"Heavens!" exclaimed Monsieur Bernard, in such agitation that he all but
cut himself. "From the Minister of War! I am sure it is my nomination as
Knight of the Legion of Honour, which I have long solicited. At last
they have done justice to my good conduct. Here, Durand," said he,
fumbling in his waistcoat-pocket, "here are five francs to drink to my
health. Stay! I haven't my purse about me. Wait, and I will give you the
money in a moment."

The porter was so overcome by this stunning fit of generosity, which was
not at all in accordance with his landlord's ordinary habits, that he
absolutely put on his cap again.

But Monsieur Bernard, who at any other time would have severely
reprimanded this infraction of the laws of social hierarchy, appeared
not to notice it. He put on his spectacles, broke the seal of the
envelope with the respectful anxiety of a vizier receiving a sultan's
firman, and began to read the dispatch. At the first line a frightful
grimace ploughed his fat, monk-like cheeks with crimson furrows, and his
little eyes flashed sparks that seemed ready to set fire to his bushy
wig. In fact, all his features were so turned upside-down that you would
have said his countenance had just suffered a shock of face-quake.

For these were the contents of the letter bearing the ministerial stamp,
brought by a dragoon--orderly, and for which Durand had given the
government a receipt:

"Friend landlord: Politeness-who, according to ancient mythology,
is the grandmother of good manners--compels me to inform you that I
am under the cruel necessity of not conforming to the prevalent
custom of paying rent--prevalent especially when the rent is due. Up