things fall out,
sometimes! Who could have told me, when I heard you knock at my
door--which, I must say, vexed me a great deal--that it was a pretty
little neighbor of mine, who under the pretext of playing off a joke,
was to put me in the way of doing a good action? Go and comfort your
friend; this evening she will receive some assistance; and let us have
hope and confidence. Thanks be, there are still some good people in the
world!"

"Oh, sir! you prove it yourself."

"Not at all! The happiness of the old is to see the young happy."

This was said by Rodin with so much apparent kindness, that Rose-Pompon
felt the tears well up to her eyes, and answered with much emotion:
"Sir, Cephyse and me are only poor girls; there are many more virtuous
in the world; but I venture to say, we have good hearts. Now, if ever
you should be ill, only send for us; there are no Sisters of Charity
that will take better care of you. It is all that we can offer you,
without reckoning Philemon, who shall go through fire and water for
you, I give you my word for it--and Cephyse, I am sure, will answer for
Jacques also, that he will be yours in life and death."

"You see, my dear child, that I was right in saying--a fitful head and a
good heart. Adieu, till we meet again."

Thereupon Rodin, taking up the basket, which he had placed on the ground
by the side of his umbrella, prepared to descend the stairs.

"First of all, you must give me this basket; it will be in your way
going down," said Rose-Pompon, taking the basket from the hands of
Rodin, notwithstanding his resistance. Then she added: "Lean upon my
arm. The stairs are so dark. You might slip."

"I will accept your offer, my dear child, for I am not very courageous."
Leaning paternally on the right arm of Rose-Pompon, who held the
basket in her left hand, Rodin descended the stairs, and crossed the
court-yard.

"Up there, on the third story, do you see that big face close to the
window-frame?" said Rose-Pompon suddenly to Rodin, stopping in the
centre of the little court. "That is my Ninny Moulin. Do you know him?
Is he the same as yours?"

"The same as mine," said Rodin, raising his head, and waving his hand
very affectionately to Jacques Dumoulin, who, stupefied thereat, retired
abruptly from the window.

"The poor fellow! I am sure he is afraid of me since his foolish joke,"
said Rodin, smiling. "He is very wrong."

And he accompanied these last words with a sinister