you will be a suitable accountant in the new Ministerial Department, ma foi! my good man, your affair is settled. No thanks, I pray!" he added, with a gracious flourish of the arm; "I have been pleased with Mlle. Agathe, and I may mention your name whilst I shave M. le Duc to-morrow. Er – by the way, what is your name?"
"Durand, if you please, M. Joseph."
The meagre little person with the watery blue eyes tried to express his gratitude by word and gesture, but his books and papers encumbered his movements, and he was rendered doubly nervous by the presence of these gorgeous and stately gentlemen, and by the wave of voices and laughter which suddenly rose from the distance, suggesting that perhaps a brilliant company might be coming this way.
The very thought seemed to completely terrify him; with both arms he hugged his various written treasures, and with many sideway bows and murmurs of thanks he finally succeeded in shuffling his lean figure out of the room, closely followed by M. Paul.
CHAPTER III
POMPADOUR'S CHOICE
M. Durand's retreat had fortunately occurred just in time; men's voices and women's laughter sounded more and more distinct, as if approaching toward the salle d'armes.
In
