"Guess." "I will make no such effort."
"Well, the day after to-morrow is the first of January."
"Yes."
"The time for New Year's gifts."
"Yes."
"Here's one for you that Laroche-Mathieu gave me just now."
She gave him a little black box resembling a jewel-case. He opened it
indifferently, and saw the cross of the Legion of Honor. He grew
somewhat pale, then smiled, and said: "I should have preferred ten
millions. That did not cost him much."
She had expected an outburst of joy, and was irritated at this coolness.
"You are really incredible. Nothing satisfies you now," said she.
He replied, tranquilly: "That man is only paying his debt, and he still
owes me a great deal."
She was astonished at his tone, and resumed: "It is though, a big thing
at your age."
He remarked: "All things are relative. I could have something bigger
now."
He had taken the case, and placing it on the mantel-shelf, looked for
some moments at the glittering star it contained. Then he closed it and
went to bed, shrugging his shoulders.
The _Journal Officiel_ of the first of January announced the nomination
of Monsieur Prosper George Du Roy, journalist, to the dignity of
chevalier of the Legion of Honor, for special services. The name was
written in two words, which gave George more pleasure than the
derivation itself.
An hour after having read this piece of news he received a note from
Madame Walter begging him to come and dine with her that evening with
his wife, to celebrate his new honors. He hesitated for a few moments,
and then throwing this note, written in ambiguous terms, into the fire,
said to Madeleine:
"We are going to dinner at the Walter's this evening."
She was astonished. "Why, I thought you never wanted to set foot in the
house again."