He won't be much longer," answered the porter, "but there is no harm
done yet, since your furniture has not come," added he, with a stress on
the concluding words.

As the young man was about to reply, a dragoon entered the court.

"Is this Monsieur Bernard's?" he asked, drawing a letter from a huge
leather portfolio which swung at his side.

"He lives here," replied the porter.

"Here is a letter for him," said the dragoon; "give me a receipt," and
he handed to the porter a bulletin of despatches which the latter
entered his lodge to sign.

"Excuse me for leaving you alone," said he to the young man who was
stalking impatiently about the court, "but this is a letter from the
Minister to my landlord, and I am going to take it up to him."

Monsieur Bernard was just beginning to shave when the porter knocked at
his door.

"What do you want, Durand?"

"Sir," replied the other, lifting his cap, "a soldier has just brought
this for you. It comes from the Ministry." And he handed to Monsieur
Bernard the letter, the envelope of which bore the stamp of the War
Department.

"Heavens!" exclaimed Monsieur Bernard, in such agitation that he all but
cut himself. "From the Minister of War! I am sure it is my nomination as
Knight of the Legion of Honour, which I have long solicited. At last
they have done justice to my good conduct. Here, Durand," said he,
fumbling in his waistcoat-pocket, "here are five francs to drink to my
health. Stay! I haven't my purse about me. Wait, and I will give you the
money in a moment."

The porter was so overcome by this stunning fit of generosity, which was
not at all in accordance with his landlord's ordinary habits, that he
absolutely put on his cap again.

But Monsieur Bernard, who at any other time would have severely
reprimanded this infraction of the laws of social hierarchy, appeared
not to notice it. He put on his spectacles, broke the seal of the
envelope with the respectful anxiety of a vizier receiving a sultan's
firman, and began to read the dispatch. At the first line a frightful
grimace ploughed his fat, monk-like cheeks with crimson furrows, and his
little eyes flashed sparks that seemed ready to set fire to his bushy
wig. In fact, all his features were so turned upside-down that you would
have said his countenance had just suffered a shock of face-quake.

For these were the contents of the letter bearing the ministerial stamp,
brought by a dragoon--orderly, and for which