HE MAN WHO THINKS THE STAR TOO BRIGHT

The next morning Minard paid a visit to Phellion in his study. The great
citizen and his son Felix were at that moment engaged in a conversation
which seemed to have some unusual interest for them.

"My dear Felix," cried the mayor of the eleventh arrondissement,
offering his hand warmly to the young professor, "it is you who bring me
here this morning; I have come to offer you my congratulations."

"What has occurred?" asked Phellion. "Have the Thuilliers--"

"It has nothing to do with the Thuilliers," interrupted the mayor.
"But," he added, looking hard at Felix, "can that sly fellow have
concealed the thing even from you?"

"I do not think," said Phellion, "that ever, in his life, has my son
concealed a thing from me."

"Then you know about the sublime astronomical discovery which he
communicated to the Academy of Sciences yesterday?"

"Your kindness for me, Monsieur le maire," said Felix, hastily, "has led
you astray; I was only the reader of the communication."

"Oh! let me alone!" said Minard; "reader, indeed! I know all about it."

"But see," said Felix, offering Minard the "Constitutionnel," "here's
the paper; not only does it announce that Monsieur Picot is the maker
of the discovery, but it mentions the rewards which, without losing a
moment, the government has bestowed upon him."

"Felix is right," said Phellion; "that journal is to be trusted. On this
occasion I think the government has acted very properly."

"But, my dear commander, I repeat to you that the truth of the affair
has got wind, and your son is shown to be a most admirable fellow. To
put his own discovery to the credit of his old professor so as to obtain
for him the recognition and favor of the authorities--upon my word, in
all antiquity I don't know a finer trait!"

"Felix!" said Phellion, beginning to show some emotion, "these immense
labors to which you have devoted so much time of late, these continual
visits to the Observatory--"

"But, father," interrupted Felix, "Monsieur Minard has been
misinformed."

"Misinformed!" cried Minard, "when I know the whole affair from Monsieur
Picot himself!"

At this argument, stated in a way to leave no possible doubt, the truth
began to dawn upon Phellion.

"Felix, my son!" he said, rising to embrace him.

But he was obliged to sit down again; his legs refused to bear his
weight; he turned pale; and that nature, ordinarily so impassible,
seemed