[F] Schtrack is supposed to pronounce the word _vendu_--sold--like _fendu_--split or broken;--hence the misunderstanding. "What's that? He smashed all his furniture? Had he gone mad, then?" "I tell you he sold everything, to get money." "Oh! sold his furniture! Why don't you say what you mean--with your Zurich French!" "You see how badly off he must have been," said Denise, "to sell everything he had!" "That don't prove anything, my dear girl; in the first place, as he was leaving Paris, he didn't need any furniture; and then there are people who prefer to live in furnished lodgings. For my part, I've sold my furniture four or five times, and yet I stay in Paris; you see that every day.--But after all, in which direction has the fellow gone? Didn't he tell you, monsieur le concierge?" "Yes; he's gone round the world." "The deuce! that's a definite address! Think of writing: 'To Monsieur So-and-So, going round the world!'--And he's taken Bertrand with him, has he?" "Yes, I'm fery sorry for it, because Pertrand was just beginning to work fery gut." "Bertrand, work? at what, pray?" "At making preeches, bantaloons; it was me who taught him." "My dear man, I think you must be dreaming now. Bertrand, the old soldier, Auguste's faithful servant, make breeches?" "Like a horse." "You're crazy!" "No, no, I ain't; Pertrand, he did work. He passed every night working, and my wife told me he did it to help his master, who was throwing away all his money." Virginie was speechless, but Denise exclaimed: "I understand only too well. Dear old Bertrand! I knew he was a fine fellow! He worked to help Auguste, who didn't know anything about it, probably." "Oh, no! he was going to sew up my tongue if I said a word." "Well, madame, if Monsieur Auguste hadn't been without means, would Bertrand have worked at tailoring--worked all night?" "Faith, my dear girl, I don't understand it at all. The last time I saw Auguste he treated me to punch, and yet he must have moved up to the fifth floor even then. To be sure, he had such a kind heart, he was so generous!--Well, well! there she is crying again! My dear Denise, you'll make your eyes as red as a rabbit's; and that won't bring Auguste back. Poor child! how she loves him! Those ne'er-do-wells must have some kind of magic power, to inspire such passions. Don't get excited, Denise--he'll come back, he hasn't gone away forever. You'll see him again, I'm sure of it; and when he knows how much you love him, I propose that he shall love you and cherish you; I'll tell him what grief and torture he has caused you; I'll tell him how good, how gentle and sweet you are. Come, don't cry any more. Kiss me, Denise; Auguste will love you, for you well deserve it." Virginie was deeply moved; Denise's suffering had melted her; for the first time in a very long while, genuine tears fell from her eyes as she threw her arms about the village girl.