“Ah! she is sick, is she, poor little woman!” And Monsieur Pettermann walked toward the bed, saying: “Are you sick, my little woman? What’s the matter with you?” Ernest stopped the tailor, who was reeking with liquor; and he, always very polite, although tipsy, fearing that he had done something wrong, stepped back to the armchair in which the midwife was seated, and sank upon her lap, saying: “I beg pardon, that’s so; it’s none of my business. Ah! prout!” “Will you get up?” cried the nurse, striking the tailor in the back. He turned about, stammering: “Ah! I was sitting on one of the fair sex, although I hadn’t a suspicion of it.--Excuse me, my little woman, I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear.” “Give me your candle and let me light it for you,” said Ernest; “for that is what you want, I have no doubt.” “Yes, neighbor, if you would be so kind. I couldn’t use my flint because I scratched my right hand a little, while getting into my room.” Not until then did we notice that the poor fellow’s right hand was covered with blood, two of his fingers being badly cut. The girl pointed to a closet in which there were some rags, with which Ernest hastily bandaged the tailor’s hand. He made no objection, but said: “Oh, mon Dieu! it’s nothing at all, a trifle. I don’t know what was the matter to-night, but I broke two panes instead of one.” “But Monsieur Pettermann, don’t you ever propose to give up your habit of going into your room through the window?” “What would you have me do? I lose my key--these keys slip out of your pocket without your knowing it, and besides, I believe my pocket has a hole in it. But I promise you that I’ll look after it now, especially as it is going to be hard for me to sew it up.” “Here’s your candle.” “Many thanks. Good-night all. Better health to you, neighbor. If you ever need my services, call on me; don’t hesitate.” “Thanks, thanks, Monsieur Pettermann.” “No, don’t hesitate; call me; it will be a pleasure to me.” The tailor returned to his room. I thought that the young invalid must have need of rest, so I too left the room after wishing them good-night. But I wanted to say something to Ernest alone. He escorted me downstairs with the light. When we were both in front of my door, I stopped and looked at him, and I held my peace; for I really did not know how to broach the subject. Ernest, who did not suspect that I wished to say anything to him, wished me good-night and was about to go upstairs. I caught his arm to detain him; I felt that I must make up my mind to speak. “Monsieur Ernest, I am delighted to have become better acquainted with you; I hope that our acquaintance will not stop here.” “I thank you, monsieur. I hope so too. I tell you again that I shall not forget your interest in my grief to-night. There are so many people who would have laughed at my distress, and who would have blamed it.”