red coral. At the
same time he scattered his rays impartially on those poor passers-by
whom necessity sent out, so early in the morning, to gain their daily
bread, He even had a smile for the poor clerk, who, in a thin overcoat,
was hurrying to his office, as well as for the _grisette_, shivering
under her thin, insufficient clothing; for the workman carrying half a
loaf under his arm, for the car-conductor as he punched the tickets, and
for the dealer in roast chestnuts, who was roasting his first panful. In
short, the sun gave pleasure to everybody in the world. M. Jean-Baptiste
Godefroy, on the contrary, rose in quite a different frame of mind. On
the previous evening he had dined with the Minister for Agriculture.
The dinner, from the removal of the _potage_ to the salad, bristled with
truffles, and the banker's stomach, aged forty-seven years, experienced
the burning and biting of pyrosis. So the manner in which M.
Jean-Baptiste Godefroy rang for his valet-de-chambre was so expressive
that, as he got some warm water for his master's shaving, Charles said
to the kitchen-maid:

"There he goes! The monkey is barbarously ill-tempered again this
morning. My poor Gertrude, we're going to have a miserable day."

Whereupon, walking on tiptoe, with eyes modestly cast down, he entered
the chamber of his master, opened the curtains, lit the fire, and made
all the necessary preparations for the toilet with the discreet demeanor
and respectful gestures of a sacristan placing the sacred vessels on the
altar for the priest.

"What sort of weather this morning?" demanded M. Godefroy curtly, as he
buttoned his undervest of gray swandown upon a stomach that was already
a little too prominent.

"Very cold, sir," replied Charles meekly. "At six o'clock the
thermometer marked seven degrees above zero. But, as you will see,
sir, the sky is quite clear, and I think we are going to have a fine
morning."

In stropping his razor, M. Godefroy approached the window, drew aside
one of the hangings, looked on the boulevard, which was bathed in
brightness, and made a slight grimace which bore some resemblance to a
smile.

It is all very well to be perfectly stiff and correct, and to know
that it is bad taste to show feeling of any kind in the presence of
domestics, but the appearance of the roguish sun in the middle of
December sends such a glow of warmth to the heart that it is impossible
to disguise the fact. So M. Godefroy deigned, a