The old hag feared only lest she lose her precious acquisition of the blind girl. She guarded her ceaselessly, and warded off dangerous questioners. It was not easy, however, to avoid the good Doctor from La Force, who gave them a donative and looked at the girl with deep professional interest. Despite the beggar's tactics, he insisted on examining the pupils, then called La Frochard aside. "Don't encourage her too much," said the old gentlemen kindly, "but bring her to me. I am quite sure that she can be cured." Rejoining Louise and smiling her wheedling beggar's smile at the departing Doctor, the features of Widow Frochard suddenly contorted in black rage--she shook her fist at the physician directly his back was turned. Monstrous--to restore sight, and thus make the girl worthless as object of charity! La Frochard felt she had good reason for her rage. "Can the Doctor do anything?" ventured Louise to the hag, timidly. "No, he said your case is hopeless." They were standing now near the snowy steps of Notre Dame, awaiting worshippers whose pity would be stirred by the girl's misfortune. Half-drunken Jacques had reeled out of a cabaret to exact his share of the plunder. Mother and first-born cursed heartily the scissors-grinder Pierre who came limping up, saying he could get no jobs on account of the bitter cold, wintry day. Kicking the cripple and twisting Louise's arm were the favorite pastimes of Jacques and the Widow. On this occasion the hag snatched the covering from the wretched girl's shoulders and put it around her own. "You'll shiver better without that shawl!" she said, brutally setting the scene for the worshippers' charity. "Jacques and I," she continued, "are going to get a little drink to warm our frozen bodies. "Guard her there, you good-for-nothing Pierre, or I'll break every bone of your body!" They departed to spend the Doctor's gold-piece. Pierre tried vainly to comfort the girl. He could but find her a seat in a pile of snow! He warmed her hands with his own, strove to speak cheering words. But teeth were chattering, and her frail form was quivering as with the ague. A great wave of pity and love overwhelmed the cripple. He peeled off his coat, beneath which were but the thinnest rags. He wrapped it around her, saying: "There, there! this will help you keep warm. I really do not need it--I--I-am-not-c-c-cold!" His own teeth were chattering now, and his pinched features were purple. The blind girl touched his icy arm, half exposed by his ragged shirt, as she rose to sing for the charity of those who attended mass. "No, no, Pierre," she cried, removing the coat from her shoulders, "I will not let you freeze. Oh, how selfish I am to permit you to suffer, who have been so kind to me!" Rejecting his entreaties, she made him put it on again, hiding her own suffering.