Jenkins and Jansoulet, sufficiently embarrassed by each other’s presence, exchanged a few commonplace words.  Their great friendship had recently cooled, Jansoulet having refused point-blank all further subsidies to the Bethlehem Society, leaving the business on the Irishman’s hands, who was furious at this defection, and much more furious still at this moment because he had not been able to open Felicia’s letter before the arrival of the intruder.  The Nabob, on his side, was asking himself whether the doctor was going to be present at the conversation which he wished to have with the duke on the subject of the infamous insinuations with which the Messenger was pursuing him; anxious also to know whether these calumnies might not have produced a coolness in that sovereign good-will which was so necessary to him at the moment of the verification of his election.  The greeting which he had received in the gallery had half reassured him on this point; he was entirely satisfied when the duke entered and came towards him with outstretched hand: 

“Well, my poor Jansoulet, I hope Paris is making you pay dearly enough for your welcome.  What brawling and hate and spite one finds!”

“Ah, M. le Duc, if you knew—­”

“I know.  I have read it,” said the minister, moving closer to the fire.

“I sincerely hope that your excellency does not believe these infamies.  Besides, I have here—­I bring the proof.”

With his strong hairy hands, trembling with emotion, he hunted among the papers in an enormous shagreen portfolio which he had under his arm.

“Never mind that—­never mind.  I am acquainted with the whole affair.  I know that, wilfully or not, they have mixed you up with another person, whom family considerations—­”

The duke could not restrain a smile at the bewilderment of the Nabob, stupefied to find him so well informed.

“A Minister of State has to know everything.  But don’t worry.  Your election will be declared valid all the same.  And once declared valid—­”

Jansoulet heaved a sigh of relief.

“Ah, M. le Duc, how it cheers me to hear you speak thus!  I was beginning to lose all confidence.  My enemies are so powerful.  And a piece of bad luck into the bargain.  Do you know that it is Le Merquier himself who is charged with the report on my election?”

“Le Merquier?  The devil!”

“Yes, Le Merquier, Hemerlingue’s agent, the dirty hypocrite who converted the baroness, no doubt because his religion forbade him to have a Mohammedan for a mistress.”

“Come, come, Jansoulet.”

“Well, M. le Duc?  One can’t help being angry.  Think of the situation in which these wretches are placing me.  Here I ought to have had my election made valid a week ago, and they arrange the postponement of the sitting expressly because they know the terrible position in which I am placed—­my whole fortune paralyzed, the Bey waiting for the decision of the Chamber to decide whether or not he can plunder me.  I have eighty millions over there, M. le Duc, and here I begin to be short of money.  If the thing goes on only a little longer—­”