"I beg your pardon, monsieur--a coat and education. But are you obliged to remain a messenger forever? When we are married, you can go into something else; you will have saved something, for you can't spend very much money, you live so modestly; you never go to the wine shop. I have heard your comrades say more than once: 'He must be saving money; he works hard, and never enjoys himself.'" Paul looked at the ground as he replied: "Alas! no, mademoiselle; I haven't saved anything; I have no money." "Why, what do you do with your money, then?" cried Elina. "You can't give it to your parents, as you haven't any." Paul blushed, and stammered: "I haven't been able to save anything, mademoiselle; it isn't my fault." Elina feared that she had wounded him, and made haste to say: "Oh! pray forgive me for saying that. Mon Dieu! perhaps you will think that I care for money! I care nothing at all about it, I tell you; don't grieve, Monsieur Paul; we shall have enough, anyway. I am rich, you know; I have what my father left me, and when I am of age my aunt will have to give it to me. Then it will be yours, and with that we shall have enough to start a nice little business. Come, monsieur, don't be cast down any more, when I tell you that we shall be very happy some day." Paul sighed as he kissed Elina's hand; but soon the smile reappeared on his lips and love in his eyes; how could he complain when he saw how dearly she loved him? Such was generally the end of these interviews on a street corner, under a porte cochère, or at the entrance of a passage. Such loving words as these are not always exchanged behind the gorgeous hangings of a salon. I do not say this to induce you to make love on street corners; but solely to show you that it is done everywhere. The poor must have some compensation. After these affectionate conversations with the little dressmaker, Paul returned to his place lighter-hearted and more content with his lot. Then he would look about for Sans-Cravate, with whom he was most desirous to be reconciled, because he had, in the depths of his heart, a feeling of affection for him, which he could not overcome. Genuine affection is not readily destroyed, and, when you have a sympathetic feeling for a person, it is like the natural instincts: drive it away if you will, it returns at a gallop. But Sans-Cravate was almost never in his place; as soon as he had earned a few sous, Jean Ficelle enticed him away to spend them. One morning, when Albert had been away from Paris for some time, a gentleman stopped in front of Paul, who was sitting on his _crochets_, and said to him: "I was looking for you, my friend; I have something for you to do. Do you recognize me?" "Oh! yes, monsieur," Paul replied quickly, and with evident emotion; "you are Monsieur Albert's father; I should be very blameworthy if I had forgotten you--you were so kind to me!"