In Madeira Place | Page 9

questions from me, he told me more about Mr. Fox's first
visit than I had hitherto known. I asked him, in a casual way, about the
ward-meetings, and whether the French citizens generally attended
them. No, they had been dropping off; they had become envious,
perhaps, of him; they had formed a club, with Carron for president, and
had voted to act in a body (en solidarité).
Then I told Fidèle that I knew no way to help him, and that I feared his
dismission was final. He could not understand me, but went away,
leaning on his cane, dragging his left foot sidewise behind him, with
something of the air of an old faithful officer who has been deprived of
his sword.
He had not been gone more than an hour, when the door opened again,
and Carron looked in. Seeing that I was alone, he closed the door and
walked very slowly toward my desk,--erect, demure, impassive,
looking straight forward and not at me, with an air as if he were bearing
a candle in high mass, intoning, as he came, a passage from the Psalms:
"Je me ré-jouirai; je partagerai Sichem, et je mesurerai la vallée de
Succoth. Galaad sera à moi, Manassé sera à moi.... Moab sera le
bassin où je me laverai et je jetterai mon soulier sur Édom.... Qui
est-ce qui me conduira dans la ville forte? Qui est-ce qui me conduira
jusquen Édom?" (I will rejoice; I will divide Shechem and mete out the
valley of Succoth. Gilead is mine; Ma-nasseh is mine.... Moab is my
washpot; over Edom will I cast out my shoe.... Who will bring me into

the strong city? Who will lead me into Edom?)
Carron propounded the closing inquiry with great unction; his manner
expressed entire confidence that some one would be found to lead him
into the strong city, to lead him into Edom.
I had lost something of my interest in Carron since I had heard the story
of his Parisian exploits; but I could not help being amused at his
manner. It portended something. He made no disclosure, however.
Whatever he had to tell, he went away without telling it, contenting
himself for the present with intimating by his triumphal manner that
great good fortune was in the air.
On Saturday afternoon, as I was about closing my desk,--a little earlier
than usual, for it was a most tempting late September day, and the
waves of the harbor, which I could just see from my office window,
called loudly to me,--Sorel appeared. I held out my hand, but he
affected not to see it, and he sat down without a word. He was plainly
disturbed and somewhat excited.
Of course I knew that it was his old friend's misfortune which weighed
upon him; he was proud and fond of Fidèle.
I seated myself, and waited for him to speak. In a moment he began,
with a low, hard laugh: "Semble que notre bon Fidèle a sa démission:
you know,--our Fidèle got bounced!"
Yes, I said, Fidèle had told me so, and I was very sorry to hear it.
"Evidemment" (this in a tone of irony) "il faut un homme plus juste,
plus loyale, que le pauvre Fidèle! (You know,--they got to 'ave one
more honester man!) Bien! You know who goin' 'ave 'is place?"
I shook my head.
Sorel laid down his hat, and wiped his brow with his handkerchief.
Then he went on, no longer speaking in French and then
translating,--his usual concession to my supposed desires,--but mostly

now in quasi-English: "Mais, you thing this great gouvernement wan'
hones' men work for her, n'est-ce pas?"
"The government ought to have the most honest men," I said.
"Bien. Now you thing the gouvernement boun' to 'ave some men w'at
mos' know the business, n'est-ce pas?"
"It ought to have them."
Sorel wiped his brow again. "Now, w'ich you thing the mos' honestes'
man,--Fidèle, or-- Carron? W'ich you thing know the business
bes',--Fidèle, w'at been there, or Carron, w'at ain' been there?"
"Fidèle, of course."
"Then tell me, w'at for they bounce' our Fidèle, and let Carron got 'is
place?" and he burst into a harsh, resonant, contemptuous laugh. In a
moment he resumed: "Now," he said, "I only got one more thing to ax
you," and taking his felt hat in his hands, he held it on his knees, before
him, and stooping a little forward, eyed me closely: "You know w'at we
talk sometimes, you an' me, 'bout our Frensh république--some
Orléanistes, some Légitimistes, some Bonapartistes? You merember
'ow we talk, you and me?"
I nodded,
"We ain' got no Orléanistes, no Bonapartistes' ici, in this gouvernement,
n'est-ce pas?"
I intimated that I had never met any.
"Now," he proceeded, with an increased bitterness in his