Sans-Cravate kissed his sister and installed her in his room; he gave her his bed, reserving for himself the closet, where he meant to throw a few bundles of straw on the floor; he was not hard to suit, and, so long as his sister could sleep tranquilly, he would be comfortable anywhere. After a night which seemed very long to them both, because grief and anxiety banished sleep from their eyelids, Sans-Cravate left his closet on tiptoe and listened: his sister had fallen into a doze. He walked softly, in order not to rouse her, and placed on the table beside the bed all the money he possessed. "There's enough for a little while," he thought; "our expenses won't be very large. I've put a few pieces away, thank God! since I've stopped going to the wine shop, and with Jean Ficelle; I'm mighty proud to have 'em to give her to-day. I'm beginning to think that it ain't the drinking men that have the most fun, but that the pleasures that work affords a man are the best and last the longest." Sans-Cravate went to his usual place, where he sat down and waited. "She promised to send me word," he said to himself, "as soon as he's back in Paris, and I'm sure she'll keep her word; for that woman looks to me like a hussy who has thought a long while about what she intended to do, and who won't falter on the road." The day passed, and brought no change in the situation of the messenger and his sister. After sawing a cord of wood and doing several errands, Sans-Cravate returned to his sister and gave her the money he had earned. "Here," he said, "this is what I'll do every day, and you must look after the food." "And Albert?" queried the girl, sadly. "No news. Patience. We must wait." "But his father--why haven't you been to see him?" "I have no business with the father now, but with the son; the father ain't the one who's got to marry you! He's given his consent, that's all we can ask of him; he can't force the young man." "Force him! Oh! I don't want him to be forced, if he no longer loves me; he would be unhappy after he married me." "Don't you worry, and don't you bother your head any more about it. It's my business now." Liline wept and held her peace. Sans-Cravate let her weep, because his own experience taught him that there are griefs which admit of no consolation. The next day, Sans-Cravate had been at his stand less than an hour when he saw Madame Baldimer's maid coming toward him. His heart gave a leap under his waistcoat, because he felt that he was about to learn something of importance. Rosa went up to him and handed him a folded paper. "My mistress told me to give you this," she said. "Thanks, mamzelle," replied Sans-Cravate, taking the paper with a trembling hand. The maid walked away, while the messenger unfolded the paper and read these words: "He arrived last night; he is at home."