at her. But that was nothing to get so wild about;
there were plenty of women in Paris.

And at last: "As sure as to-morrow comes, I will dissolve partnership!"

Alphonse did not understand it at all. He left the counting-house and
walked moodily through the streets until he met an acquaintance. That
put other thoughts into his head; but all day he had a feeling as if
something gloomy and uncomfortable lay in wait, ready to seize him so
soon as he was alone.

When he reached home, late at night, he found a letter from Charles.
He opened it hastily; but it contained, instead of the apology he had
expected, only a coldly-worded request to M. Alphonse to attend at the
counting-house early the next morning "in order that the contemplated
dissolution of partnership might be effected as quickly as possible."

Now, for the first time, did Alphonse begin to understand that the scene
in the counting-house had been more than a passing outburst of passion;
but this only made the affair more inexplicable.

And the longer he thought it over, the more clearly did he feel that
Charles had been unjust to him. He had never been angry with his friend,
nor was he precisely angry even now. But as he repeated to himself
all the insults Charles had heaped upon him, his good-natured heart
hardened; and the next morning he took his place in silence, after a
cold "Good-morning."

Although he arrived a whole hour earlier than usual, he could see that
Charles had been working long and industriously. There they sat, each on
his side of the desk; they spoke only the most indispensable words; now
and then a paper passed from hand to hand, but they never looked each
other in the face.

In this way they both worked--each more busily than the other--until
twelve o'clock, their usual luncheon-time.

This hour of dejeuner was the favorite time of both. Their custom was to
have it served in their office, and when the old house-keeper announced
that lunch was ready, they would both rise at once, even if they were in
the midst of a sentence or of an account.

They used to eat standing by the fireplace or walking up and down in the
warm, comfortable office. Alphonse had always some piquant stories to
tell, and Charles laughed at them. These were his pleasantest hours.

But that day, when Madame said her friendly "_Messieurs, on a servi_,"
they both remained sitting. She opened her eyes wide, and repeated the
words as she went out, but neither move