Peter brought pen, ink, and paper, and Monsieur Dalize wrote his telegram. He gave it to the man, and, feeling through his pockets, pulled out a louis.
"Here, my good fellow," said he: "that will pay for the telegram and will pay you for your trouble."
The man looked at the coin in the hollow of his hand in an embarrassed way, fearing that he had not exactly understood.
"Come, now,—run," said Monsieur Dalize; "good news such as you have brought me cannot be paid for too dearly; only hurry."
"Ah, yes, sir, I will hurry," said the man; "and thank you very much, thank you very much."
And, in leaving, he said to himself, as he squeezed the money in his hand,—
"I should be very glad to carry to him every day good news at such a price as that."
When he was alone, Monsieur Dalize reread the welcome despatch. Then he turned around, and looked towards a window on the second floor of the château, whose blinds were not yet opened. From this window his looks travelled back to the telegram, which seemed to rejoice his heart and to give him cause for thought. He was disturbed in his reverie by the noise of two blinds opening against the wall. He rose hastily, and could not withhold the exclamation,—
"At last!"
"Oh, my friend," said the voice of a lady, in good-natured tones. "Are you reproaching me for waking up too late?"