"You are very kind, sergeant. Neither is that to be refused. And seeing that I do not keep house, you and your wife must return the visit by coming and sharing a rabbit-stew with me on the outer boulevard." "Agreed, old man!" As the civilian and the Municipalist were exchanging these courtesies, Monsieur Lebrenn came out of the rear room, the door of which had been kept closed. The linendraper looked pale; there were tears in his eyes. He said to his wife, whom he found busy attending one of the wounded men: "Will you come in a minute, my dear friend?" Madam Lebrenn joined her husband, and the door of the rear room closed behind them. There a sad spectacle presented itself to the eyes of the merchant's wife. Pradeline lay stretched out upon a sofa. The girl was in her death agony. George Duchene, with his arm in a sling, was on his knees beside her, urging her to take some of the wine and water in a cup that he held up to her lips. At the sight of Madam Lebrenn, the poor creature endeavored to smile. She gathered all the strength she could, and said in a faint and broken voice: "Madam--I asked to see you--before I die--in order to tell you--the truth about George. I was an orphan; I worked at flower-making. I had suffered a good deal--underwent untold privations--but still I kept my character. I should also say, so as not to praise myself too highly, I had never been tempted," she added with a bitter sigh; and then she smiled: "I met George upon his return from the army--I fell in love with him--I loved him--Oh! I loved him dearly--let that pass--he was the only one--perhaps it was because he never became my lover. I am sure I loved him more than he loved me. He was better than I--it was out of kindness that he offered to marry me. Unfortunately, a girl friend crossed my way and led me astray. She had been a working girl, like myself--and misery had driven her to sell herself! I saw her rich, well dressed--well fed--she urged me to do as she had done--my head turned--I forgot George--but not for long--but for nothing in the world would I have dared to appear before him again. Occasionally, nevertheless, I would come to this street--seeking to catch a glimpse of him. I saw him more than once at work in your shop, madam--and talking to your daughter, who seemed to me very beautiful--Oh, as beautiful as the day! A presentiment told me George was bound to fall in love with her. I watched him--more than once, recently, I saw him early in the morning at his window--looking across the street at yours. Yesterday morning I was with someone--" A feeble blush of shame colored for an instant the pallid cheeks of the dying girl. She dropped her eyes, and presently proceeded in a voice that was fast sinking: