They all began to clap their hands, and it soon became a regular ball, and from time to time Louise and Flora ran upstairs quickly and had a few turns, while their customers downstairs grew impatient, and then they returned regretfully to the tap-room.  At midnight they were still dancing.

Madame Tellier let them amuse themselves while she had long private talks in corners with Monsieur Vasse, as if to settle the last details of something that had already been settled.

At last, at one o’clock, the two married men, Monsieur Tournevau and Monsieur Pinipesse, declared that they were going home, and wanted to pay.  Nothing was charged for except the champagne, and that cost only six francs a bottle, instead of ten, which was the usual price, and when they expressed their surprise at such generosity, Madame Tellier, who was beaming, said to them: 

“We don’t have a holiday every day.”

DENIS

   To Leon Chapron.

Marambot opened the letter which his servant Denis gave him and smiled.

For twenty years Denis has been a servant in this house.  He was a short, stout, jovial man, who was known throughout the countryside as a model servant.  He asked: 

“Is monsieur pleased?  Has monsieur received good news?”

M. Marambot was not rich.  He was an old village druggist, a bachelor, who lived on an income acquired with difficulty by selling drugs to the farmers.  He answered: 

“Yes, my boy.  Old man Malois is afraid of the law-suit with which I am threatening him.  I shall get my money to-morrow.  Five thousand francs are not liable to harm the account of an old bachelor.”

M. Marambot rubbed his hands with satisfaction.  He was a man of quiet temperament, more sad than gay, incapable of any prolonged effort, careless in business.

He could undoubtedly have amassed a greater income had he taken advantage of the deaths of colleagues established in more important centers, by taking their places and carrying on their business.  But the trouble of moving and the thought of all the preparations had always stopped him.  After thinking the matter over for a few days, he would be satisfied to say: 

“Bah!  I’ll wait until the next time.  I’ll not lose anything by the delay.  I may even find something better.”

Denis, on the contrary, was always urging his master to new enterprises.  Of an energetic temperament, he would continually repeat: 

“Oh!  If I had only had the capital to start out with, I could have made a fortune!  One thousand francs would do me.”

M. Marambot would smile without answering and would go out in his little garden, where, his hands behind his back, he would walk about dreaming.

All day long, Denis sang the joyful refrains of the folk-songs of the district.  He even showed an unusual activity, for he cleaned all the windows of the house, energetically rubbing the glass, and singing at the top of his voice.