"An error, sir; for I am also as happy from my visits as you are. So I must, in my turn, thank you. Ah! ah! there is where I have caught you, Master Unjust. I have half a mind to punish you for your wicked ideas, by not giving you what I have brought." "Another kindness! how you spoil me!--oh! thank you. Pardon me if I repeat so often this word, which you dislike!--but you leave me nothing else to say." "In the first place, you do not know what I have brought." "What is that to me?" "Well, you are polite!" "Whatever it may be, does it not come from you? Your touching kindness, does it not fill me with gratitude, and----" Germain could not finish, but cast down his eyes. "And with what?" asked Rigolette, blushing. "And with--and with devotion," stammered Germain. "Why not add respect at once, like at the end of a letter," said Rigolette impatiently. "You deceive me; it was not that which you intended to say. You stopped short." "I assure you----" "You assure me!--you assure me! I see you blush through the grating. Am I not your little friend, your neighbor? Why do you conceal anything? Be frank, then, with me; tell me all," added the grisette, timidly; for she only waited for an avowal from Germain to tell him openly that she loved him. An honest and generous love, which the misfortunes of Germain had called into existence. "I assure you," answered the prisoner, with a sigh, "that I conceal nothing from you!" "Fie, the false man!" cried Rigolette, stamping her foot. "Well, you see this large cravat of white wool that I brought for you?" and she took it from her basket. "To punish you for your dissimulation, you shall not have it. I knit it for you. I said to myself, it must be so cold, so damp, in those large prison yards, that at least he will be protected nicely with this; he is so chilly." "How, you?" "Yes, you are liable to cold," said Rigolette, interrupting him. "Perhaps I recollect it well! that did not, however, prevent you hindering me (out of delicacy) from putting any more wood in my stove when you passed the evening with me. Oh, I have a good memory!" "And I also-only too good!" said Germain, in an agitated voice, passing his hand over his eyes. "Come, now, there you are becoming sad again, although I forbid it." "How; do you wish me not to be touched, even to tears, when I think of all that you have done for me since my detention here? And this new attention, is it not charming? Do I not know that you encroach upon your nights to make time to come and see me? On my account you impose upon yourself extra labor." "That is it! Pity me then, quickly, because every two or three days I take a fine walk to come and visit my friends, I, who adore a walk. It is so amusing to look at the shops along the streets!" "And to come out on such a day; such a wind!"