conduct, which were
not habitual with him. Risler awed the workmen now; and those of them
upon whom his white hair, blanched in one night, his drawn, prematurely
old features did not impose respect, quailed before his strange glance-a
glance from eyes of a bluish-black like the color of a gun-barrel.
Whereas he had always been very kind and affable with the workmen, he
had become pitilessly severe in regard to the slightest infraction of
the rules. It seemed as if he were taking vengeance upon himself for
some indulgence in the past, blind, culpable indulgence, for which he
blamed himself.

Surely he was a marvellous employe, was this new officer in the house of
Fromont.

Thanks to him, the factory bell, notwithstanding the quavering of its
old, cracked voice, had very soon resumed its authority; and the man who
guided the whole establishment denied himself the slightest recreation.
Sober as an apprentice, he left three-fourths of his salary with Planus
for the Chebes' allowance, but he never asked any questions about them.
Punctually on the last day of the month the little man appeared to
collect his little income, stiff and formal in his dealings with
Sigismond, as became an annuitant on duty. Madame Chebe had tried to
obtain an interview with her son-in-law, whom she pitied and loved; but
the mere appearance of her palm-leaf shawl on the steps put Sidonie's
husband to flight.

In truth, the courage with which he armed himself was more apparent than
real. The memory of his wife never left him. What had become of her?
What was she doing? He was almost angry with Planus for never mentioning
her. That letter, above all things, that letter which he had had the
courage not to open, disturbed him. He thought of it continually. Ah!
had he dared, how he would have liked to ask Sigismond for it!

One day the temptation was too strong. He was alone in the office. The
old cashier had gone out to luncheon, leaving the key in his drawer, a
most extraordinary thing. Risler could not resist. He opened the
drawer, moved the papers, and searched for his letter. It was not there.
Sigismond must have put it away even more carefully, perhaps with a
foreboding of what actually happened. In his heart Risler was not sorry
for his disappointment; for he well knew that, had he found the letter,
it would have been the end of the resigned and busy life which he
imposed upon himself with so much difficulty.

Through the week it was all ver