De la Briere.  “It is not ideas, but men capable of executing them that we lack.”

Des Lupeaulx, that adroit advocate of abuses came into the minister’s study at this moment.

“Monseigneur, I start at once for my election.”

“Wait a moment,” said his Excellency, leaving the private secretary and taking des Lupeaulx by the arm into the recess of a window.  “My dear friend, let me have that arrondissement,—­if you will, you shall be made count and I will pay your debts.  Later, if I remain in the ministry after the new Chamber is elected, I will find a way to send in your name in a batch for the peerage.”

“You are a man of honor, and I accept.”

This is how it came to pass that Clement Chardin des Lupeaulx, whose father was ennobled under Louis XV., and who beareth quarterly, first, argent, a wolf ravisant carrying a lamb gules; second, purpure, three mascles argent, two and one; third, paly of twelve, gules and argent; fourth, or, on a pale endorsed, three batons fleurdelises gules; supported by four griffon’s-claws jessant from the sides of the escutcheon, with the motto “En Lupus in Historia,” was able to surmount these rather satirical arms with a count’s coronet.

Towards the close of the year 1830 Monsieur Rabourdin did some business on hand which required him to visit the old ministry, where the bureaus had all been in great commotion, owing to a general removal of officials, from the highest to the lowest.  This revolution bore heaviest, in point of fact, upon the lackeys, who are not fond of seeing new faces.  Rabourdin had come early, knowing all the ways of the place, and he thus chanced to overhear a dialogue between the two nephews of old Antoine, who had recently retired on a pension.

“Well, Laurent, how is your chief of division going on?”

“Oh, don’t talk to me about him; I can’t do anything with him.  He rings me up to ask if I have seen his handkerchief or his snuff-box.  He receives people without making them wait; in short, he hasn’t a bit of dignity.  I’m often obliged to say to him:  But, monsieur, monsieur le comte your predecessor, for the credit of the thing, used to punch holes with his penknife in the arms of his chair to make believe he was working.  And he makes such a mess of his room.  I find everything topsy-turvy.  He has a very small mind.  How about your man?”

“Mine?  Oh, I have succeeded in training him.  He knows exactly where his letter-paper and envelopes, his wood, and his boxes and all the rest of his things are.  The other man used to swear at me, but this one is as meek as a lamb,—­still, he hasn’t the grand style!  Moreover, he isn’t decorated, and I don’t like to serve a chief who isn’t; he might be taken for one of us, and that’s humiliating.  He carries the office letter-paper home, and asked me if I couldn’t go there and wait at table when there was company.”

“Hey! what a government, my dear fellow!”