"In that case, get well right away, and go and console poor Denise." "Oh no! I shall not go there." "What's that? you won't go? You know that she loves you, that she is in despair at your absence, and you won't go back to her?" "I am destitute--I can't accept her hand." "My dear friend, that's a piece of delicacy that I can't understand. When a person loves us, what's theirs is ours; and if a prince should fall in love with me, although I haven't any more money than you have, I shouldn't hesitate a moment about marrying him." Auguste held his peace, and Virginie said nothing further on a subject that seemed to distress him. To restore the sick man's strength, he was given no more infusions to drink; old wine and rich soups were prescribed by the doctor, and Virginie, who searched her drawers in a vain endeavor to make money, decided to sell a shawl which was her most beautiful possession, and which she almost never laid aside. But Auguste saw how much he was costing Virginie, and his distress on that account retarded his convalescence. He watched her as she worked incessantly, often passing a large part of the night at her sewing, and he sighed, as he said to himself: "She is killing herself for me! and I shall never be able to requite all her care of me!" When Virginie returned after procuring a sum of money by means of her remaining resource, Auguste noticed that she was without the shawl she usually wore. "Where have you been, Virginie?" he asked in a feeble voice. "For a little walk, to take the air. I saw that you were asleep and didn't need me." "Why aren't you wearing your shawl?" "My shawl? Why, I didn't put it on because it's too warm." "You had it on when you went out." "Did I?--Well, the truth is that I've lent it to a friend of mine who's going to a party to-night; but she'll give it back." "You are deceiving me, Virginie." "No, monsieur, I am not deceiving you." "I am costing you a great deal; and you deprive yourself of everything in order to take care of me, so that I may lack nothing! You are stripping yourself clean for me!" "What are you talking about, Monsieur Auguste? I deprive myself of everything! Let me tell you, monsieur, that I deprive myself of nothing. Who told you that I am not well fixed, that I haven't money put by?" "And you work a great part of the night!"