early morn who had
never received his recompense or even claimed it.

"I should like you to resume your journal in order to announce all these
truths," Vaudrey said to him.

"Do you think so? Why, a journal that would proclaim the truth to
everybody would not last six months, since no one would buy it."

As Sulpice was about to go, there was a ring at Ramel's door.

"Ah! who can it be? A visit. I beg you will excuse me, my dear Vaudrey."

Denis went to open the door.

It was a man of about fifty, dressed in the garb of a poor workman,
wearing a threadbare greatcoat and trousers that were well polished at
the knees, who as he entered held his round, felt hat in his hand. He
was thin, pale and tired-looking, with a dark, dull complexion and a
voice weak rather than hoarse. He bowed timidly, repeating twice: "I
earnestly ask your pardon;" and then he remained standing on the
threshold, without advancing or retiring, in an embarrassed attitude,
while a timid smile played beneath his black beard, already sprinkled
with gray.

"Pardon--I disturb you--I will return--"

"Come in, Garnier," said Ramel.

The man entered, saluting Vaudrey, who was not known to him, and at a
gesture from Denis, he took a seat on the edge of a chair, scarcely
sitting down and constantly twirling his round-shaped hat between his
lean fingers. From time to time, he raised his left hand to his mouth to
check the sound of a dry cough which rose in his muscular throat, that
might be supposed to be a prey to laryngitis.

"You ask for the truth--Listen a moment, a single moment," Ramel
whispered in the ear of the minister.

Without mentioning Sulpice's name, he began to question Garnier, who
grew bolder and talked and gossiped, his cheek-bones now and then
heightened in color by small, pink spots.

"Well! Garnier, about the work?--Oh! you may speak before monsieur, it
interests him."

The man shrugged his shoulders with a sad, somewhat bitter smile, but
resigned at least. He very quietly, but without any complaint,
acknowledged all that he was enduring. Work was in a bad way. It
appeared that it was just the same everywhere in Europe, in fact, but
indeed that doesn't provide work at the shop. The master, a kind man, in
faith, had grown old, and was anxious to sell his business of an art
metal worker. He had not found a purchaser, then he had simply closed
his shop, being too ill to continue hard work, and the four or five
workmen whom he e