Duthil in a whisper: "By the way, my dear friend, is it true that
Duvillard is going to launch his famous scheme for a Trans-Saharan
railway? It would be a gigantic enterprise, a question of hundreds and
hundreds of millions this time. . . . At the 'Globe' office yesterday
evening, Fonsegue shrugged his shoulders and said it was madness, and
would never come off!"

Duthil winked, and in a jesting way replied: "It's as good as done, my
dear boy. Fonsegue will be kissing the governor's feet before another
forty-eight hours are over."

Then he gaily gave the other to understand that golden manna would
presently be raining down on the press and all faithful friends and
willing helpers. Birds shake their feathers when the storm is over, and
he, Duthil, was as spruce and lively, as joyous at the prospect of the
presents he now expected, as if there had never been any African Railways
scandal to upset him and make him turn pale with fright.

"The deuce!" muttered Massot, who had become serious. "So this affair
here is more than a triumph: it's the promise of yet another harvest.
Well, I'm no longer surprised at the crush of people."

At this moment the organs suddenly burst into a glorious hymn of
greeting. The marriage procession was entering the church. A loud clamour
had gone up from the crowd, which spread over the roadway of the Rue
Royale and impeded the traffic there, while the /cortege/ pompously
ascended the steps in the bright sunshine. And it was now entering the
edifice and advancing beneath the lofty, re-echoing vaults towards the
high altar which flared with candles, whilst on either hand crowded the
congregation, the men on the right and the women on the left. They had