But her wish was ungratified; Claire Fromont noticed nothing and lived, as did Risler, in imperturbable serenity.
Only Sigismond, the old cashier, was really ill at ease.

And yet he was not thinking of Sidonie when, with his pen behind his ear, he paused a moment in his work and gazed fixedly through his grating at the drenched soil of the little garden.

He was thinking solely of his master, of Monsieur "Chorche," who was drawing a great deal of money now for his current expenses and sowing confusion in all his books.

Every time it was some new excuse.

He would come to the little wicket with an unconcerned air: "Have you a little money, my good Planus?
I was worsted again at bouillotte last night, and I don't want to send to the bank for such a trifle." Sigismond Planus would open his cash-box, with an air of regret, to get the sum requested, and he would remember with terror a certain day when Monsieur Georges, then only twenty years old, had confessed to his uncle that he owed several thousand francs in gambling debts.