me, while I, alas! can merely thank you for all your
goodness?"

"That is a little mistake of yours, my fussy friend, because the little
services in my power to render you afford me quite as much pleasure as
they do you; so that, you see, I am as much bound to say 'Thank you for
all favours,' as you are. So, you see, I am not to be cheated that way.
And now I think of it, the best way to punish you for such very improper
ideas will be not to give you what I have brought for you."

"What! Another proof of your thoughtful care of me? Oh, you spoil
me--you do, indeed! I shall be fit for nothing but to be somebody's pet
when (if ever, alas!) I get out of prison. A thousand thanks! Nay, you
must pardon my using that word, although it does displease you. But,
indeed, you leave me nothing else to say."

"Ah, but don't be in such a hurry to thank me, before you even know what
I have brought!"

"Why, what do I care what it is?"

"Well, I'm sure that's very civil, M. Germain!"

"Nay, I only meant to say that, be it what it may, it must needs be dear
and precious to me, since it comes from you. Oh, Mlle. Rigolette, your
unwearied kindness, your touching sympathy, fills me with the deepest
gratitude, and--and--" But finding it impossible to conclude the
sentence, Germain cast down his eyes and remained silent.

"Well," said Rigolette, "and what else?"

"And--devotion!" stammered out Germain.

"Why could you not have said 'respect,' as people write at the end of a
letter?" asked Rigolette, impatiently. "Ah, but I know very well that
was not what you were going to say, else why did you stop all of a
sudden?"

"I assure you--"

"There, don't endeavour to assure me of anything; I can see you are
blushing through this grating. Now why can't you speak out, and tell me
every thought and wish of your heart? Am I not your true and faithful
friend as well as old companion?" continued the grisette, timidly, for
she but waited the confession of Germain's love for her to tell him
frankly and sincerely how truly she returned his affection with a
passion as true and as generous as his own.

"I assure you Mlle. Rigolette," said the poor prisoner with a sigh,
"that I had nothing else to say, and that I am concealing nothing
whatever from you."

"For shame for shame," cried Rigolette, stamping her foot; "don't tell
such stories. Now, look here," continued she, drawing a large, white,
woollen neck wrapper from her basket; "do you see