.

"Midi, roi des etes." I know by heart that poem by "Monsieur le Comte
de l'Isle," as my Uncle Mouillard calls him. Its lines chime in my ears
every day when I return from luncheon to the office I have left an
hour before. Merciful heaven, how hot it is! I am just back from a hot
climate, but it was nothing compared to Paris in July. The asphalt melts
underfoot; the wood pavement is simmering in a viscous mess of tar; the
ideal is forced to descend again and again to iced lager beer; the walls
beat back the heat in your face; the dust in the public gardens, ground
to atoms beneath the tread of many feet, rises in clouds from under
the water-cart to fall, a little farther on, in white showers upon the
passers-by. I wonder that, as a finishing stroke, the cannon in the
Palais Royal does not detonate all day long.

To complete my misery, all my acquaintances are out of town: the Boule
family is bathing at Trouville; the second clerk has not returned from
his holiday; the fourth only waited for my arrival to get away himself;
Lampron, detained by my Lord Bishop and the forest shades, gives no sign
of his existence; even Monsieur and Madame Plumet have locked up their
flat and taken the train for Barbizon.

Thus it happens that the old clerk Jupille and I have been thrown
together. I enjoy his talk. He is a simplehearted, honorable man, with a
philosophy that I am sure can not be in the least German, because I can
understand it. I have gradually told him all my secrets. I felt the need
of a confidant, for I was stifling, metaphorically as well as literally.
Now, when he hands me a deed, instead of saying "All right," as I used
to, I say, "Take a chair, Monsieur Jupille"; I shut the door, and we
talk. The clerks think we're talking law, but the clerks are mistaken.

Yesterday, for instance, he whispered to me:

"I have come down the Rue de l'Universite. They will soon be back."

"How did you learn that?"

"I saw a man carrying coals into the house, and asked for whom they
were, that's all."

Again, we had a talk, just now, which shows what progress I have made in
the old clerk's heart. He had just submitted a draft to me. I had read
it through and grunted my approval, yet M. Jupille did not go.

"Anything further, Monsieur Jupille?"

"Something to ask of you--to do me a kindness, or, rather, an honor."

"Let's hear what it is."

"This weather, Monsieur Mouillard, is very good for fishing, though
rather warm."