And she looked, with tears in her eyes, and a sad heart, upon that old man, whom she had known in better times, so polished, so dignified, so amiable, and so well beloved. He spoke not a word while eating, and when he looked up, at the end of his meal, he saw that she wept. “Is it for me, or for yourself that you weep?” said he. “For both of us,” replied Madam Cottin; “for you, that you suffer so much in your old age, and for me, that I am unable to assist a sincere friend of my husband.” “Do you know no one?” he demanded. “No one, sir; since my widowhood, I have seen no one.” “Alas!” said Monsieur de Fombelle, lifting his eyes despondingly toward the ceiling, “and when I saw into what company I was cast, I believed I had found some assistance.” “Was it not of your own accord that you came to me?” “No, madam. A friend, who is actively endeavoring to assist me, but who scarcely has the means, for, like me, he is without money, appointed a place of rendezvous, after night-fall, in the open fields behind _la rue Ceruti_. I was returning from this rendezvous, when suddenly I found myself confronted face to face with my most mortal enemy—the same who had denounced me, and caused the decree against me. I endeavored to elude him, and had been running until almost exhausted, when a window, low and opened, attracted my attention. I obeyed my first impulse, made a spring, and found myself here. There was no one in the room, and, to guard against discovery, I closed the casement and the outer shutters; I lowered the curtains and concealed myself behind them. Scarcely had I done this, when you entered. As soon as you spoke, I recognized you, the wife of my best friend; I should certainly not have hesitated to have presented myself before you, but your good nurse was with you, and I believed it prudent to await her departure. In overhearing your conversation, I learned how your condition, once so happy, had changed since the sad events which have desolated our dear country, and I resolved to escape, if possible, without causing you fear or danger. Hence my immovability while you lifted the curtain; for I supposed that in the obscurity of the place you would not perceive me. But I ought not, madam, longer to interrupt your repose.” “No, do not go,” replied Madam Cottin, “until you tell me if I can in any way assist you.” “In three days I am to quit France; all is arranged, and my flight is certain, if I can accomplish what seems to be an impossibility—I must raise twelve hundred francs.” “Twelve hundred francs,” said Madam Cottin, thoughtfully. “Otherwise, since I cannot hope always to elude my enemies, I shall be lost.”