the deuce!"

And Auguste finally left the window in a pet, exclaiming:

"I don't need to see any more; these young women who invite their best friends to supper ought to have their curtains so arranged as to reach to the top of the window."

Auguste walked about his apartment for a moment or two, but he soon made the circuit of it. Bertrand was in bed and asleep. As he scrutinized his new abode, Auguste noticed the absence of several articles of furniture to which he had become accustomed, but which had not been taken up to the fifth floor, where they had retained only what was absolutely necessary. Dalville realized that that sacrifice was indispensable; but his brow darkened, he threw himself into a chair, and unpleasant thoughts a.s.sailed him. It was very late, when, in an effort to dispel those thoughts, he returned to his window. There was no longer a light in the young lace-maker's window, and Auguste was not sorry, for he had seen enough in that direction. He looked toward the window where he had seen an attractive blonde; and there, although he could see a glimmer of light, a dilapidated curtain, torn in several places, prevented him from looking into the room.

After looking about at the other houses nearby, thinking of _Le Diable Boiteux_, of which that picture reminded him, Auguste, having no Asmodeus to a.s.sist him to see what was taking place under the roofs, was about to leave his window. Twelve o'clock had struck long before, the most profound silence reigned in the street; the place that is resplendent with light and movement at nine o'clock is often dark and gloomy a few hours later.

But, as he cast a last glance at the house opposite, Auguste saw the window opened, of which the torn curtain had prevented a view of the interior. A not unnatural curiosity led the young man to continue to look; and, his light having gone out, he did not turn to relight it, although it did not occur to him that he was able thus to see without being seen.

The room, which he could now see quite plainly, presented a melancholy appearance: bare walls, a wretched sack of straw in one corner, a table, and a chair or two--nothing else was to be seen in that poor abode, where want and misfortune seemed to dwell. The room was dimly lighted by a flickering lamp.

An elderly man was alone in the room; his dress, although shabby, was not that of a workman; his hair was white and his face looked worn and haggard; everything about his person and in his manner denoted an ominous and desperate agitation.

Auguste's heart swelled with pity as he gazed at that old man; curiosity gave place at once to profound interest, and it was a secret apprehension that led him to follow his every movement.

After opening the window, the old man went to the back of the room, walking with care and apparently listening. He opened softly the door of a small dressing-room, in which Auguste caught sight of a bed. Doubtless the bed had an occupant, for the old man stopped, and stood for some moments gazing at the person who was sleeping there; then he wiped away with his hand the tears that flowed from his eyes.

After a few moments he stepped forward, taking care to make no noise, and imprinted a kiss on the brow of the person in the bed; he seemed unable to tear himself away and to give over his silent contemplation.

He fell on his knees and raised his hands as if praying to G.o.d for the person from whom it was so hard for him to part. Then he rose and sank into a chair, as if overwhelmed by grief. At that moment Auguste could distinguish nothing clearly; his eyes were filled with tears, which rolled unnoticed down his cheeks.

But suddenly the old man, as if he had ceased to listen to aught save his despair, sprang to his feet and ran to the window, cast a last glance about him, and climbed out. His foot was already on the edge when a cry of horror arose.--"Stop! stop!" Those were the only words that Auguste was able to articulate. His own body was half out of the window; he wished to save the unfortunate man, but was afraid to leave his post lest he should accomplish his deadly purpose before he could go downstairs and up again.

Auguste's cry startled the poor fellow; he stopped and turned his head toward the little room, thinking that the tones that had gone to his heart had come from there. His strength abandoned him, the gloomy frenzy which impelled him gave place to weakness, to the prostration which always succeeds paroxysms of nervous excitement. He sank into a chair, a woman's name issued from his mouth, and his tears flowed afresh.

"I can go down," thought Auguste; "I have time enough now to go to him."

Running hurriedly to his desk, Auguste seized his wallet, then rushed downstairs four at a time. He woke Schtrack, who opened the door for him; then ran across the street and knocked at the door of the old man's house. The shower of blows led the concierge to think that the house was on fire, and that some obliging pa.s.ser-by had stopped to inform him. He rose hastily, ran to the door in his shirt, and exclaimed, still half asleep:

"Which chimney? Where's it coming out? Has it got much headway?--Wife!

wife!--Where's the firemen?"

"Don't get excited; there's nothing wrong," said Auguste; "but I absolutely must speak to the old man who lives on the fifth floor.

Here."

And Auguste put a hundred-sou piece in the concierge's hand and hurried upstairs, leaving that worthy rubbing his eyes, as he stared at the coin in his hand, and finally went out into the street to make sure that there was no smoke to be seen anywhere.

When Auguste reached the top floor, the lamplight shining under the ill-fitting door guided his steps.

"Who's there?" asked the old man, surprised that anyone should call at his room so late.

"Open, in heaven's name!" Auguste replied; "it's a friend, it is one who wishes to dry your tears."

The word "friend" seemed to confound the unfortunate man. However, he made up his mind at last to open the door, and gazed in surprise at the young man, whose features were entirely unknown to him, and who came at one o'clock in the morning to offer his services. But Auguste's face was gentle and kindly, and his eyes expressed the tenderest interest in the old man, who allowed him to enter his bare room.

"What do you want, monsieur?" he asked in a faltering tone.

"To comfort you--to save you from despair."

"But, monsieur, who told you----"

"I saw you just now. You were on the point of carrying out a ghastly plan."

"Ah! so it was your voice, monsieur!--Poor Anna! I thought it was yours!--But she was asleep; she is sleeping still. Oh! monsieur, I implore you, never let her know. And yet what am I to do here on earth, penniless, without food? She is killing herself to support me! She deprives herself of everything for my sake!"

The unhappy wretch, abandoning himself to his grief, did not notice that he was raising his voice.

"Hush!" said Auguste; "you'll wake her. Let us not talk so loud. Tell me your troubles; I tell you again, I propose to put an end to them."

Auguste's tone and his pleasant voice inspired confidence in the unhappy father; he sat down beside the young man, as far as possible from the small dressing-room, and began his story in an undertone.

"I was not born in poverty, monsieur, and perhaps that is my misfortune.

My family was highly considered; my name----"

"I do not ask it, monsieur; I do not need to know your name, to make me wish to be of use to you; I wish to know your misfortunes only."

The old man's amazement redoubled. With another glance at Auguste, he began once more:

"I received a superficial education; but I was to have twenty thousand francs a year, and I was a.s.sured that I knew quite enough. I was left my own master altogether too early in life. I was pa.s.sionately fond of pleasure; I was especially addicted to that charming s.e.x which--of which I must say no evil, since it is my Anna's. But I abandoned myself blindly to my pa.s.sions, and I squandered my fortune with mistresses who deceived me, and with false friends who helped me ruin myself."

Here Auguste could not restrain a sigh, but he motioned to the old man to go on.

"Sometimes I determined to reform, but I was never able to listen to the counsel of reason. When I was thirty-nine, I had spent all my properly and I was entirely unused to work.

"Thereupon a generous woman, who loved me for myself alone, determined to throw in her lot with mine. She possessed a competence; she married me and gave me my Anna. I might have been happy, but I had become so accustomed to fashionable life that I had a craving for spending money.

I longed to supply my wife with the beautiful things that I saw on other women; it angered me to see women who were not her equals wearing cashmere shawls. In vain did she tell me that my love alone was enough for her. I persuaded myself that she was concealing her wishes from me, and that she suffered all sorts of privations. Endeavoring to add to our means, I did the wildest things: I gambled, I mortgaged our property, and I reduced to want the woman who had entrusted her destiny to me.

Thereupon, realizing the error of my ways, I tried to find employment, but I was no longer young, and I could not succeed in obtaining it.

Regret tore my heart, and blanched my hair prematurely; I look to you like a very old man, and I am not yet sixty. My wife did not reproach me; she died commending our daughter, then eight years old, to my care.

I tried to utilize what little talent I had, but it was very little, and as I grew older I rarely found anything to do. Meanwhile my Anna was growing, and she began very early to work to support her unhappy father.

If you knew, monsieur, all that I owe her! How many nights she has worked, in order to add to her earnings! Never any rest, never any pleasure for her; and yet, not a word of complaint; it is she who comforts me when she sees that I am more than ordinarily depressed, when I reproach myself for my misconduct. Oh! I do not try to conceal my wrong-doing, monsieur. It was my folly alone that led me to lose my own fortune and squander that of my wife. My daughter might be happy, and yet for ten years past, only toil and tears have been her lot! And I alone am the cause! Do you still think that I am deserving of your pity?"

"Yes, monsieur," said Auguste, pressing the stranger's hand. "But what impelled you to such a desperate resolution to-night?"

"Despite my failings, monsieur, I have always been careful of my honor; I have thrown away my fortune, but at least I have no reason to reproach myself for failing to keep my engagements. Two years ago I met a man whom I had known in my prosperous days; he came to me and called me his friend as of old. I told him my troubles; he placed his purse at my disposal and lent me twelve hundred francs. 'You may take your own time about paying me,' he said. Alas! a long illness prevented me from earning anything; however, my creditor made no demand on me, but the excellent man, who is in business now, was unfortunate himself and lost heavily by several failures. Two months ago he came to ask me if I could repay him, but it was impossible. He did not reproach me, and he did not come again; but I learned yesterday that a heartless creditor of his had caused his imprisonment for a bill of one thousand francs. That news made me desperate. If I had paid my debt, that honest man would still be at liberty! Alas! I have brought misfortune upon everybody who has taken an interest in me! My Anna deprives herself of everything for her father's sake.--Ah! monsieur, ought I still to cling to an existence which is a weary burden to me?"

Auguste took out his wallet and took from it three one thousand-franc notes, which he placed in the old man's hand, saying:

"Pay the twelve hundred francs that you owe, and with what is left buy a small shop for your daughter. I am sure that happier days are in store for you."

The old man could not determine whether he was the dupe of a dream. What had happened to him seemed so extraordinary, that he dared not give way to his delight. He looked first at Dalville, then at the bank-notes which he had put in his hand, and could only falter:

"Great G.o.d! is it possible? Such unforeseen good-fortune! Excellent young man!--Pardon me, monsieur! Why, you are an angel sent to us from heaven!"

"No, I am no angel," said Auguste, with a smile; "on the contrary, I have all the failings of mortals; but I am happy to be able to a.s.sist two unfortunate fellow-creatures so easily."

"But, monsieur, this is a considerable sum----"

"It is not enough to pay for the lesson you have given me."