He spoke in so low a voice that any other person than Cécile would have failed to understand him. But she understood him very well. And in this room, lighted by the level rays of the setting sun, the young girl stood listening to this declaration of love as to an echo of her own thoughts. She was perfectly unabashed and undisturbed, a tender smile on her lips, and her eyes full of tears. She understood perfectly that their life would be no holiday, that they would be racked by separations and long years of waiting. “Jack,” she said, after he had explained all his plans, “I will wait for you, not only four years, but forever.” Jack went to Paris in search of employment, found it in the house of Eyssendeck, at six francs a day; then tried to procure lodgings not too far removed from the manufactory. He was happy, full of hope and courage, impatient to begin his double work as mechanic and student. The crowd pushed against him, and he did not feel them; nor was he conscious of the cold of this December night; nor did he hear the young apprentice girls, as they passed him, say to each other, “What a handsome man!” The great Faubourg was alive and seemed to encourage him with its gayety. “What a pleasure it is to live!” said Jack; “and how hard I mean to work!” Suddenly he stumbled against a great square basket filled with fur hats and caps; this basket stood at the door of a shoemaker’s stall. Jack looked in and saw Bélisaire, as ugly as ever, but cleaner and better clothed. Jack was delighted to see him, and entered at once; but Bélisaire was too deeply absorbed in the examination of a pair of shoes that the cobbler was showing him, to look up. These shoes were not for himself, but for a tiny child of four or five years of age, pale and thin, with a head much too large for his body. Bélisaire was talking to the child. “And they are nice and thick, my dear, and will keep those poor little feet warm.” Jack’s appearance did not seem to surprise him. “Where did you come from?” he asked, as calmly as if he had seen him the night before. “How are you, Bélisaire? Is this your child?” “O, no; it belongs to Madame Weber,” said the pedler, with a sigh; and when he had ascertained that the little thing was well fitted, Bélisaire drew from his pocket a long purse of red wool, and took out some silver pieces that he placed in the cobbler’s hand with that air of importance assumed by working people when they pay away money. “Where are you going, comrade?” said the pedler to Jack, as they stood on the pavement, in a tone so expressive that it seemed to say, If you take this side, I shall go the other. Jack, who felt this without being able to understand it, said, “I hardly know where I am going. I am a journeyman at Eyssendeck’s, and I want to find a room not too far away.” “At Eyssendeck’s?” said the pedler. “It is not easy to get in there; one must bring the best of recommendations.”