d above the entrance-gate, and, away over
yonder, at a first-floor window, one red and wavering spot, the light of
a candle burning by the pillow of the dead child.

"By a decree dated the 12th March, 1865, issued upon the proposal
of the Minister of the Interior, Monsieur the Doctor Jenkins,
President and Founder of the Bethlehem Society is named a
Chevalier of the Imperial Order of the Legion of Honour. Great
devotion to the cause of humanity."

As he read these words on the front page of the _Official Journal_, on
the morning of the 16th, the poor Nabob felt dazed.

Was it possible?

Jenkins decorated, and not he!

He read the paragraph twice over, distrusting his own eyes. His ears
buzzed. The letters danced double before his eyes with those great red
rings round them which they have in strong sunlight. He had been so
confident of seeing his name in this place; Jenkins, only the evening
before, had repeated to him with so much assurance, "It is already
done!" that he still thought his eyes must have deceived him. But no,
it was indeed Jenkins. The blow was heavy, deep, prophetic, as it were a
first warning from destiny, and one that was felt all the more intensely
because for years this man had been unaccustomed to failure. Everything
good in him learned mistrust at the same time.

"Well," said he to de Gery as he came as usual every morning into his
room, and found him visibly affected, holding the newspaper in his hand,
"have you seen? I am not in the _Official_."

He tried to smile, his features puckered like those of a child
restraining his tears. Then, suddenly, with that frankness which was
such a pleasing quality in him: "It is a great disappointment to me. I
was looking forward to it too confidently."

The door opened upon these words, and Jenkins rushed in, out of breath,
stammering, extraordinarily agitated.

"It is an infamy, a frightful infamy! The thing cannot be, it shall not
be!"

The words stumbled over each other in disorder on his lips, all trying
to get out at once; then he seemed to despair of finding expression for
his thoughts and in disgust threw on the table a small box and a large
envelope, both bearing the stamp of the chancellor's office.

"There are my cross and my brevet. They are yours, friend. I could not
keep them."

At bottom the words did not signify much. Jansoulet adorning himself
with Jenkins's ribbon might very well have been guilty of ill