he whispers at the clubs, the smiles
in his friends' drawing-rooms, the contempt of women, the veiled sneers
of the newspapers, the insults that would be hurled at him by cowards.

He still looked at the weapon, and raising the hammer, saw the glitter of
the priming below it. The pistol had been left loaded by some chance,
some oversight. And the discovery rejoiced him, he knew not why.

If he did not maintain, in presence of his opponent, the steadfast
bearing which was so necessary to his honor, he would be ruined forever.
He would be branded, stigmatized as a coward, hounded out of society! And
he felt, he knew, that he could not maintain that calm, unmoved demeanor.
And yet he was brave, since the thought that followed was not even
rounded to a finish in his mind; but, opening his mouth wide, he suddenly
plunged the barrel of the pistol as far back as his throat, and pressed
the trigger.

When the valet, alarmed at the report, rushed into the room he found his
master lying dead upon his back. A spurt of blood had splashed the white
paper on the table, and had made a great crimson stain beneath the words:

"This is my last will and testament."

OLD MONGILET

In the office old Mongilet was considered a type. He was a good old
employee, who had never been outside Paris but once in his life.

It was the end of July, and each of us, every Sunday, went to roll in the
grass, or soak in the water in the country near by. Asnieres, Argenteuil,
Chatou, Borgival, Maisons, Poissy, had their habitues and their ardent
admirers. We argued about the merits and advantages of all these places,
celebrated and delightful to all Parsian employees.

Daddy Mongilet declared:

"You are like a lot of sheep! It must be pretty, this country you talk
of!"

"Well, how about you, Mongilet? Don't you ever go on an excursion?"

"Yes, indeed. I go in an omnibus. When I have had a good luncheon,
without any hurry, at the wine shop down there, I look up my route with a
plan of Paris, and the time table of the lines and connections. And then
I climb up on the box, open my umbrella and off we go. Oh, I see lots of
things, more than you, I bet! I change my surroundings. It is as though I
were taking a journey across the world, the people are so different in
one street and another. I know my Paris better than anyone. And then,
there is nothing more amusing than the entresols. You would not believe
what one sees in there at a glance. One