these sudden falls. What
terrifies him is that which he guesses to lie behind this affront.
He reflects that all his possessions are over there, firms,
counting-houses, ships, all at the mercy of the Bey, in that lawless
East, that country of the ruler's good-pleasure. Pressing his burning
brow to the streaming windows, his body in a cold sweat, his hands icy,
he remains looking vaguely out into the night, as dark, as obscure as
his own future.

Suddenly a noise of footsteps, of precipitate knocks at the door.

"Who is there?"

"Sir," said Noel, coming in half dressed, "it is a very urgent telegram
that has been sent from the post-office by special messenger."

"A telegram! What can there be now?"

He takes the envelope and opens it with shaking fingers. The god, struck
twice already, begins to feel himself vulnerable, to know the fears,
the nervous weakness of other men. Quick--to the signature. MORA! Is
it possible? The duke--the duke to him! Yes, it is indeed--M-O-R-A.
And above it: "Popolasca is dead. Election coming in Corsica. You are
official candidate."

Deputy! It was salvation. With that, nothing to fear. No one dares treat
a representative of the great French nation as a mere swindler. The
Hemerlingues were finely defeated.

"Oh, my duke, my noble duke!"

He was so full of emotion that he could not sign his name. Suddenly:
"Where is the man who brought this telegram?"

"Here, M. Jansoulet," replied a jolly south-country voice from the
corridor.

He was lucky, that postman.

"Come in," said the Nabob. And giving him the receipt, he took in a
heap from his pockets--ever full--as many gold pieces as his hands could
hold, and threw them into the cap of the poor fellow, who stuttered,
distracted and dazzled by the fortune showered upon him, in the night of
this fairy palace.

A CORSICAN ELECTION

Pozzonegro--near Sartene.

At last I can give you my news, dear M. Joyeuse. During the five days
we have been in Corsica we have rushed about so much, made so many
speeches, so often changed carriages and mounts--now on mules, now on
asses, or even on the backs of men for crossing the torrents--written so
many letters, noted so many requests, visited so many schools,
presented chasubles, altar-cloths, renewed cracked bells, and founded
kindergartens; we have inaugurated so many things, proposed so many
toasts, listened to so many harangues, consumed so much Talano wine and
white cheese, that I ha