Perhaps it was Uncle Baudu who had sent him, regretting his rigour; for he continued to pass his niece without taking any notice of her, although quite aware of her miserable position. But when she plainly questioned her visitor, he appeared more embarrassed than ever. No, no, it was not the governor who had sent him; and he finished by naming Clara--he simply wanted to talk about Clara. Little by little he became bolder, and asked Denise's advice, supposing that she could be useful to him with her old friend. It was in vain that she tried to dishearten him, by reproaching him with the pain he was causing Geneviève, all for this heartless girl. He came up another day, and got into the habit of coming to see her. This sufficed for his timid passion; he continually commenced the same conversation, unable to resist, trembling with joy to be with a girl who had approached Clara. And this caused Denise to live more than ever at The Ladies' Paradise. It was towards the end of September that the young girl experienced the blackest misery. Pépé had fallen ill, having caught a severe cold. He ought to have been nourished with good broth, and she had not even a piece of bread. One evening, completely conquered, she was sobbing, in one of those sombre straits which drive women on to the streets, or into the Seine, when old Bourras gently knocked at the door. He brought a loaf, and a milk-can full of broth. “There! there's something for the youngster,” said he in his abrupt way. “Don't cry like that; it annoys my lodgers.” And as she thanked him in a fresh outburst of tears, he resumed: “Do keep quiet! To-morrow come and see me. I've some work for you.” Bourras, since the terrible blow dealt him by The Ladies' Paradise by their opening an umbrella department, had ceased to employ any workwomen. He did everything himself to save expenses--the cleaning, mending, and sewing. His trade was also diminishing, so that he was sometimes without work. And he was obliged to invent something to do the next day, when he installed Denise in a corner of his shop. He felt that he could not let any one die of hunger in his house. “You'll have two francs a day,” said he. “When you find something better, you can leave me.”