during those three days would exceed three millions of dollars!  Having now done all I could, and feeling completely worn out, I went home, for the first time since the news, flung myself upon a bed, and slept an unbroken sleep during twenty-four hours.  After that, refreshed and gay, I went once more to the operating-room to see what further reports had arrived since I had received the decisive intelligence.  Decisive, indeed!  Monsieur, when I looked through the glass lids into the boxes, there lay my snails, stiff and dead!  Not only my faithful ones, a, b, c, but likewise the plus ones, d, e, f! Yes, there they lay, plus and minus, each in his compartment, convulsed and distorted, as if their last agonies had been terrible to endure!  Stiff and dead! Mon Dieu, Monsieur! and I had pledged the name and credit of the house of John Meavy and Co. to an extent from which there could be no recovery, if aught untoward had happened! Eh, bien.  Monsieur! Cesar Prevost is fortunate in a very elastic temperament.  Yet I did not dare think of John Meavy.  However, if the thing was done, it was too late for remedy now. Eh, bien! I would wait.  Meantime, I carefully examined to see if any cause was discoverable to have produced these deaths.  None.  ’T was irresistible, then, that the cause was at John’s end.  What?  An accident,—­perhaps, nervous, he had dosed them too heavily; but—­I dared not think about it,—­I would only—­wait!

“Eh, bien, Monsieur! It would be seven days yet before I could get news.  I waited,—­waited calmly and composedly. Mon Dieu! they talk of heroism in leading a forlorn hope,—­Cesar Prevost was a hero for those eight days.  I do not think about them even now.

“On the third day came a steamer with news of uncertain import, but on the whole favorable.  By the same advice a letter reached me from my old comrade, John Meavy:  his affairs were prosperous, he and his wife very happy, and Don Juan more charming than ever.

“Monsieur, the fourth day came,—­the fifth,—­the sixth,—­the seventh,—­finding me still waiting.  No one, to see me, could have guessed I had not slept for a week. Eh, bien! I will not dwell upon it!

“The morning of the eighth day came.  I breakfasted, read my paper, smoked my cigar, and walked leisurely to my counting-room.  I answered the letters.  I sauntered round to bank, paid a note that had fallen due, got a check cashed, and, having counted the money and secured it in my pocket-book, I walked out and stood upon the bank-steps, talking with a business-friend, who inquired after John Meavy.  ’T was a pleasant theme to converse about, this,—­for me!

“A news-boy came running down Wall Street, with papers under his arm.  ‘Here you are!’ he cried.  ’Extray!  Steamer just in!  Latest news from Europe!  All ’bout the new alliance!  Consols firm,—­cotton riz!  Extray, Sir?’