colleague, that the real generals would be the station-masters?"

The three Ministers went out by the private stairway. The President of
the Council was waiting for them.

The last act had begun; Madame Martin had in her box only Dechartre and
Miss Bell. Miss Bell was saying:

"I rejoice, darling, I am exalted, at the thought that you wear on your
heart the red lily of Florence. Monsieur Dechartre, whose soul is
artistic, must be very glad, too, to see at your corsage that charming
jewel.

"I should like to know the jeweller that made it, darling. This lily is
lithe and supple like an iris. Oh, it is elegant, magnificent, and
cruel. Have you noticed, my love, that beautiful jewels have an air of
magnificent cruelty?"

"My jeweller," said Therese, "is here, and you have named him; it is
Monsieur Dechartre who designed this jewel."

The door of the box was opened. Therese half turned her head and saw in
the shadow Le Menil, who was bowing to her with his brusque suppleness.

"Transmit, I pray you, Madame, my congratulations to your husband."

He complimented her on her fine appearance. He spoke to Miss Bell a few
courteous and precise words.

Therese listened anxiously, her mouth half open in the painful effort to