"I can go down," thought Auguste; "I have time enough now to go to him." Running hurriedly to his desk, Auguste seized his wallet, then rushed downstairs four at a time. He woke Schtrack, who opened the door for him; then ran across the street and knocked at the door of the old man's house. The shower of blows led the concierge to think that the house was on fire, and that some obliging passer-by had stopped to inform him. He rose hastily, ran to the door in his shirt, and exclaimed, still half asleep: "Which chimney? Where's it coming out? Has it got much headway?--Wife! wife!--Where's the firemen?" "Don't get excited; there's nothing wrong," said Auguste; "but I absolutely must speak to the old man who lives on the fifth floor. Here." And Auguste put a hundred-sou piece in the concierge's hand and hurried upstairs, leaving that worthy rubbing his eyes, as he stared at the coin in his hand, and finally went out into the street to make sure that there was no smoke to be seen anywhere. When Auguste reached the top floor, the lamplight shining under the ill-fitting door guided his steps. "Who's there?" asked the old man, surprised that anyone should call at his room so late. "Open, in heaven's name!" Auguste replied; "it's a friend, it is one who wishes to dry your tears." The word "friend" seemed to confound the unfortunate man. However, he made up his mind at last to open the door, and gazed in surprise at the young man, whose features were entirely unknown to him, and who came at one o'clock in the morning to offer his services. But Auguste's face was gentle and kindly, and his eyes expressed the tenderest interest in the old man, who allowed him to enter his bare room. "What do you want, monsieur?" he asked in a faltering tone. "To comfort you--to save you from despair." "But, monsieur, who told you----" "I saw you just now. You were on the point of carrying out a ghastly plan." "Ah! so it was your voice, monsieur!--Poor Anna! I thought it was yours!--But she was asleep; she is sleeping still. Oh! monsieur, I implore you, never let her know. And yet what am I to do here on earth, penniless, without food? She is killing herself to support me! She deprives herself of everything for my sake!" The unhappy wretch, abandoning himself to his grief, did not notice that he was raising his voice. "Hush!" said Auguste; "you'll wake her. Let us not talk so loud. Tell me your troubles; I tell you again, I propose to put an end to them." Auguste's tone and his pleasant voice inspired confidence in the unhappy father; he sat down beside the young man, as far as possible from the small dressing-room, and began his story in an undertone. "I was not born in poverty, monsieur, and perhaps that is my misfortune. My family was highly considered; my name----" "I do not ask it, monsieur; I do not need to know your name, to make me wish to be of use to you; I wish to know your misfortunes only."