I had not so much as looked about the room. In fact, there was some change: the wretched bed was replaced by a low bedstead of painted wood, but very neat and clean. There were curtains and a canopy above the bed. The chairs, which I remembered as almost all broken, had been replaced by six new ones; and a black walnut commode had replaced the little sideboard. Lastly, there was almost a good fire on the hearth. “Do you see how fine it is?” said Marguerite; “my Ernest gave me all this. His play has succeeded. Oh, it is very pleasing indeed, his play is! When the author was called for and his name was given, I was so happy that I longed to shout: ‘It was my little man who did that!’--He has a great mind, has my little man!” “Will you hold your tongue, Marguerite?” “No, monsieur, I propose to talk. We are not so poor now as we were. See, look at my mantel, see those two cups and the porcelain sugar bowl! That box is to put the money in for the week’s expenses. When there’s anything over, I put it in a Christmas box. Oh! we are very happy now!” Poor child! how little she needed to esteem herself rich! So many people would have considered that chamber a wretched place still. I congratulated her and admired everything that she showed me. I complimented Ernest on the success of his play. I shared their happiness most sincerely; it made me happier to see how happy they were. I remained with them for more than an hour, talking of Eugénie and of our love. They told me of their little plans for the future, of the hopes in which they indulged,--very modest hopes, which proved that, being engrossed by their love, they knew neither ambition nor vanity. I had not begun to think of retiring, and I believe that we should have passed the whole night talking thus; but suddenly we heard a loud noise on the roof, and broken glass falling on the leads and into the yard. I was startled at first; but I soon recovered myself and began to laugh as I glanced at Ernest and Marguerite, who did the same. It was Monsieur Pettermann breaking into his room. VII THE PRELIMINARIES OF HAPPINESS I went every day to see Eugénie, for I did not see why I should continue to conceal my love. She loved me, she knew that I adored her; was it possible that her mother was not also aware of our sentiments? I had never dreamed of making Eugénie my mistress. My only desire and hope was for an enduring happiness. Eugénie should be my wife. I was sure of her consent, but it would be necessary to have her mother’s as well.