"No, I am in no sense his benefactor. What I did for him was a duty. But he behaved very badly at one time; for a long while he led a life of idleness and dissipation. He was deaf to my entreaties and remonstrances. In those days, his presence was as distasteful to me as it is agreeable now. He has turned over a new leaf, become a respectable man once more, and a good workman; I have given him all my friendship again, and some day I hope--I hope that he will make a good husband. Then, if Ballangier could fall in with a woman like you, Mignonne, gentle and virtuous and hard-working, and if he could win her love, he would be altogether happy." Mignonne had become serious. She looked at the floor, murmuring: "Oh! as for me, monsieur, you know very well that I can never think of marriage! You know that I have been a mother!" "If you concealed nothing from the man who loved you, you would still be worthy of an honest man's love and esteem. Ought anyone to be so severe as that, Mignonne? Who has not sinned--more or less?" "However, monsieur, I shall never have any occasion to tell my story, for I shall never marry." "We cannot foresee the future." "Oh! I can safely take my oath to that!" I insisted no further, for it seemed to be a painful subject to the young woman. Probably, engrossed as she was by her daughter's memory, she did not choose to admit that anyone could divert her thoughts from her, even in the future. Nothing from Frédérique. She did not come to see me, and I certainly should not go again to her. So it was all over; we had quarrelled--and for what? More than once, unconsciously perhaps, I had walked in the direction of her house and found myself in front of it; but at such times I made haste to retrace my steps. I would have been glad, however, to know if she were in Paris, or if she had gone away again. If chance should bring us together, surely we could not pass on the street without speaking. But I did not meet her. By way of compensation, I did meet Ballangier near my own house. He was on his way to see me; but as he had met me, he said that he would not go upstairs. Something made me think that he would have preferred to go up. I noticed a certain constraint in his manner. He asked about Mignonne, but he did it with the air of one who dared not reveal all of the interest he took in that young woman. Poor Ballangier! it was not difficult to divine what was going on in his heart; he was not an expert dissembler. Another day, I met him again near my abode, and he made haste to tell me that he had not come out without the permission of his employer, who was still content with him, because he always worked two hours later at night when he left his work in the morning. I looked him squarely in the eye, and said: "You don't tell me everything, my friend. You are concealing something from me at this moment!" He blushed, became confused, and stammered: "Concealing something? I? Why, I don't think so!"