he rang a bell,

"The M'sieur D'ri--bring him here," said he to a servant.

D'ri came soon with a worried look, his trousers caught on his
boot-tops, an old felt hat in his hand. Somehow he and his hat
were as king and coronal in their mutual fitness; if he lost one,
he swapped for another of about the same shade and shape. His
brows were lifted, his eyes wide with watchful timidity. The
count had opened a leather case and taken out of it a shiny disk of
silver. He stepped to D'ri, and fastened it upon his waistcoat.

"'Pour la valeur eprouvee--de l'Empereur,'" said he, reading the
inscription as he clapped him on the shoulder. "It was given to a
soldier for bravery at Austerlitz by the great Napoleon," said he.
"And, God rest him! the soldier he died of his wounds. And to me
he have left the medal in trust for some man, the most brave,
intrepid, honorable. M'sieur D'ri, I have the pleasure to put it
where it belong."

D'ri shifted his weight, looking down at the medal and blushing
like a boy.

"Much obleeged," he said presently. "Dunno but mebbe I better put
it 'n my wallet. 'Fraid I 'll lose it off o' there."

He threw at me a glance of inquiry.

"No," said I, "do not bury your honors in a wallet."