"Had it not been for business that has kept me in Paris, I should have come to see you long ago. I have wanted to do so more than once, for I have often thought of the little milkmaid of Montfermeil. And you--have you thought of me sometimes?" "Oh! not often, monsieur," replied Denise, twisting the corner of her apron. "That is what I call plain speaking," said Auguste testily; but he soon recovered his usual good humor and continued: "After all, Denise, you would have been very foolish to bother about me. Do I deserve to arouse the interest of so pure and sincere a heart as yours? No, I do myself justice. I assure you, Denise, I am very glad for you that you have no affection for me; but I hope to have your friendship, and I will be worthy of it despite my vagaries. What do you say, Denise? You will be my friend, won't you? and when some of the fashionable city ladies have been guilty of fresh perfidy toward me, I will come to you to forget them. The sight of you will reconcile me to your sex; you will make me believe once more in virtue and fidelity, in all the qualities that we seek in women, and--But I haven't kissed you yet, Denise, and a friend has that privilege." Denise blushingly offered her cheek, and Auguste imprinted upon it a single kiss, because the little milkmaid's cold and constrained manner led him to think that it was only from good-nature that she granted that favor. "It seems that there have been some important happenings here," continued Auguste. "Coco tells me that he lives with you, that his old grandmother is dead----" "Yes, monsieur; I asked Père Calleux to let us keep his son, and he consented. I thought Coco would be happier at our house. Did I do wrong, monsieur?" "As if you could do wrong!" "And then my little Denise takes good care of Jacqueleine," said Coco; "and she lets me play all I want to,--if I'll pray to the good Lord for my kind friend every morning and every night." Denise blushed and looked at the ground. "Isn't it natural to pray for one's benefactor?" she stammered. Auguste was touched; he gazed at the girl and the child for some moments, profoundly amazed that a little money, given for the purpose of doing good, should afford him greater happiness than the money he spent by the handful to pay for his pleasures. Then, as if he were ashamed of his emotion, he exclaimed: "Thanks for a mere trifle!--But, now that my little fellow is with you for good and all, I don't propose that he shall be a burden to you. You can hardly have anything left of the paltry sum I gave you, and to-day I will make up for my neglect. I want Coco to do something, to learn----" "Oh! Denise is teaching me my letters now," said the child. "What! do you know how to read, Denise?" asked Auguste. "Yes, monsieur, and to write too," the girl replied, with an air of importance.