He began to undress himself methodically, like he did everything, and from a chair he took his overcoat, which he was in the habit of hanging up in the hall. But, suddenly, he remained motionless, struck dumb with astonishment--there was a red ribbon in the buttonhole! "Why," he stammered, "this--this--this--this overcoat has got the rosette in it!" In a second his wife threw herself on him, and taking it from his hands, she said: "No! you have made a mistake--give it to me." But he still held it by one of the sleeves, without letting it go, repeating, in a half-dazed manner: "Oh! Why? Just explain ... whose overcoat is it? It is not mine, as it has the Legion of Honor on it." She tried to take it from him, terrified, and hardly able to say: "Listen ... listen ... give it me ... I must not tell you ... it is a secret ... listen to me." But he grew angry, and turned pale: "I want to know how this overcoat comes to be here? It does not belong to me." Then she almost screamed at him: "Yes it does; listen ... swear to me ... well ... you are decorated." She did not intend to joke at his expense. He was so overcome that he let the overcoat fall, and dropped into an armchair. "I am ... you say I am ... decorated?" "Yes, but it is a secret, a great secret." She had put the glorious garment into a cupboard, and came to her husband pale and trembling. "Yes," she continued, "it is a new overcoat that I have had made for you. But I swore that I would not tell you anything about it, as it will not be officially announced for a month or six weeks, and you were not to have known till your return from your business journey. M. Rosselin managed it for you." "Rosselin!" he contrived to utter in his joy; "he has obtained the decoration for me? He--Oh!" And he was obliged to drink a glass of water. A little piece of white paper fell to the floor out of the pocket of the overcoat. Caillard picked it up; it was a visiting-card, and he read out: "Rosselin--Deputy." "You see how it is," said his wife. He almost cried with joy, and, a week later, it was announced in the _Journal Officiel_ that M. Caillard had been awarded the Legion of Honor on account of his exceptional services. THE ACCURSED BREAD Daddy Taille had three daughters: Anna, the eldest, who was scarcely ever mentioned in the family; Rose, the second girl, who was eighteen; and Clara, the youngest, who was a girl of fifteen. Old Taille was a widower, and a foreman in M. Lebrument's button-manufactory. He was a very upright man, very well thought of, abstemious; in fact a sort of model workman. He lived at Havre, in the Rue d'Angouleme.