"You think Mariette pretty, monsieur. You are right, and there is not a better-hearted, more deserving girl in the world. Well, be generous to her. This money is a mere trifle to a man as rich as you are. Make us a present of it." "Eh?" exclaimed the stranger, in profound astonishment. "Monsieur," said the consumptive, clasping her hands imploringly, "be generous, be charitable. This sum of money is a mere trifle to you, as I said before, but it would support us for months. We should be able to pay all we owe. Mariette would not be obliged to work night and day. She would have time to look around a little, and find employment that paid her better. We should owe five or six months of peace and happiness to your bounty. It costs us so little to live! Do this, kind sir, and we will for ever bless you, and for once in my life I shall have known what happiness is." The sick woman's tone was so sincere, her request so artless, that the stranger, who could not conceive of any human creature being stupid enough really to expect such a thing of a man of his stamp, felt even more hurt than surprised, and said to himself: "Really, this is not very flattering to me. The old hag must take me for a country greenhorn to make such a proposition as that." So bursting into a hearty laugh, he said, aloud: "You must take me for a philanthropist, or the winner of the Montyon prize, Mother Lacombe. I am to make you a present of six hundred francs, and accept your benediction and eternal gratitude in return, eh?" The sick woman had yielded to one of those wild and sudden hopes that sometimes seize the most despondent persons; but irritated by the contempt with which her proposal had been received, she now retorted, with a sneer: "I hope you will forgive me for having so grossly insulted you, I am sure, monsieur." "Oh, you needn't apologise, Mother Lacombe. I have taken no offence, as you see. But we may as well settle this little matter without any further delay. Am I to pocket those shining coins you seem to take so much pleasure in handling, yes or no?" And he stretched out his hand as if to gather up the gold pieces. With an almost unconscious movement, the sick woman pushed his hand away, exclaiming, sullenly: "Wait a minute, can't you? You needn't be afraid that anybody is going to eat your gold." "On the contrary, that is exactly what I would like you to do, on condition, of course--" "But I know Mariette, and she would never consent," replied the sick woman, with her eyes still fixed longingly upon the shining coins. "Nonsense!" "But she is an honest girl, I tell you. She might listen to a man she loved, as so many girls do, but to you, never. She would absolutely refuse. She has her ideas--oh, you needn't laugh."