ne, joining in the
conversation, "the road gets on but very slowly."

"Which only goes to prove, my good girl, that in this part of the
country there is happily no scarcity of employment for the honest and
industrious labourer."

"But now, as in the case of a poor, helpless, afflicted creature such as
I am," said the Schoolmaster, hastily, "would not the worthy owner of
the farm grant me a humble corner in it for charity's sake--a shelter
and a morsel of bread for the little while I have to remain a burden to
any one in this troublesome world? Oh, my worthy sir, could I but obtain
such a boon I would pass the remainder of my days in praying for a
blessing on my benefactor."

And these words were really pronounced in entire sincerity of meaning;
not that compunction for his many crimes touched the brigand's stony
heart, but he contrasted the happy peacefulness of the lives of these
labourers to his own wretched, stormy existence; and still further did
he envy them when he reflected upon all that the Chouette might have in
store for him; he shuddered as he reflected upon the future she would
provide for him, and more than ever regretted, by having recalled his
old accomplice, having for ever lost the means of dwelling with good and
honest persons, such as those with whom the Chourineur had placed him.
Father Chatelain surveyed the Schoolmaster with an air of surprise.

"My good man," said he, "I did not know you were so utterly destitute."

"Alas! yes, it is even so. I lost my sight by an accident while working
at my trade. I am going to Louvres to endeavour to find a distant
relation there, who, I hope, may be willing to assist me. But, you are
aware, people are not always so open-hearted as they should be; they do
not like distressed objects, such as myself, coming to claim kindred,
and are frequently harsh and unkind," answered the Schoolmaster, sighing
deeply.

"But the most selfish heart would grieve at your distress," replied the
old labourer. "The most hard-hearted relative would pity a man like
you--a good and honest workman overtaken by a sudden calamity, and left
without hope or help. Then the moving spectacle of this young and tender
child, your only friend and guide, would wring pity from the very
stones. But how is it that the master for whom you worked previously to
your accident has done nothing for you?"

"He is now dead," said the Schoolmaster, after a short hesitation; "and
he was my only friend