Although he arrived a whole hour earlier than usual, he could see that Charles had been working long and industriously.  There they sat, each on his side of the desk; they spoke only the most indispensable words; now and then a paper passed from hand to hand, but they never looked each other in the face.

In this way they both worked—­each more busily than the other—­ until twelve o’clock, their usual luncheon-time.

This hour of dejeuner was the favorite time of both.  Their custom was to have it served in their office, and when the old housekeeper announced that lunch was ready, they would both rise at once, even if they were in the midst of a sentence or of an account.

They used to eat standing by the fireplace, or walking up and down in the warm, comfortable office.  Alphonse had always some piquant stories to tell, and Charles laughed at them.  These were his pleasantest hours.

But that day, when madame said her friendly “Messieurs, on a servi” they both remained sitting.  She opened her eyes wide, and repeated the words as she went out, but neither moved.

At last Alphonse felt hungry, went to the table, poured out a glass of wine and began to eat his cutlet.  But as he stood there eating, with his glass in his hand, and looked round the dear old office where they had spent so many pleasant hours, and then thought that they were to lose all this and imbitter their lives for a whim, a sudden burst of passion, the whole situation appeared to him so preposterous that he almost burst out laughing.

“Look here, Charles,” he said, in the half-earnest, half-joking tone which always used to make Charles laugh, “it will really be too absurd to advertise:  ’According to an amicable agreement, from such and such a date the firm of—­’”

“I have been thinking,” interrupted Charles, quietly, “that we will put:  ‘According to mutual agreement.’”

Alphonse laughed no more; he put down his glass, and the cutlet tasted bitter in his mouth.

He understood that friendship was dead between them, why or wherefore he could not tell; but he thought that Charles was hard and unjust to him.  He was now stiffer and colder than the other.

They worked together until the business of dissolution was finished; then they parted.

A considerable time passed, and the two quondam friends worked each in his own quarter in the great Paris.  They met at the Bourse, but never did business with each other.  Charles never worked against Alphonse; he did not wish to ruin him; he wished Alphonse to ruin himself.

And Alphonse seemed likely enough to meet his friend’s wishes in this respect.  It is true that now and then he did a good stroke of business, but the steady industry he had learned from Charles he soon forgot.  He began to neglect his office, and lost many good connections.

He had always had a taste for dainty and luxurious living, but his association with the frugal Charles had hitherto held his extravagances in check.  Now, on the contrary, his life became more and more dissipated.  He made fresh acquaintances on every hand, and was more than ever the brilliant and popular Monsieur Alphonse; but Charles kept an eye on his growing debts.