not nice of you, Sylvestre; no, decidedly it
is not nice."

He gave me a look of friendly compassion.

"Poor little chap!" said he.

Then, in his usual clear, strong voice:

"I am in a great hurry; but come if you like. I would rather it were four
days later; but as it is, never mind; it is never too soon to be happy."

When Lampron chooses to hold his tongue it is useless to ask him
questions. I gave myself up to meditating on the words, "It is never too
soon to be happy."

We went down the boulevard, past the beer-houses. There is distinction in
my friend's walk; he is not to be confused with the crowd through which
he passes. You can tell, from the simple seriousness of the man, his
indifference to the noise and petty incidents of the streets, that he is
a stout and noble soul. Among the passers-by he is a somebody. I heard
from a group of students seated before a cafe the following words, which
Sylvestre did not seem to notice:

"Look, do you see the taller of those two there? That's Sylvestre
Lampron."

"Prix du Salon two years ago?"

"A great gun, you know."

"He looks it."

"To the left," said Lampron.

We turned to the left, and found ourselves in the Rue Hautefeuille,
before a shabby house, within the porch of which hung notices of
apartments to let; this was the framemaker's. The passage was dark, the
walls were chipped by the innumerable removals of furniture they had
witnessed. We went upstairs. On the fourth floor a smell of glue and sour
paste on the landing announced the tenant's profession. To make quite
certain there was a card nailed to the door with "Plumet, Frame-Maker."

"Plumet? A newly-married couple?"

But already Madame Plumet is at the door. It is the same little woman who
came to Boule's office. She recognizes me in the dim light of the
staircase.

"What, Monsieur Lampron, do you know Monsieur Mouillard?"

"As you apparently do, too, Madame Plumet."

"Oh, yes! I know him well; he won my action, you know."

"Ah, to be sure-against the cabinet-maker. Is your husband in?"

"Yes, sir, in the workshop. Plumet!"

Through the half-opened door giving access to an inner room w e could
see-in the midst of his molders, gilders, burnishers, and framers--a
little dark man with a beard, who looked up and hurriedly undid the
strings of his working-apron.

"Coming, Marie!"

Little Madame Plumet was a trifle upset at having to receive us in
undress, before she had tidied up her ro