This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By ALPHONSE DAUDET
The great clock of Saint-Gervais struck one in the morning. It was socold that the fine snow, flying through the air, hardened as it fell,covering the pavements with a slippery, white blanket.
Risler, wrapped in his cloak, was hastening home from the brewery throughthe deserted streets of the Marais. He had been celebrating, in companywith his two faithful borrowers, Chebe and Delobelle, his first moment ofleisure, the end of that almost endless period of seclusion during whichhe had been superintending the manufacture of his press, with all thesearchings, the joys, and the disappointments of the inventor. It hadbeen long, very long. At the last moment he had discovered a defect.The crane did not work well; and he had had to revise his plans anddrawings. At last, on that very day, the new machine had been tried.Everything had succeeded to his heart's desire. The worthy man wastriumphant. It seemed to him that he had paid a debt, by giving thehouse of Fromont the benefit of a new machine, which would lessen thelabor, shorten the hours of the workmen, and at the same time doublethe profits and the reputation of the factory. He indulged in beautifuldreams as he plodded along. His footsteps rang out proudly, emphasizedby the resolute and happy trend of his thoughts.
Quickening his pace, he reached the corner of Rue des Vieilles-Haudriettes. A long line of carriages was standing in front of thefactory, and the light of their lanterns in the street, the shadows ofthe drivers seeking shelter from the snow in the corners and angles thatthose old buildings have retained despite the straightening of thesidewalks, gave an animated aspect to that deserted, silent quarter.
"Yes, yes! to be sure," thought the honest fellow, "we have a ball atour house." He remembered that Sidonie was giving a grand musical anddancing party, which she had excused him from attending, by the way,knowing that he was very busy.
Shadows passed and repassed behind the fluttering veil of the curtains;the orchestra seemed to follow the movements of those stealthyapparitions with the rising and falling of its muffled notes. The guestswere dancing. Risler let his eyes rest for a moment on thatphantasmagoria of the ball, and fancied that he recognized Sidonie'sshadow in a small room adjoining the salon.
She was standing erect in her magnificent costume, in the attitude of apretty woman before her mirror. A shorter shadow behind her, MadameDobson doubtless, was repairing some accident to the costume, retieingthe knot of a ribbon tied about her neck, its long ends floating down tothe flounces of the train. It was all very indistinct, but the woman'sgraceful figure was recognizable in those faintly traced outlines, andRisler tarried long admiring her.
The contrast on the first floor was most striking. There was no lightvisible, with the exception of a little lamp shining through the lilachangings of the bedroom. Risler noticed that circumstance, and as thelittle girl had been ailing a few days before, he felt anxious about her,remembering Madame Georges's strange agitation when she passed him sohurriedly in the afternoon; and he retraced his st