stinction.

He told Caillard what new studies he ought to undertake; he introduced
him to learned Societies which took up particularly obscure points of
science, in the hope of gaining credit and honors thereby; and he even
took him under his wing at the Ministry.

One day, when he came to lunch with his friend (for several months past
he had constantly taken his meals there), he said to him in a whisper as
he shook hands: "I have just obtained a great favor for you. The
Committee of Historical Works is going to intrust you with a commission.
There are some researches to be made in various libraries in France."

Caillard was so delighted that he could scarcely eat or drink, and a
week later he set out. He went from town to town, studying catalogues,
rummaging in lofts full of dusty volumes, and was hated by all the
librarians.

One day, happening to be at Rouen, he thought he should like to go and
embrace his wife, whom he had not seen for more than a week, so he took
the nine o'clock train, which would land him at home by twelve at night.

He had his latchkey, so he went in without making any noise, delighted
at the idea of the surprise he was going to give her. She had locked
herself in. How tiresome! However, he cried out through the door:

"Jeanne, it is I."

She must have been very frightened, for he heard her jump out of bed and
speak to herself, as if she were in a dream. Then she went to her
dressing-room, opened and closed the door, and went quickly up and down
her room barefoot two or three times, shaking the furniture till the
vases and glasses sounded. Then at last she asked:

"Is it you, Alexander?"

"Yes, yes," he replied; "make haste and open the door."

As soon as she had done so, she threw herself into his arms, exclaiming:

"Oh! what a fright!... What a surprise!... What a pleasure!..."

He began to undress himself methodically, like he did everything, and
from a chair he took his overcoat, which he was in the habit of hanging
up in the hall. But, suddenly, he remained motionless, struck dumb with
astonishment--there was a red ribbon in the buttonhole!

"Why," he stammered, "this--this--this--this overcoat has got the
rosette in it!"

In a second his wife threw herself on him, and taking it from his hands,
she said:

"No! you have made a mistake--give it to me."

But he still held it by one of the sleeves, without letting it go,
repeating, in a half-dazed manner:

"Oh! Why? Just ex