"Yes," and he laid his thin hand on little Miles's head; "I love them well; I once had two of my own," and he stifled a sigh. "Well, then, you shall come in, and do me a neighbourly kindness; I am a poor _ouvrière_, and must work hard to-night--come in, I am going to make a fire; you shall nurse my boy whilst I work--will you oblige me?" "Willingly," he answered, "if I can serve you." "That you greatly can. Stay in your room till I have made mine comfortable, and then I will call you, I am so much obliged to you, it will help me greatly, for a child is an _embarras_ sometimes, and I like working and talking--'tis very kind of you." She had a talent for making the obliged seem her creditors, and thus placing them at perfect ease. So hurrying back to her room, Miles was laid on his accustomed place, a pillow on the floor; lest he should fall off, she seldom placed him on her bed. And then an Asmodeus might have seen Minnie--the fair and gentle--the one on whom the winds of heaven were once almost chidden, if they blew coldly--on her knees, lighting the stove in her room, for she soon found a match; the search for one was an excuse, and her face looked glad--that lip forgot its sadness--she was doing angels' work--charity. In an incredibly short space of time the room looked cheerful--the door of the stove was left open--the wood crackled in it--the glare lighted the humble garret. She drew the old, but clean curtain before the window--lit her lamp--placed her second chair (she had but two) and then she summoned her shivering guest. "Stay," she cried, as he seated himself, springing up herself; "I have forgotten my _bouillotte_;" (we cannot call it kettle--it had no resemblance to such a thing; neither can we translate the word, to give any idea of that queer, tin sort of jug, which rattles as if it had marbles in its head, and which is pushed into hot ashes to boil.) "I have forgotten my _bouillotte_," cried she; "and what should I do without a cup of tea? Do you like tea, monsieur?" "Yes, madame," he answered, faintly smiling; "but I have not taken any for some time." "Then we will have a cup together. Are you not English?" she asked, pausing in her arrangement of the _bouillotte_ in the stove; and as she knelt on one knee to do so, she rested the tips of her white fingers (even still) on the floor, to support herself, and looked up in his face like a child. She looked like a picture thus; for the pale face was glowing with pleasure at her good deed, and the close neat little _grisette_ cap concealing all that fair hair, except the braids on her forehead; she looked so innocent and pure, the old man bent his eyes upon that upturned face, and like a father, placing a hand on her shoulder, said in perfect English, though with a slightly foreign accent-- "I have lived much among English, and been in England; but that is long ago. I am a Swiss by birth."