The child stared at Auguste in open-mouthed amazement; he had difficulty in reconciling himself to the idea that that shabbily dressed man with the long beard was his benefactor; but if his eyes did not recognize his kind friend, his heart was not silent: something drew him to the stranger, so that he ran joyfully to Auguste and kissed him, and the latter abandoned himself for some moments to the pleasure of holding the child and the girl in his arms. "So you knew me, did you, Denise?" he said at last. "Oh! always! I shall always recognize you! Even if your face were not the same, my heart would tell me that it was you." "Dear Denise!" "Well, I didn't know you, my kind friend," said Coco, "because you've got a beard; and then, you were crying." "Alas! you did not expect to see me in this pitiable costume, did you?" "Oh! we expected you, dressed no matter how! In our eyes, aren't you always well dressed? But when I see you like this, I fear that you have been unfortunate; and that is what grieves me." "Yes, Denise, yes, I have been unfortunate, but I have earned it! It's my own folly that has reduced me to this condition! But as I still have your friendship and this little fellow's, I feel that I have not lost all." "Oh! monsieur, is it possible that you could doubt our hearts?" "What would you have? misfortune often makes men unjust. I was wrong, I see. I will tell you everything that has happened to me, Denise; I will tell you frankly what I have done; you are the last one from whom I would conceal my shortcomings, for I am sure beforehand that you will forgive me." "Oh! I am so glad to see you again, monsieur! But come in and sit down in the house, and rest; you must want something to eat and drink." "It is true that I have had nothing since yesterday." "Since yesterday!" cried Denise; and a deathly pallor overspread her cheeks, her eyes filled with tears, and she could not speak; she laid her head on Auguste's shoulder and gave free vent to the tears that were choking her. "Denise, dear Denise, pray be calm! I am with you; I have already forgotten part of my misfortunes--don't be alarmed about me! Besides, I am not entirely without resources. The reason why I have eaten nothing since yesterday is that sad thoughts took away my appetite. I still have a little money, but I am saving it to procure lodgings in Paris; for nothing is so conducive to economy as misfortune. Oh! the loss of my wealth is not what grieves me most, as you know; blest with a happy disposition, hope and cheerfulness continued to travel with me even when my purse was light; but the ingratitude of men, the desertion of him whom I loved like a brother--that is what cut me the deepest! that is what took away my courage! I know that a man may bear the blows of destiny philosophically; but I could find no philosophy to enable me to bear the loss of a friend, the pains of the heart."