"Well, monsieur, Paul, who was eighteen and a half when I lost my husband, said to me then: 'Don't be distressed, my dear mother; not only will I take care of you, but I propose that my benefactor's memory shall be respected; I propose to pay all that he owed, and by working hard I can do it.'--And, sure enough, the poor boy called my husband's creditors together, and promised to pay them if they would give him time. They were so moved by his self-sacrificing spirit, that they told him to arrange his own terms. The debts amounted to only eight thousand francs. Paul asked for five years in which to pay the whole; then he told me not to worry about myself, that he would provide for all my needs--and he left me, to seek employment. I didn't see him for several days; at last he came and told me that he was employed in a business house in Faubourg Saint-Honoré, and that he was obliged to live near by, but that he would come to see me at least twice a week, and would keep his agreement with my husband's creditors. And from that time on, monsieur, every three months he paid the amount he had promised, and brought me the receipts. 'Take these, my dear mother,' he would say; 'I am as happy as can be, because through me my benefactor's name is respected;'--and I, monsieur, never had a suspicion that the poor boy hadn't found any employment, but had become a messenger in order to fulfil his engagements; and that he worked without rest, and took no pleasure at all, so that he could put aside for me, for my husband's honor, all the money he earned!" Again Madame Desroches could not hold back her tears; she drew her handkerchief, and paused a moment to wipe her eyes. Sans-Cravate, for his part, tried in vain to avoid being moved; despite his grimaces, despite the churlish manner which he struggled to maintain, and although he twisted his mouth and bit his lips, two great tears escaped from his eyes, while he muttered between his teeth: "By all that's good! It was well done of him, all the same! that's what I call honor! And to think that a man will get ugly and lose a friend, just for a wink of a woman's eye, for an infernal petticoat and what's underneath it! Bah! what a fool! Well, I can't stand it, I must let the cat out of the bag!--How did you find out that Paul was a messenger?" he asked aloud, after pretending to blow his nose in order to wipe his eyes unobserved. "In this way, monsieur. Four or five months ago, I was sick, and Paul stayed with me and nursed me; he did not go to work at all. 'Don't you worry,' he'd say; 'there's another clerk, who has promised to take my place and do my work.'--I must tell you, monsieur, that I live on Vieille Rue du Temple, near Rue Barbette----" "Near Rue Barbette!" cried Sans-Cravate; "a very high house, with a passageway, and a grocery on the street floor?" "Yes, monsieur; that's the house." "Go on, madame, go on."