opelessly,
with the satisfaction of a task accomplished, and nothing more.

The bell rang for the workmen to return, and Risler went calmly upstairs
to resume his work as on other days.

In a moment he came down again. In spite of all, that news had excited
him more than he cared to show. He wandered about the garden, prowled
around the counting-room, smiling sadly at Pere Planus through the
window.

"What ails him?" the old cashier wondered. "What does he want of me?"

At last, when night came and it was time to close the office, Risler
summoned courage to go and speak to him.

"Planus, my old friend, I should like--"

He hesitated a moment.

"I should like you to give me the--letter, you know, the little letter
and the package."

Sigismond stared at him in amazement. In his innocence, he had imagined
that Risler never thought of Sidonie, that he had entirely forgotten her.

"What--you want--?"

"Ah! I have well earned it; I can think of myself a little now. I have
thought enough of others."

"You are right," said Planus. "Well, this is what we'll do. The letter
and package are at my house at Montrouge. If you choose, we will go and
dine together at the Palais-Royal, as in the good old times. I will stand
treat. We'll water your medal with a bottle of wine; something choice!
Then we'll go to the house together. You can get your trinkets, and if
it's too late for you to go home, Mademoiselle Planus, my sister, shall
make up a bed for you, and you shall pass the night with us. We are very
comfortable there--it's in the country. To-morrow morning at seven
o'clock we'll come back to the factory by the first omnibus. Come, old
fellow, give me this pleasure. If you don't, I shall think you still bear
your old Sigismond a grudge."

Risler accepted. He cared little about celebrating the award of his
medal, but he desired to gain a few hours before opening the little
letter he had at last earned the right to read.

He must dress. That was quite a serious matter, for he had lived in a
workman's jacket during the past six months. And what an event in the
factory! Madame Fromont was informed at once.

"Madame, Madame! Monsieur Risler is going out!"

Claire looked at him from her window, and that tall form, bowed by
sorrow, leaning on Sigismond's arm, aroused in her a profound, unusual
emotion which she remembered ever after.

In the street people bowed to Risler with great interest. Even their
greetings warmed