he's quite a little man, I assure you. When he left school he found
your child, who was walking on ahead, crying like a fountain. He spoke
to him and comforted him, like an old grandfather. The difficulty is,
that one can't easily understand what your little one says--English
words are mixed up with German and French. So we couldn't get much out
of him, nor could we learn his address. Zidore brought him to me--I
wasn't far away; and then all the old women in the place came round
chattering and croaking like so many frogs, and all full of advice.

"'Take him to the police,'" said some.

But Zidore protested.

"That would scare him," said he, for like all Parisians, he has no
particular liking for the police-- "and besides, your little one didn't
wish to leave him. So I came back here with the child as soon as I
could. They had supper, and then off to bed. Don't they look sweet?"

When he was in his carriage, M. Godefroy had decided to reward the
finder of his child handsomely--to give him a handful of that gold so
easily gained. Since entering the house he had seen a side of human
nature with which he was formerly unacquainted--the brave charity of
the poor in their misery. The courage of the poor girl who had worked
herself to death weaving wreaths to keep her child; the generosity of
the poor cripple in adopting the orphan, and above all, the intelligent
goodness of the little street Arab in protecting the child who was still
smaller than himself--all this touched M. Godefroy deeply and set him
reflecting. For the thought had occurred to him that there were other
cripples who needed to be looked after as well as Pierron, and other
orphans as well as Zidore. He also debated whether it would not be
better to employ his time looking after them, and whether money might
not be put to a better use than merely gaining money. Such was his
reverie as he stood looking at the two sleeping children. Finally, he
turned round to study the features of the greengrocer, and was charmed
by the loyal expression in the face of the man, and his clear, truthful
eyes.

"My friend," said M. Godefroy, "you and your adopted son have rendered
me an immense service. I shall soon prove to you that I am not
ungrateful. But, for to-day--I see that you are not in comfortable
circumstances, and I should like to leave a small proof of my
thankfulness."

But the hand of the cripple arrested that of the banker, which was
diving into his coat-pock