t dream--the
realization of which was, in any case, quite distant--to forget, even
for a moment, the "Echo de la Bievre" and his candidacy. No sooner had
he reached home than he asked for the morning's paper.

"It has not come," said the "male domestic."

"That's a fine distribution, when even the owner of the paper is not
served!" cried Thuillier, discontentedly.

Although it was nearly dinner-time, and after his journey he would much
rather have taken a bath than rush to the rue Saint-Dominique, Thuillier
ordered a cab and drove at once to the office of the "Echo."

There a fresh disappointment met him. The paper "was made," as they say,
and all the employees had departed, even la Peyrade. As for Coffinet,
who was not to be found at his post of office-boy, nor yet at his other
post of porter, he had gone "of an errand," his wife said, taking the
key of the closet in which the remaining copies of the paper were locked
up. Impossible, therefore, to procure the number which the unfortunate
proprietor had come so far to fetch.

To describe Thuillier's indignation would be impossible. He marched up
and down the room, talking aloud to himself, as people do in moments of
excitement.

"I'll turn them all out!" he cried. And we are forced to omit the rest
of the furious objurgation.

As he ended his anathema a rap was heard on the door.

"Come in!" said Thuillier, in a tone that depicted his wrath and his
frantic impatience.

The door opened, and Minard rushed precipitately into his arms.

"My good, my excellent friend!" cried the mayor of the eleventh
arrondissement, concluding his embrace with a hearty shake of the hand.

"Why! what is it?" said Thuillier, unable to comprehend the warmth of
this demonstration.

"Ah! my dear friend," continued Minard, "such an admirable proceeding!
really chivalrous! most disinterested! The effect, I assure you, is
quite stupendous in the arrondissement."

"But what, I say?" cried Thuillier, impatiently.

"The article, the whole action," continued Minard, "so noble, so
elevated!"

"But what article? what action?" said the proprietor of the "Echo,"
getting quite beside himself.

"The article of this morning," said Minard.

"The article of this morning?"

"Ah ca! did you write it when you were asleep; or, like Monsieur
Jourdain doing prose, do you do heroism without knowing it?"

"I! I haven't written any article!" cried Thuillier. "I have been away
from Paris for a day