“Yes, mother; you see, first of all, I went down to borrow from the concierge, Monsieur Baudoin; but it wasn’t any use for me to knock at their door, I couldn’t wake them, they’re worse than deaf people. So then I was coming up again in very low spirits, indeed, I believe I was crying, when the door on the third landing opened, and the gentleman who lives there came out to me. Oh! this thing proves, mother, that people very often say foolish things, or that it’s very wrong to judge a person by his appearance. For that gentleman that they call the Bear, that gentleman that never speaks to anybody, and that everybody makes stupid jokes about, why, he took me into his room, and gave me all these things for you, because I told him that you were sick; and he didn’t even let me thank him!--Ah! you miserable charcoal! you’ve got to burn! Now I am going to put some water over the fire.” “But, my dear, this is an enormous loaf of sugar, and it is almost whole; you ought not to have borrowed so much as this.” “As if that gentleman would listen to me! He says: ‘Take this!’ and if you try to remonstrate, he shouts: ‘Hold your tongue!’ and it’s impossible to prevent him from doing what he wants to.--Ah! my fire is going at last!” “But this Monsieur Malberg--for the gentleman of the third floor is named Malberg--I have never met him; what sort of looking man is he, Georget? You must have had a good look at him, didn’t you?” “Oh, yes! mother; why, he’s a man neither young nor old. At first sight, I am sure that you would take him to be older than he really is, because when a person never laughs, that makes him look older. He may be somewhat over fifty years old; his face is not ugly, not by any means, but his features have a sort of stern expression; his eyes are always gloomy and melancholy, and there are great wrinkles on his brow; his eyebrows are heavy, and his hair must have been black, but it’s a little gray now. When he fixes his great brown eyes on you, it frightens you; and yet I got used to them, for his expression is neither unkind nor contemptuous; it’s--I don’t know just how to describe it--it’s sort of compassionate, or sorrowful; and his voice, which sounds harsh at first, is much less so when he’s talked to you for some time. You see, mother, that gentleman isn’t like most people; oh, no! he makes you respect him, and it comes natural to obey him, and you don’t dare to say anything.” “Really, my dear, you make me long to know this gentleman; when I am able to go out, I shall go to thank him. And did you tell him----” “Just how we are placed, what we used to be, and what father did. Yes, I told him everything. Did I do wrong?” “No, my boy, we have done nothing which we need to be ashamed of or to conceal.” “Ah! my water is boiling; now I am going to make you some herb tea, mother; which would you rather have?” “Why, tell me first what you have in your pocket.”