He visited him in the mornings in his
home, invited him to dinner every evening, and hunted him down in the
salons of the Luxembourg. Before the first word of greeting could be
exchanged, his eyes were formulating the same interrogation. . . . "When
will you get that permit?"
The great man could only reply by lamenting the indifference of the
military department toward the civilian element; it always had been
inimical toward parliamentarism.
"Besides, Joffre is showing himself most unapproachable; he does not
encourage the curious. . . . To-morrow I will see the President."
A few days later, he arrived at the house in the avenue Victor Hugo,
with an expression of radiant satisfaction that filled Don Marcelo with
joy.
"It has come?"
"It has come. . . . We start the day after to-morrow."
Desnoyers went the following afternoon to the studio in the rue de la
Pompe.
"I am going to-morrow!"
The artist was very eager to accompany him. Would it not be possible for
him to go, too, as secretary to the senator? . . . Don Marcelo smiled
benevolently. The authorization was only for Lacour and one companion.
He was the one who was going to pose as secretary, valet or utility man
to his future relative-in-law.
At the end of the afternoon, he left the studio, accompanied to the
elevator by the lamentations of Argensola.
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