“I can’t show you to-night what I want you to do; but I thought that there would be no harm in offering you a little money in advance on what you do for me. We have lived under the same roof before, and we know each other; I should be very sorry to fall out with you.” “Monsieur, if you offer me that in advance for the clothes I may make for you, that’s a very different thing. Give me what you choose; I will take it and I will not charge you any more on account of it.” “All right; here is forty francs; we will settle up later.” “Forty francs; I will make you a nice coat and waistcoat and trousers for that. And as for singing, if it disturbs you----” “No, sing on, Pettermann, sing on; now that I know that it’s you, it won’t annoy me any more; I shall imagine that I am still living in my old apartment.” I left the tailor, who could not make up his mind which pocket to put his forty francs in, and I returned to my room. But neither that night, nor during the next week, did I hear Pettermann sing, because he did not come home until midnight, and because he was always drunk and went to sleep as soon as he was in bed. XVIII A MEETING.--DEPARTURE My conversation with the tailor had quieted my thoughts; they were a little less black, and I slept better; when we become depressed, we shun all sorts of diversion, we avoid our friends, whose presence would eventually allay our suffering. At such times we ought to be treated like those invalids who are forced to take decoctions which they refuse to take, but which are essential to their cure. One morning I went to see Ernest, who had been to my rooms at least ten times without finding me. His wife scolded me warmly for my behavior. “You avoid your true friends,” she said to me; “you live like a wolf! that is perfectly absurd. Ought you to punish us for other people’s faults? Your wife has chosen to keep her daughter--is that any reason for you to despair? Can you not go to see her?” “Go to see her! oh! I have longed to do it a thousand times; but she is with her mother; and I could not bear the sight of her.” “Her mother is not always with her,” said Ernest; “when she comes to Paris, and that has happened quite often lately, she rarely brings her daughter with her.” “What! Eugénie has come to Paris already? I did not believe that she would dare to show herself here.” “You must remember that in society you are the one who is blamed. It is you who have abandoned a lovely wife, whom you made wretched. I report exactly what people say; it does not make you angry, does it?” “On the contrary, I am very glad to hear it. Go on, Ernest; tell me what you have learned.”