Now, one morning that our “visionary” had left his house at his habitual hour, and under the usual circumstances, he began at the turning of the Rue Saint-Ferdinand one of his little private romances. As the end of the year was at hand, perhaps it was the hammer-strokes on a wooden hut which was being erected in the neighbouring timber-yard that caused his thoughts to turn to “presents--New Year’s Day.” And immediately the word bounty implanted itself in his mind as the first landmark of a marvelous story. In the month of December all persons in Hemerlingue’s service received double pay, and you know that in small households there are founded on windfalls of this kind a thousand projects, ambitious or kind, presents to be made, a piece of furniture to be replaced, a little sum of money to be saved in a drawer against the unforeseen. In simple fact, M. Joyeuse was not rich. His wife, a Mlle. de Saint-Armand, tormented with ideas of greatness and society, had set this little clerk’s household on a ruinous footing, and though since her death three years had passed during which Bonne Maman had managed the housekeeping with so much wisdom, they had not yet been able to save anything, so heavy had proved the burden of the past. Suddenly it occurred to the good fellow that this year the bounty would be larger by reason of the increase of work which had been caused by the Tunisian loan. The loan constituted a very fine stroke of business for the firm, too fine even, for M. Joyeuse had permitted himself to remark in the office that this time “Hemerlingue & Son had shaved the Turk a little too close.” “Certainly, yes, the bounty will be doubled,” reflected the visionary, as he walked; and already he saw himself, a month thence, mounting with his comrades, for the New Year’s visit, the little staircase that led to Hemerlingue’s apartment. He announced the good news to them; then he detained M. Joyeuse for a few words in private. And, behold, that master habitually so cold in his manner, sheathed in his yellow fat as in a bale of raw silk, became affectionate, paternal, communicative. He desired to know how many daughters Joyeuse had. “I have three; no, I should say, four, M. le Baron. I always confuse them. The eldest is such a sensible girl.” Further he wished to know their ages. “Aline is twenty, M. le Baron. She is the eldest. Then we have Elise, who is preparing for the examination which she must pass when she is eighteen. Henriette, who is fourteen, and Zara or Yaia who is only twelve.” That pet name of Yaia intensely amused M. le Baron, who inquired next what were the resources of this interesting family. “My salary, M. le Baron; nothing else. I had a little money put aside, but my poor wife’s illness, the education of the girls--” “What you are earning is not sufficient, my dear Joyeuse. I raise your salary to a thousand francs a month.” “Oh, M. le Baron, it is too much.”