led by dreams, drawn on by an invisible leash. The terrible feature
of it all was this, that when M. Joyeuse returned home, after those
long, cruel days of inaction and fatigue, he must enact the comedy of
the man returning from work, must describe the events of the day, tell
what he had heard, the gossip of the office, with which he was always
accustomed to entertain the young ladies.

In humble households there is always one name that comes to the lips
more frequently than others, a name that is invoked on days of
disaster, that plays a part in every wish, in every hope, even in the
play of the children, who are permeated with the idea of its
importance, a name that fills the role of a sub-providence in the
family, or rather of a supernatural household god. It is the name of
the employer, the manager of the factory, the landlord, the minister,
the man, in short, who holds in his powerful hand the welfare, the very
existence of the family. In the Joyeuse household it was Hemerlingue,
always Hemerlingue; ten, twenty times a day the name was mentioned in
the conversation of the girls, who associated it with all their plans,
with the most trivial details of their girlish ambitions: "If
Hemerlingue would consent. It all depends on Hemerlingue." And nothing
could be more delightful than the familiar way in which those children
spoke of the wealthy boor whom they had never seen.

They asked questions about him. Had their father spoken to him? Was he
in good humor? To think that all of us, however humble we may be,
however cruelly enslaved by destiny, have always below us some poor
creature more humble, more enslaved than ourselves, in whose eyes we
are great, in whose eyes we are gods, and, as gods, indifferent,
scornful or cruel.

We can fancy M. Joyeuse's torture when he was compelled to invent
incidents, to manufacture anecdotes concerning the villain who had
dismissed him so heartlessly after ten years of faithful service.
However, he played his little comedy in such way as to deceive them all
completely. They had noticed only one thing, and that was that their
father, on returning home at night, always had a hearty appetite for
the evening meal. I should say as much! Since he had lost his place,
the poor man had ceased to eat any luncheon.

The days passed. M. Joyeuse found nothing. Yes, he was offered a
clerkship at the _Caisse Territoriale_, which he declined, being too
well acquainted with the banking operations,