He had made Madame Bidoux's acquaintance in the dim past; and he had made it in his usual direct and electric manner. Happening to walk down the Rue Saint Honoré, he had come upon tragedy. Madame Bidoux, fat, red of face, tearful of eye and strident of voice, held in her arms a little mongrel dog--her own precious possession--which had just been run over in the street, and the two of them filled the air with wailings and vociferation. Aristide uncovered his head, as though he were about to address a duchess, and smiled at her engagingly. "Madame," said he, "I perceive that your little dog has a broken leg. As I know all about dogs, I will, with your permission, set the limb, put it into splints and guarantee a perfect cure. Needless to say, I make no charge for my services." Snatching the dog from the arms of the fascinated woman, he darted in his dragon-fly fashion into the shop, gave a hundred orders to a stupefied assistant, and--to cut short a story which Aristide told me with great wealth of detail--mended the precious dog and gained Madame Bidoux's eternal gratitude. For Madame Bidoux the world held no more remarkable man than Aristide Pujol; and for Aristide the world held no more devoted friend than Madame Bidoux. Many a succulent meal, at the widow's expense--never more enjoyable than in summer time when she set a little iron table and a couple of iron chairs on the pavement outside the shop--had saved him from starvation; and many a gewgaw sent from London or Marseilles or other such remote latitudes filled her heart with pride. Since my acquaintance with Aristide I myself have called on this excellent woman, and I hope I have won her esteem, though I have never had the honour of eating pig's trotters and chou-croûte with her on the pavement of the Rue Saint Honoré. It is an honour from which, being an unassuming man, I shrink. Unfortunately Madame Bidoux has nothing further to do with the story I am about to relate, save in one respect:-- There came a day--it was a bleak day in November, when Madame Bidoux's temporary financial difficulties happened to coincide with Aristide's. To him, unsuspicious of coincidence, she confided her troubles. He emptied the meagre contents of his purse into her hand. "Madame Bidoux," said he with a flourish, and the air of a prince, "why didn't you tell me before?" and without waiting for her blessing he went out penniless into the street.