_Voila tout!_"

"It is very simple," said Blanquette.

"How, simple?"

"_Dame!_ I can work for you and Asticot."

"The devil!" cried Paragot.

"But yes," she went on earnestly. "I know that men are men, and
sometimes they do not like to work. It happens very often. _Tiens! mon
maitre_, I am alone, all that is most alone. You are the only friends I
have in the world, you and Asticot. You have been kinder to me than any
one I have ever met. I put you in my prayers every night. It is a very
little thing that I should work for you, if it fatigues you to scrape
the fiddle in these holes of cabarets. It is true. True as the _bon
Dieu_. I would tear myself into four pieces for you. _Je suis brave
fille_, and I can work. But no!" she cried, looking deep into his eyes.
"You can't refuse. It is not possible."

"Yes, I refuse," said Paragot.

He had turned on his side, face on palm, elbow on pillow, had regarded
her sternly as she spoke. I saw that he was very angry.

"For what do you take me, little imbecile? Do you know that you insult
me? I to be supported by a woman? _Nom de Dieu de Dieu!_"

His ire blazed up suddenly. He cursed, scolded, boasted all in a breath.
Blanquette looked at him terrified. She could not understand. Great
tears rolled down her cheeks.

"But I have made you angry," she wailed.

The scornful spurning of her devotion hurt her less than the sense of
having caused his wrath. The primitive savage feminine is not
complicated by over-subtlety of feeling. As soon as she could speak she
broke into repentant protestation. She had not meant to anger him. She
had spoken from her heart. She was so ignorant. She would tear herself
into four pieces for him. She was _brave fille_. She was alone and he
was her only friend. He must forgive her.

I, feeling monstrously tearful, jumped to my feet.

"Yes, Master, forgive her."

He burst out laughing. "Oh what three beautiful fools we are! Blanquette
to think of supporting two hulking men, I to be angry, and Asticot to
plead tragically as if I were a tyrant about to cut off her head. My
little Blanquette, you have touched my heart, and who touches the heart
of Paragot can eat Paragot's legs and liver if he is hungry and drink
his blood if he is thirsty. I will remember it all my life, and if you
will bring me my dejeuner I will stay in bed till this afternoon."

"Then I am not to leave you?" she asked, somewhat bewildered.

"Good heavens no!" he cried. "B