“Is it you, Alexander?”

“Yes, yes,” he replied; “make haste and open the door.”

As soon as she had done so, she threw herself into his arms, exclaiming: 

“Oh, what a fright!  What a surprise!  What a pleasure!”

He began to undress himself methodically, as he did everything, and took from a chair his overcoat, which he was in the habit of hanging up in the hall.  But suddenly he remained motionless, struck dumb with astonishment—­there was a red ribbon in the buttonhole: 

“Why,” he stammered, “this—­this—­this overcoat has got the ribbon in it!”

In a second, his wife threw herself on him, and, taking it from his hands, she said: 

“No! you have made a mistake—­give it to me.”

But he still held it by one of the sleeves, without letting it go, repeating in a half-dazed manner: 

“Oh!  Why?  Just explain—­Whose overcoat is it?  It is not mine, as it has the Legion of Honor on it.”

She tried to take it from him, terrified and hardly able to say: 

“Listen—­listen!  Give it to me!  I must not tell you!  It is a secret.  Listen to me!”

But he grew angry and turned pale.

“I want to know how this overcoat comes to be here?  It does not belong to me.”

Then she almost screamed at him: 

“Yes, it does; listen!  Swear to me—­well—­you are decorated!”

She did not intend to joke at his expense.

He was so overcome that he let the overcoat fall and dropped into an armchair.

“I am—­you say I am—­decorated?”

“Yes, but it is a secret, a great secret.”

She had put the glorious garment into a cupboard, and came to her husband pale and trembling.

“Yes,” she continued, “it is a new overcoat that I have had made for you.  But I swore that I would not tell you anything about it, as it will not be officially announced for a month or six weeks, and you were not to have known till your return from your business journey.  M. Rosselin managed it for you.”

“Rosselin!” he contrived to utter in his joy.  “He has obtained the decoration for me?  He—­Oh!”

And he was obliged to drink a glass of water.

A little piece of white paper fell to the floor out of the pocket of the overcoat.  Caillard picked it up; it was a visiting card, and he read out: 

“Rosselin-Deputy.”

“You see how it is,” said his wife.

He almost cried with joy, and, a week later, it was announced in the Journal Officiel that M. Caillard had been awarded the Legion of Honor on account of his exceptional services.

THE TEST

The Bondels were a happy family, and although they frequently quarrelled about trifles, they soon became friends again.