“I hope that with the best care, we shall succeed in calming her excitement. I commend this unfortunate woman and her child to you.” “Never fear, Monsieur Gerval, she shall have everything she needs.--Another unfortunate of whom you have taken charge, I see.” “What would you have, my dear hostess; a man must needs make himself useful when he can. I have no children, and I am growing old; what good would all my wealth do me, if I did not assist the unfortunate? Moreover, it is a source of enjoyment to myself. I am like Florian’s man: ‘I often do good for the pleasure of it.’” “Ah! if all the rich men thought as you do, Monsieur Gerval!” “Tell me, madame, has my old Dupré come in?” “Yes, monsieur, he is waiting for you in your room.” “I will go up to him. Look after this young woman, I beg you, and see that she lacks nothing.” “Rely upon me, monsieur.” Worthy Monsieur Gerval went up to his apartment, where he found his old servant Dupré impatiently awaiting his master’s return. “Ah! here you are, monsieur; I was anxious because you stayed away so long. Have you had a pleasant journey? Have you learned anything?” “No, my friend; the house where the Murville family used to live is now for sale. I was told that one Edouard Murville lived there for some time with his wife, but no one knows what has become of them. And you, Dupré?” “I have found out nothing more, monsieur. Your old friends are dead; and their children are nobody knows where. Several people did mention a Murville, who was a business agent, then a swindler, and all-in-all a thoroughly bad fellow. But no one was able or willing to tell me what has become of him. Perhaps he may have been the younger of the two sons, the one who ran away from his father’s house at fifteen; such an escapade as that promises nothing good for the future.” “I should be very sorry if it were so; I would have liked--but I see that I have returned too late. My travels kept me away from Paris ten years, and it was only within a year that, on retiring from business, I was able to return to this city. But what changes ten years have produced! My friends--to be sure they were quite old when I went away--my friends are dead or else they have disappeared. That depresses me, Dupré; there is nothing left for me in this city but memories. I think we will leave it, and go back to my little place in the Vosges to live; I propose to end my life there.--But let us drop this subject; I have something to tell you, for my journey has not been altogether without fruit; it has made me acquainted with a very interesting young woman, who seems most unfortunate too.” “Indeed! Where did monsieur meet her?” “We returned to Paris in the same carriage; for notwithstanding your advice, I made the trip in one of those miserable cabriolets.” “Oh! the idea of subjecting yourself to such a jolting! That is unreasonable!”