No one but her husband should be able to boast of having seen a certain mole on her body somewhere above her knee.” The laughter resumed, louder than before. Louise joined in heartily, laughing even louder than the men. Softly, as if deaf to the laughter all around, the footmen at that moment stuck their grave pale faces between the shoulders of the guests and in low voices offered each of the diners a helping of aiguillettes de canard sauvage.14

Saccard was angry that no one was paying attention to Toutin-Laroche. To show that he had been listening, he said, “The municipal bond issue—”

But M. Toutin-Laroche was not a man to lose the thread of an idea. “Gentlemen,” he continued when the laughter subsided, “yesterday was a great consolation to those of us whose administration has been the butt of so many scurrilous attacks. They say that the city council has led Paris to ruin, but as you see, the moment the city floats a bond issue, everybody comes to us with money, even those who rail against us.”

“You’ve worked miracles,” Saccard said. “Paris has become the capital of the world.”

“Yes, it’s truly astounding,” Hupel de la Noue interrupted. “Just imagine, I’m a Parisian from way back, and I no longer know my way around my own city. Yesterday I got lost going from the Hôtel de Ville to Luxembourg.15 It’s astounding, astounding!”

Silence followed. All the serious men were listening now.

“The transformation of Paris,” Toutin-Laroche continued, “will be the glory of the Emperor’s reign. People are ungrateful: they ought to kiss his feet. I said as much to the council just this morning, when we were discussing the huge success of the bond issue. ‘Gentlemen,’ I said, ‘let those loudmouths in the opposition say what they will: to turn Paris over, as it were, is to make the city fertile.’ ”

Saccard shut his eyes and smiled, as if to savor the finesse of the phrase all the more. He leaned over behind Mme d’Espanet and made a comment to Hupel de la Noue in a voice loud enough to be heard: “What a delightful wit.”

Now that the talk had turned to construction projects in Paris, the worthy Charrier was craning his neck as if to take part in the conversation. His partner Mignon was fully taken up with Mme Sidonie, who was keeping him quite busy. Since the beginning of the dinner Saccard had been watching the contractors out of the corner of his eye.

“The government,” he said, “is fortunate to have found such dedicated partners. Everyone was eager to contribute to such a grand design. Without the aid of well-endowed companies, the city would never have been able to accomplish so much in so short a time.”

Then he turned and in a flatteringly direct way added, “Messieurs Mignon and Charrier know a thing or two about it, for they had their share in the toil and will have their share of the glory.”

The former bricklayers, now both men of means, naïvely swelled with pride at this blunt comment. Mignon had been listening to Sidonie’s simpering: “Oh, sir, you flatter me. No, pink would be too young for me—” But now he left her hanging in midsentence to respond to Saccard.

“You’re too kind. We were just going about our business, that’s all.”

Charrier was more polished. While finishing his glass of Pommard, he managed to come up with a phrase: “The renewal of Paris has been the lifeblood of the working man.”

“To which,” Toutin-Laroche replied, “one must add that it’s given a magnificent boost to banking and industry as well.”

“And don’t forget the artistic side: the new avenues are majestic,” added Hupel de la Noue, who prided himself on having taste.

“Yes, yes, it’s been a fine undertaking,” murmured M. de Mareuil, so as to say something.

“As for the expense,” gravely declared the deputy Haffner, who never opened his mouth except on great occasions, “our children will pay for it, as is only right.”

As he said this, he happened to be looking at M. de Saffré, from whom the pretty Mme Michelin seemed to have turned away a moment earlier, so that the young secretary, in order to appear to have been following what people were saying, repeated, “As is only right, indeed.”

All of the serious men in the group at the center of the table had now had their say. M. Michelin, the head of the road department, smiled and nodded. This was his usual way of taking part in a conversation. He had smiles to greet, to respond, to approve, to thank, and to bid farewell, a whole collection of lovely smiles that virtually dispensed him from ever having to utter a word, for he no doubt judged it both more polite and more beneficial to his career to hold his tongue.

Another personage had also remained silent: Baron Gouraud, who chewed his cud slowly, like a heavy-lidded ox. Until that moment he had seemed wholly absorbed in the spectacle of his plate.