"Why then," said my master, "should we pursue a career which is equally abominable to the three of us? We are not slaves, _nom d'un chien_!" "We must work," said Blanquette, "or what would become of us?" Paragot finished his coffee and bread and handed the bowl to Blanquette who nursed it in her lap, while he settled himself snugly beneath the bedclothes. The autumn rain beat against the dirty little window and the wind howled through chinks and crevices, filling the room with cold damp air. I drew the old blanket which I had brought from my manger-bed closer round my shoulders. Blanquette with her peasant's indifference to change of temperature sat unconcerned in her thin cotton dress. "But what will become of us?" she repeated. "I shall continue to exist," said he. "But I, what shall I do?" "You can fill my porcelain pipe, and let me think," replied Paragot. She rose in her calm obedient way and, having carried out his orders, reseated herself at the foot of the bed. "You are the most patient creature alive," said he, "otherwise you would not be contented to go on playing the zither, which is not a very exhilarating instrument, my little Blanquette. I am not patient, and I am not going to play the violin again for a million years after tonight, and the violin is superior to the zither." Blanquette regarded him uncomprehending. "If I were a king I would live in a palace and you should be my housekeeper. But as I am a ragged vagabond too idle to work, I am puzzled as to the disposal of you." She grew very white and rose to her feet. "I understand. You are driving me away. If it is your desire I will earn my living alone. _Je ne vous serai pas sur le dos._" For all her vulgar asseveration that she would not be on his back, her manner held a dignity which touched him. He held out his hand. "But I don't drive you away, little idiot," he laughed. "On the contrary. You are like Asticot and Narcisse. You belong to me. But Asticot is going to learn how to become an artist, and Narcisse when he is bored can hunt for fleas. You are a young woman; things must arrange themselves differently. But how? _Voilà tout!_" "It is very simple," said Blanquette. "How, simple?" "_Dame!_ I can work for you and Asticot." "The devil!" cried Paragot. "But yes," she went on earnestly. "I know that men are men, and sometimes they do not like to work. It happens very often. _Tiens! mon maître_, I am alone, all that is most alone. You are the only friends I have in the world, you and Asticot. You have been kinder to me than any one I have ever met. I put you in my prayers every night. It is a very little thing that I should work for you, if it fatigues you to scrape the fiddle in these holes of cabarets. It is true. True as the _bon Dieu_. I would tear myself into four pieces for you. _Je suis brave fille_, and I can work. But no!" she cried, looking deep into his eyes. "You can't refuse. It is not possible." "Yes, I refuse," said Paragot.