The morning of the day on which the dinner at the Rocher de Cancale was to take place, la Peyrade, weary of a performance which had ended by preoccupying his mind, went up to the woman and asked her pointblank if she had any request to make of him. “Monsieur,” she answered, in a tone of solemnity, “is, I think, the celebrated Monsieur de la Peyrade, the advocate of the poor?” “I am la Peyrade; and I have had, it is true, an opportunity to render services to the indigent persons of this quarter.” “Would it, then, be asking too much of monsieur’s goodness that he should suffer me to consult him?” “This place,” replied la Peyrade, “is not well chosen for such consultation. What you have to say to me seems important, to judge by the length of time you have been hesitating to speak to me. I live near here, rue Saint-Dominique d’Enfer, and if you will take the trouble to come to my office--” “It will not annoy monsieur?” “Not in the least; my business is to hear clients.” “At what hour--lest I disturb monsieur--?” “When you choose; I shall be at home all the morning.” “Then I will hear another mass, at which I can take the communion. I did not dare to do so at this mass, for the thought of speaking to monsieur so distracted my mind. I will be at monsieur’s house by eight o’clock, when I have ended my meditation, if that hour does not inconvenience him.” “No; but there is no necessity for all this ceremony,” replied la Peyrade, with some impatience. Perhaps a little professional jealousy inspired his ill-humor, for it was evident that he had to do with an antagonist who was capable of giving him points. At the hour appointed, not a minute before nor a minute after, the pious woman rang the bell, and the barrister having, not without some difficulty, induced her to sit down, he requested her to state her case. She was then seized with that delaying little cough with which we obtain a respite when brought face to face with a difficult subject. At last, however, she compelled herself to approach the object of her visit. “It is to ask monsieur,” she said, “if he would be so very good as to inform me whether it is true that a charitable gentleman, now deceased, has bequeathed a fund to reward domestic servants who are faithful to their masters.” “Yes,” replied la Peyrade; “that is to say, Monsieur de Montyon founded ‘prizes for virtue,’ which are frequently given to zealous and exemplary domestic servants. But ordinary good conduct is not sufficient; there must be some act or acts of great devotion, and truly Christian self-abnegation.” “Religion enjoins humility upon us,” replied the pious woman, “and therefore I dare not praise myself; but inasmuch as for the last twenty years I have lived in the service of an old man of the dullest description, a savant, who has wasted his substance on inventions, so that I myself have had to feed and clothe him, persons have thought that I am not altogether undeserving of that prize.”