resent about it," said my master reflectively, "is that one is
not able to have any personal concern in the most interesting event in
one's career. If you could even follow your own funeral and have a
chance of weeping for yourself! You are never so important as when you
are a corpse--and you miss it all. I have a good mind not to die. It is
either the silliest or the wisest action of one's life; I wonder which."

Presently the girl came down the passage of the cafe, stood for a moment
in the doorway, and seeing Paragot advanced to the table.

"You are very kind, Monsieur," she said, "and for what you have done I
thank you from my heart."

"It was very little," said my master. "Asticot, why do you not give
Mademoiselle your chair? Your manners are worse than those of Narcisse.
Mademoiselle, do me the pleasure of being seated."

She sat down, her feet apart, peasant fashion, her hands in her lap.

"If I had not lost the twenty francs he would not have died," she said
dejectedly.

"He would have died if you had brought him here in a carriage. He had
aneurism of the heart, the doctor says. He might have died any moment
the last ten years. How old was he?"

"Seventy, eighty, ninety--how should I know?"

"But he was your grandfather."

"Ah, no, indeed, Monsieur," she replied in a more animated manner. "He
was not a relative. My mother was poor and she sold me to him three
years ago."

"Why that is like me, Master!" I cried, vastly interested.

"My son," said he in English, "that is one of the things that must be
forgotten. And then, Mademoiselle?" he asked in French.

"Then he taught me to play the zither and to dance. I am sorry he is
dead. _Dame, oui, par exemple!_ But I do not weep for him as for a
grandfather. Oh, no!"

"And your mother?"

"She died last year. So I am all alone."

He asked her what she thought of doing for her livelihood. She shrugged
her shoulders with the resignation of her class.

"I can always earn my living. There are brasseries, cafes-concerts in
all the towns--I am fairly well known. They will give me an engagement.
_Il faut passer par la comme les autres._"

"You must go through it like the others?" repeated my master. "But you
are very young, my poor child."

"I am eighteen, Monsieur, I know I shall not make a fortune. I am not
pretty enough even when I paint, and my figure is heavy. That is what
Pere Paragot used to complain of."

"What was his name?" asked my master, pr