ving so many others in distress." Nevertheless,
painful though his scruples were, he strove to think and come to some
decision. "I know the case which will suit you," he said at last. "It's
certainly one of the greatest suffering and wretchedness; and, so humble
a one, too--an old carpenter of seventy-five, who has been living on
public charity during the eight or ten years that he has been unable to
find work. I don't know his name, everybody calls him 'the big Old'un.'
There are times when he does not come to my Saturday distributions for
weeks together. We shall have to look for him at once. I think that he
sleeps at the Night Refuge in the Rue d'Orsel when lack of room there
doesn't force him to spend the night crouching behind some palings. Shall
we go down the Rue d'Orsel this evening?"

Abbe Rose's eyes beamed brightly as he spoke, for this proposal of his
signified a great debauch, the tasting of forbidden fruit. He had been
reproached so often and so roughly with his visits to those who had
fallen to the deepest want and misery, that in spite of his overflowing,
apostolic compassion, he now scarcely dared to go near them. However, he
continued: "Is it agreed, my child? Only this once? Besides, it is our
only means of finding the big Old'un. You won't have to stop with me
later than eleven. And I should so like to show you all that! You will
see what terrible sufferings there are! And perhaps we may be fortunate
enough to relieve some poor creature or other."

Pierre smiled at the juvenile ardour displayed by this old man with snowy
hair. "It's agreed, my dear Abbe," he responded, "I shall be very pleased
to spend my whole evening with you, for I feel it will do me good to
follow you once more on one of those rambles which used to fill our
hearts with grief and joy."

At this moment the servant brought in the soup; however, just as the two
priests were taking their seats a discreet ring was heard, and when Abbe
Rose learnt that the visitor was a neighbour, Madame Mathis, who had come
for an answer, he gave orders that she should be shown in.

"This poor woman," he explained to Pierre, "needed an advance of ten
francs to get a mattress out of pawn; and I didn't have the money by me
at the time. But I've since procured it. She lives in the house, you
know, in silent poverty, on so small an income that it hardly keeps her
in bread."

"But hasn't she a big son of twenty?" asked Pierre, suddenly remembering
the