Marambot opened the letter which his servant Denis gave him and smiled.
For twenty years Denis has been a servant in this house. He was a short, stout, jovial
man, who was known throughout the countryside as a model servant. He asked:
"Is monsieur pleased? Has monsieur received good news?"
M. Marambot was not rich. He was an old village druggist, a bachelor, who lived on an
income acquired with difficulty by selling drugs to the farmers. He answered:
"Yes, my boy. Old man Malois is afraid of the law-suit with which I am threatening him.
I shall get my money to-morrow. Five thousand francs are not liable to harm the account
of an old bachelor."
M. Marambot rubbed his hands with satisfaction. He was a man of quiet temperament,
more sad than gay, incapable of any prolonged effort, careless in business.
He could undoubtedly have amassed a greater income had he taken advantage of the
deaths of colleagues established in more important centers, by taking their places and
carrying on their business. But the trouble of moving and the thought of all the
preparations had always stopped him. After thinking the matter over for a few days, he
would be satisfied to say:
"Bah! I'll wait until the next time. I'll not lose anything by the delay. I may even find
something better."
Denis, on the contrary, was always urging his master to new enterprises. Of an energetic
temperament, he would continually repeat:
"Oh! If I had only had the capital to start out with, I could have made a fortune! One
thousand francs would do me."
M. Marambot would smile without answering and would go out in his little garden,
where, his hands behind his back, he would walk about dreaming.
All day long, Denis sang the joyful refrains of the folk-songs of the district. He even
showed an unusual activity, for he cleaned all the windows of the house, energetically
rubbing the glass, and singing at the top of his voice.
M. Marambot, surprised at his zeal, said to him several times, smiling:
