"I will remember, monsieur."

"All this must seem very strange to you; but pray believe that it is for your own welfare that I advise you to act thus."

"Oh! you tell me to do it, monsieur, and that is enough for me; have I not placed all my confidence in you?"

"I will reward you for it, my child. Au revoir."

"Are you going, monsieur? have you no orders for me? don't you want me to carry a bouquet to Madame de Grangeville to-day?"

"No, no; it is better that you should make haste to sell your flowers and return to do what you can for Monsieur de Roncherolle. Madame de Grangeville can do without flowers, but the man who is suffering cannot do without help."

The count left the young flower girl and returned home deep in thought, saying to himself:

"I see the finger of Providence in all this. Now this girl pa.s.ses a part of each day with her father--and her mother, and she does not know them!

Ought I to make them known to her? Are they worthy of her affection, of her love?--Guide me, oh G.o.d, and show me where my duty lies."

XLI

A NEW WAY OF OBTAINING REVENGE

The weather was cold and dull, and a fall of snow ending in rain added to the discomfort of a penetrating dampness. But the fireplace of the small room in which Roncherolle lay contained only two small sticks, which had been laid near together, but which imparted no heat to the room.

Roncherolle was suffering horribly with his gout, and as he was alone, he did not hesitate to complain in very energetic fashion; despite his resolutions to be philosophical, pain sometimes won the victory over his courage; but when Violette was with him he did his utmost to conceal his suffering.

The young girl came in; she held in one hand a tea-pot, in the other a cup and a sugar-bowl full of sugar; she approached the invalid and placed all those objects on the table beside his bed.

"Here I am, monsieur; I'm a little late this morning, perhaps, but I wanted to make this tea that was ordered for you, before I came down; I have brought it with me; it's scalding hot, and you must drink it."

Roncherolle dissembled his agony and tried to smile at Violette, as he said to her:

"How good you are, my child! how kind to a person whom you hardly know, and who has no claim upon your interest!"

"No claim! well, upon my word! when I was sick, didn't you come to see me? And you didn't know me at all! I should be very ungrateful if I did not do for you what you did for me."

"But such a difference; in the first place, you were hardly sick at all; and then it is always a pleasure to make oneself useful to a young lady; whereas a sick old man is not an agreeable object."

"Oh, yes! you are very agreeable, when you are not in too much pain; you always have stories and adventures to tell us.--But how are you feeling this morning?"

"Still about the same; a little better, perhaps."

"No, I see by your face that you suffered terribly during the night, that you are suffering still!"

"No; when you are here, I suffer less."

"Very well; then you should let me pa.s.s the night with you, as I wanted to."

"G.o.d forbid that you should go without sleep on my account, and be sick again perhaps. I won't have it; and besides, my dear neighbor, there's nothing to be done for the disease that I have--one simply must know how to suffer."

"I don't believe that myself; there must be remedies for everything.

Drink this now. Here, sweeten it to suit yourself."

"This is strange; this sugar-bowl is full, and yet I remember that there were only a few pieces in it yesterday."

Violette turned her face away as she replied:

"Oh! you were--you had some more--in a paper, and I put it with the other."

Roncherolle looked at the girl, but she was busily engaged in putting the room in order.--Chicotin arrived at that moment, with a red nose, and beating his hands together.

"Good-morning, bourgeois and the company," he cried. "How does it go this morning, bourgeois?"

"Not very well, my boy."

"Mere Lamort told me to tell you that she couldn't come up this morning; Mirontaine has swallowed a bone that stuck in his throat, so that he ain't able to bark and watch the door."

"Oh! bless my soul! we don't need the concierge," said Violette; "am I not here?"

"But you have your business that demands your attention, my child," said Roncherolle, "and I don't propose that you shall neglect your business for me; in fact, it's already late, I think, and you should be at your stand."

"No, monsieur, it isn't late; and anyway this isn't a market day, and in such weather as this, I am in no hurry; I shouldn't sell anything, for there won't be anyone out of doors."

"It's beastly weather, that's true enough!" cried Chicotin; "and cold!

why, my nose and fingers are frozen stiff. But it ain't very warm in your room either, bourgeois; _bigre!_ it's just the same as being on the boulevard."

"Well, stir up the fire, put on some wood."

"I ask nothing better."

Chicotin looked in all directions, then went into the outer room, and returned in a moment, saying:

"There's one little difficulty, bourgeois, and that is that I don't find any wood; the wood pile seems to have gone up in smoke."

"Already! the devil! the wood seems to go faster than the sugar!"

"Oh! that's easy to understand--it's dearer, because--look you, bourgeois, here's a comparison: for fifteen sous, you get three or four sticks of wood; they're bigger than a pound of sugar, to be sure, but they're very soon burned up; in one day they're all gone; whereas, with a pound of sugar, you've got something to lap and sip for a long while!"

"I'll do without fire," said Roncherolle. "Lying in bed, I don't need it, and my little neighbor is going away."

"What a bungling fellow you are, Chicotin!" said Violette to the young messenger, in an undertone; "you shouldn't have said anything, but when you saw that there wasn't any wood in the other room, you should have gone up to my room; you would have found some there. You know that Monsieur de Roncherolle isn't willing that anybody should lend him anything, so we must help him without letting him suspect it; and I don't propose that he shall stay without a fire."

"That is true, I am an idiot!" muttered Chicotin, shaking his head; "but bless my soul! I couldn't guess all that. Never mind, don't worry, I'll fix it all right; I'll find some way to make a fire."

"Monsieur," said the girl, returning to the invalid, "if I remember right, the doctor who came to see you yesterday prescribed medicine for your gout."