"But I should say, monsieur, that you have already done a great deal for the little fellow; instead of coming to Paris, he will remain in the village, and he won't be any worse off for that." Auguste could not make up his mind to appear in the guise of a ruined man to the good people who had seen him scattering gold in profusion; a false shame deterred him from going again to the village, and he who had just been declaiming against the passions of men showed that he was not himself exempt from pride and vanity. Auguste left Bertrand and went out in search of distraction and to dispel the black mood to which his reflections gave birth. Bertrand, left alone, reflected that all hopes of employment had vanished, and said to himself: "What are we going to do when we haven't anything left, which won't be long? Shall I let him live on black bread and water? Sacrebleu! no, that shall never be! I am not capable of filling a clerk's place--besides, he wouldn't want me to leave him--but can't I work without his suspecting it?" Bertrand thought a few moments, scratched his head, then exclaimed joyfully: "Why the devil didn't I think of it sooner?" Then he went slowly downstairs and hunted up his friend Schtrack. "You make breeches, old fellow, don't you?" said Bertrand to the concierge; "in fact, you're a tailor----" "Ja." "Do you always have plenty of work?" "Ja, I haf more than I can do." "That's because you don't often work. Are you willing to give me some?" "Preeches?" "Whatever you choose, so long as I have work to do. I shall make a mess of it at first, but you can show me and I'll do better soon. You see, I'm anxious to work, I'm no more of a fool than you are, and it seems to me that I can do whatever you do. So you'll give me some work, will you?" "Sacretié! Monsieur Pertrand, do you mean it?" "Why, yes; I want to do something; I am tired of sitting all day with my arms folded; so I'll fold my legs, that will be a change. Is it agreed?" "Ja, Monsieur Pertrand." "That's good; but not a word of this before my master, or I'll begin my apprenticeship by sewing up your tongue." "I won't say ein wort." That same evening, as soon as Dalville had gone out, Bertrand went down to the concierge's quarters, and, seating himself in a small room behind the lodge, went to work with great zeal. At first the ex-corporal had much ado to use a needle, and he frequently thrust it into his finger; but when Schtrack said: "You've hurt yourself, mein friend!" Bertrand rejoined: "Don't you suppose a bayonet hurt more than that?" Bertrand passed a large part of the day at work and sometimes he worked very late. By dint of application, he began to make himself useful; he earned very little, but he hoped to become more skilful in time. Auguste had no suspicion of anything; he was rarely at home and never inquired what Bertrand was doing. But, when he looked at his faithful companion, he noticed that his eyes were very red and that he had a tired look.