her, her child,
and her husband! The feeling of responsibility prevented her giving way
too much to her misfortune, to the wreck of her love; and in proportion
as she forgot herself in the thought of the weak creatures she had to
protect she realized more fully the meaning of the word "sacrifice," so
vague on careless lips, so serious when it becomes a rule of life.

Such were the poor woman's thoughts during that sad vigil, a vigil of
arms and tears, while she was preparing her forces for the great battle.
Such was the scene lighted by the modest little lamp which Risler had
seen from below, like a star fallen from the radiant chandeliers of the
ballroom.

Reassured by Pere Achille's reply, the honest fellow thought of going
up to his bedroom, avoiding the festivities and the guests, for whom he
cared little.

On such occasions he used a small servants' staircase communicating with
the counting-room. So he walked through the many-windowed workshops,
which the moon, reflected by the snow, made as light as at noonday. He
breathed the atmosphere of the day of toil, a hot, stifling atmosphere,
heavy with the odor of boiled talc and varnish. The papers spread out
on the dryers formed long, rustling paths. On all sides tools were lying
about, and blouses hanging here and there ready for the morrow. Risler
never walked through the shops without a feeling of pleasure.

Suddenly he spied a light in Planus's office, at the end of that long
line of deserted rooms. The old cashier was still at work, at one
o'clock in the morning! That was really most extraordinary.

Risler's first impulse was to retrace his steps. In fact, since his
unaccountable falling-out with Sigismond, since the cashier had adopted
that attitude of cold silence toward him, he had avoided meeting him.
His wounded friendship had always led him to shun an explanation; he had
a sort of pride in not asking Planus why he bore him ill-will. But, on
that evening, Risler felt so strongly the need of cordial sympathy, of
pouring out his heart to some one, and then it was such an excellent
opportunity for a tete-a-tete with his former friend, that he did not
try to avoid him but boldly entered the counting-room.

The cashier was sitting there, motionless, among heaps of papers and
great books, which he had been turning over, some of which had fallen to
the floor. At the sound of his employer's footsteps he did not even lift
his eyes. He had recognized Risler's ste