TO COME TO THE POINT It was equally a part of Honore Grandissime's nature and of his art as a merchant to wear a look of serene leisure.

With this look on his face he reentered his counting-room after his morning visit to Frowenfeld's shop.

He paused a moment outside the rail, gave the weak-eyed gentleman who presided there a quiet glance equivalent to a beckon, and, as that person came near, communicated two or three items of intelligence or instruction concerning office details, by which that invaluable diviner of business meanings understood that he wished to be let alone for an hour.

Then M.Grandissime passed on into his private office, and, shutting the door behind him, walked briskly to his desk and sat down.
He dropped his elbows upon a broad paper containing some recently written, unfinished memoranda that included figures in column, cast his eyes quite around the apartment, and then covered his face with his palms--a gesture common enough for a tired man of business in a moment of seclusion; but just as the face disappeared in the hands, the look of serene leisure gave place to one of great mental distress.

The paper under his elbows, to the consideration of which he seemed about to return, was in the handwriting of his manager, with additions by his own pen.