colleagues walk over him and win, after only a few months' work, a
promotion that his long years of service had not gained for him. In
these cases he had not failed to accuse his superiors of injustice, and
his fortunate rivals of gross flattery. In his opinion, seniority was
the only claim to advancement--the only, the best, the most respectable
claim; and he was wont to sum up all his opinions, all his grief and
bitterness of mind in one phrase: "It is infamous to pass over an old
member of the service."

To-night, however, Father Absinthe discovered that there is something
else in the world besides seniority, and sufficient reasons for what
he had formerly regarded as favoritism. He secretly confessed that this
newcomer whom he had treated so carelessly had just followed up a clue
as he, veteran though he was, would never have succeeded in doing.

But communing with himself was not this good man's forte; he soon grew
weary of reflection; and on reaching a place where they were obliged to
proceed more slowly on account of the badness of the road, he deemed
it a favorable opportunity to resume the conversation. "You are silent,
comrade," he ventured to remark, "and one might swear that you were not
exactly pleased."

This surprising result of the old man's reflections would have amazed
Lecoq, if his mind had not been a hundred leagues away. "No, I am not
pleased," he responded.

"And why, pray? Only ten minutes ago you were as gay as a lark."

"Then I did not see the misfortune that threatens us."