"You must be generous, and pardon me, sir," said she; "just now I was very rude to the Marquis; but, you see, it was my husband who turned my head; I must say also that I had never seen the young gentleman,--so young! so pretty, and an orphan, too . . . and then for a gentleman like him not to have a fire in midwinter, when work-people like us always have a good warm stove! Come now, my worthy sir, I shall always reproach myself for having dared to speak impudently to the Marquis; but be assured, at least, that as long as Madelaine Landry lives, she will always be his humble servant. . . . Now, sir"--and the good woman cast down her eyes while drawing a little bag from her pocket--"on my way here I changed a bill of three hundred francs; here is the young Marquis confined to his bed, and perhaps he will need something,--a doctor. I should never have dared to offer it to him, but with you I am more bold . . . Come, now, sir, take it, and we will put it on the bill, and forget the vile words I said to you." . . . "As to that, we are perfectly equal, my dear woman, for if you called me an owl, I called you an osprey; so we won't speak of it any more. . . . As to this loan, I ought perhaps to tell you that the return of the Abbé de Vighan, my pupil's uncle, may be postponed, and that it may perhaps be a long time before we can restore what you so generously offer--and after the scene of this morning, I fear perhaps . . ." "Don't speak of that, sir, or I shall die of shame, upon my word. The Marquis can return it whenever he will; God be thanked! we are not dependant on sixty dollars for our living." "I will take this debt on myself, my worthy woman; besides, my next half-year's income from the salt tax will pay you the amount." "Ah! well and good! It seems to me that I am more than half pardoned for my insolence. And now, sir, I will go home and get what the Marquis needs; and I will come back every day, if you will allow me, and establish myself as his nurse; for men know nothing about taking care of the sick,--without offence to you, sir." And Madelaine left Dominique near his pupil's bed, in possession of a good fire, an enjoyment the old man had not known for a long time. CHAPTER IV MYSTERIES The illness of M. de Létorière drew towards its close; he was nearly convalescent, thanks to the assiduous care of Madelaine, her husband, and Martin Kraft, the apprentice. Each had vied with the good Dominique in devotion to him. The Marquis had shown himself so affectionately grateful for all these touching proofs of interest, had appeared so to justify and merit them by his delicacy and the goodness of his heart, that the tailor and his wife became more and more attached to their "dear young gentleman," as they called him.