er!--Jules, did you send the six
chandeliers and the plated pyx and the Stations of the Cross, Number
Two, to the Dames du Sacre-Coeur d'Alencons? What, not yet? But the
order came three days ago! You must hurry, I tell you!--You can see,
Violette, I am overflowing with work--but come in here a moment."

And once more ordering his bookkeeper, a captive in his glass case, to
send the officers the notes that the cure of Sourdeval had allowed to
go to protest, Uncle Isidore ushered M. Violette and his son into his
office.

It was an ancient room, and M. Gaufre, who aimed at the austere, had
made it gloomier still by a safe, and black haircloth furniture,
which looked as if taken from a vestryroom. The pretty, high, and oval
apartment, with its large window, opening upon a garden, its ceiling
painted in light rosy clouds, its woodwork ornamented with wreaths and
quivers, still preserved some of the charm and elegance of former days.
Amedee would have been amused there, had not Uncle Isidore, who had
seated himself before his desk, launched at once an unkind question at
M. Violette.

"By the way, have you obtained the promotion that you counted so much
upon last year?"

"Unfortunately, no, Monsieur Gaufre. You know what the Administration
is."

"Yes, it is slow; but you are not overwhelmed with work, however. While
in a business like this--what cares, what annoyances! I sometimes envy
you. You can take an hour to cut your pens. Well, what is wanted of me
now?"

The head of a clerk with a pencil behind his ear, appeared through the
half-open door.

"Monsieur le Superieur of Foreign Missions wishes to speak with
Monsieur."

"You can see! Not one minute to myself. Another time, my dear Violette.
Adieu, my little man--it is astonishing how much he grows to look like
Lucie! You must come and dine with me some Sunday, without ceremony.
Berenice's 'souffle au fromage' is something delicious! Let Monsieur le
Superieur come in."

M. Violette took his departure, displeased at his useless visit and
irritated against Uncle Isidore, who had been hardly civil.

"That man is a perfect egotist," thought he, sadly; "and that girl has
him in her clutches. My poor Amedee will have nothing from him."

Amedee himself was not interested in his uncle's fortune. He was just
then a pupil in the fourth grade, which follows the same studies as
at the Lycee Henri IV. Having suddenly grown tall, he was annoyed at
wearing short trousers,