ps, of
him; they had formed a club, with Carron for president, and had voted to
act in a body (_en solidarite_).

Then I told Fidele that I knew no way to help him, and that I feared his
dismission was final. He could not understand me, but went away, leaning
on his cane, dragging his left foot sidewise behind him, with something
of the air of an old faithful officer who has been deprived of his
sword.

He had not been gone more than an hour, when the door opened again, and
Carron looked in. Seeing that I was alone, he closed the door and walked
very slowly toward my desk,--erect, demure, impassive, looking straight
forward and not at me, with an air as if he were bearing a candle in
high mass, intoning, as he came, a passage from the Psalms: "_Je me
re-jouirai; je partagerai Sichem, et je mesurerai la vallee de Succoth.
Galaad sera a moi, Manasse sera a moi.... Moab sera le bassin ou je
me laverai et je jetterai mon soulier sur Edom.... Qui est-ce qui me
conduira dans la ville forte? Qui est-ce qui me conduira jusquen Edom?_"
(I will rejoice; I will divide Shechem and mete out the valley of
Succoth. Gilead is mine; Ma-nasseh is mine.... Moab is my washpot; over
Edom will I cast out my shoe.... Who will bring me into the strong city?
Who will lead me into Edom?)

Carron propounded the closing inquiry with great unction; his manner
expressed entire confidence that some one would be found to lead him
into the strong city, to lead him into Edom.

I had lost something of my interest in Carron since I had heard the
story of his Parisian exploits; but I could not help being amused at his
manner. It portended something. He made no disclosure, however. Whatever
he had to tell, he went away without telling it, contenting himself
for the present with intimating by his triumphal manner that great good
fortune was in the air.

On Saturday afternoon, as I was about closing my desk,--a little earlier
than usual, for it was a most tempting late September day, and the waves
of the harbor, which I could just see from my office window, called
loudly to me,--Sorel appeared. I held out my hand, but he affected not
to see it, and he sat down without a word. He was plainly disturbed and
somewhat excited.

Of course I knew that it was his old friend's misfortune which weighed
upon him; he was proud and fond of Fidele.

I seated myself, and waited for him to speak. In a moment he began, with
a low, hard laugh: "_Semble que notre bon F