Toutin-Laroche, formerly a candle manufacturer but now a city councilor, director of the Crédit Viticole, and member of the board of overseers of the Société Générale des Ports du Maroc, a slender yet substantial individual, whom Saccard, seated opposite between Mme d’Espanet and Mme Haffner, referred to in a flattering voice now as “my dear colleague” and now as “our illustrious administrator.” Then came the politicians: M. Hupel de la Noue, a prefect who spent eight months a year in Paris; three deputies, among whom M. Haffner displayed his broad Alsatian face; M. de Saffré, a charming young man who served as secretary to a minister; M. Michelin, the head of the bureau of roads; and other high-level bureaucrats. M. de Mareuil, a perpetual candidate for a seat as deputy, settled in opposite the prefect, at whom he made eyes. As for M. d’Espanet, he never joined his wife for social occasions. The ladies of the family were seated among the most prominent of these personages. Saccard had nevertheless reserved a special role for his sister Sidonie, whom he had placed farther down the table, between the two contractors, with the estimable Charrier on her right and the honorable Mignon on her left—a position of trust in which victory was essential. Mme Michelin, the wife of the bureau chief, a pretty brunette, amply endowed, was seated next to M. de Saffré, with whom she chatted eagerly in a low voice. Finally, at either end of the table sat the young people: auditors from the Conseil d’Etat,13 sons of powerful fathers, budding young millionaires, M. de Mussy, who darted desperate looks in Renée’s direction, and Maxime, with Louise de Mareuil on his right seemingly holding him in her thrall. The gales of laughter coming from their direction slowly gained in volume. Gaiety gradually spread from their corner to the rest of the table.

“Will we have the pleasure of seeing His Excellency this evening?” M. Hupel de la Noue politely inquired in the meantime.

“I think not,” Saccard answered with an air of importance that hid a secret annoyance. “My brother is so busy! . . . He sent his secretary, M. de Saffré, to offer his regrets.”

The young secretary, whom Mme Michelin was unmistakably monopolizing, looked up at the sound of his name and, thinking that he was being addressed, blurted out the first thing that popped into his head: “Yes, yes, there is to be a meeting of ministers at nine o’clock in the offices of the minister of justice.”

Meanwhile, M. Toutin-Laroche, who had been interrupted, plodded gravely on as if holding forth to a silently attentive city council. “The results have been superb. This municipal bond issue will go down in history as one of the finest financial operations of the era. Gentlemen—”

At that moment, however, his voice was once again drowned out by the laughter that suddenly erupted at the far end of the table. In the midst of this burst of gaiety one could make out the voice of Maxime, who was coming to the end of an anecdote: “Wait, now, I haven’t finished. The poor amazon was picked up by a ditch digger. They say she’s arranged for him to receive an excellent education, so that she can marry him later on.