"You're not sick, are you, my friend?" he asked. "I, monsieur--I was never so well." "You have a tired look, and your eyes seem weak." "Oh! that's because I read a great deal at night." "I didn't know that you were so fond of reading." "That depends on the book, monsieur; I'm reading the life of the great Turenne." "You must know it by heart." "I never get tired of it, monsieur." Auguste asked no more questions. Some time after, one night when he could not sleep because, with all his philosophy, his reflections were beginning to be less cheerful, Auguste got out of bed and determined to try reading himself. He went to Bertrand's room to get a light, and was amazed to find that his companion was absent. Bertrand's bed was not disturbed, so that he had not retired; and yet it was late when Auguste came home, and Bertrand was apparently waiting for him to come in before going to bed. That midnight absence disturbed Auguste. He had no idea that his faithful follower would go about to wine-shops with Schtrack, in their present condition, and as he wished to find out at what time Bertrand left the house, he went downstairs, having decided to rouse Schtrack if necessary; he was determined to learn what had become of Bertrand. It was three o'clock in the morning and everybody in the house was asleep, but Auguste saw a light in the concierge's lodge; the door was ajar and the light came from the room at the rear. Auguste went in and discovered Bertrand seated on a table beside the sleeping Schtrack, working resolutely on a piece of cloth in which his tired eyes could hardly follow the threads which were his guide. At sight of his master, Bertrand stopped, crestfallen. Auguste was so moved that he stood for some moments unable to speak. At last he cried: "What! you, working, Bertrand? Have you turned tailor?" "Why not, monsieur? I handled a musket a long while, and now I am handling a needle; they say that an honest man honors whatever he touches." "And you pass your nights working! you are ruining your eyesight in order to work a little more!" "This is a mere chance, monsieur; there was a piece of work to be done in a hurry to-night, and I thought--But it's the first time, I swear!" "Oh! don't try to deceive me any more! It's for me that you sit up all night and deprive yourself of rest. It's to spin out our funds a little longer that you are ruining your health. And I--I pass my days in idleness; I squander in an hour or two what you work like a dog as many nights to earn." "No, monsieur, no, I work because I like it, because it amuses me; and if I should try to be less of a burden to you, would there be any harm in that? Haven't you been doing everything for me for a long time? and do you propose to forbid your old comrade to do something for you?" Auguste could not reply, but he opened his arms to Bertrand and pressed him to his heart; then he forced his faithful servant to go upstairs with him and go to bed.