"He won't be much longer," answered the porter, "but there is no harm
done yet, since your furniture has not come," added he, with a stress on
the concluding words.

As the young man was about to reply, a dragoon entered the court.

"Is this Monsieur Bernard's?" he asked, drawing a letter from a huge
leather portfolio which swung at his side.

"He lives here," replied the porter.

"Here is a letter for him," said the dragoon; "give me a receipt," and
he handed to the porter a bulletin of despatches which the latter
entered his lodge to sign.

"Excuse me for leaving you alone," said he to the young man who was
stalking impatiently about the court, "but this is a letter from the
Minister to my landlord, and I am going to take it up to him."

Monsieur Bernard was just beginning to shave when the porter knocked at
his door.

"What do you want, Durand?"

"Sir," replied the other, lifting his cap, "a soldier has just brought
this for you. It comes from the Ministry." And he handed to Monsieur
Bernard the letter, the envelope of which bore the stamp of the War
Department.