Bressant

Before opening the envelope, he stood up at his full height, and filled

his lungs with a long, profound breath; then emitted it suddenly in a

sort of deep, short growl, and took his seat at the table. He tore open

the end of the envelope, pulled out the inclosure, which was an ordinary

printed telegraph-blank, filled in with three lines of writing, as

follows: "Been very ill come on at once at once must hear all no

alternative" in the scrawly and unpunctuated chirography peculiar to

written telegrams. The name signed was "M. Vauderp." Bressant read the

message, and afterward carefully perused the printing, even down to the

name of the printer's firm, which was given in very small type at the

bottom of the paper. Then he glanced over the writing once more, and

returned the paper to the envelope.

"At once, at once!" muttered he; "that's the only way of writing italics

in telegraphy, I suppose. Well, I'll go at once; it's ten now; there's a

train at half-past."

He unlocked a drawer in his table, and took from it a purse, which he

put in his pocket. He buttoned a pea-jacket across his broad chest,

pressed a round fur-cap on to his handsome head, took a pair of thick

gloves from the mantel-piece, and walked away without giving one

backward glance.

The snow blew and drifted through the open window into the empty room;

the few remaining flowers were hustled from their stalks; the red eye of

the stove grew dimmer and dimmer, and finally faded into darkness, and

the colored drawing of the patent derrick broke loose at another corner,

and flapped and fluttered against the wall in crazy exultation.