Charles was used to seeing his friend preferred in life; but there
are certain things to which men can scarcely accustom themselves.
He seldom went with Alphonse to his suppers, and it was always
long before the wine and the general exhilaration could bring him
into a convivial humor.
But then, when the champagne and the bright eyes had gone to his
head, he would often be the wildest of all; he would sing loudly
with his harsh voice, laugh and gesticulate so that his stiff
black hair fell over his forehead; and then the merry ladies
shrank from him, and called him the "chimney-sweep."
--As the sentry paces up and down in the beleaguered fortress, he
sometimes hears a strange sound in the silent night, as if
something were rustling under his feet. It is the enemy, who has
undermined the outworks, and to-night or to-morrow night there
will be a hollow explosion, and armed men will storm in through
the breach.
If Charles had kept close watch over himself he would have heard
strange thoughts rustling within him. But he would not hear--he
had only a dim foreboding that sometime there must come an
explosion.
--And one day it came.
It was already after business hours; the clerks had all left the
outer office, and only the principals remained behind.
Charles was busily writing a letter which he wished to
finish before he left.
Alphonse had drawn on both his gloves and buttoned them. Then he
had brushed his hat until it shone, and now he was walking up and
down and peeping into Charles's letter every time he passed the
desk.
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