"But now, as in the case of a poor, helpless, afflicted creature such as I am," said the Schoolmaster, hastily, "would not the worthy owner of the farm grant me a humble corner in it for charity's sake--a shelter and a morsel of bread for the little while I have to remain a burden to any one in this troublesome world? Oh, my worthy sir, could I but obtain such a boon I would pass the remainder of my days in praying for a blessing on my benefactor." And these words were really pronounced in entire sincerity of meaning; not that compunction for his many crimes touched the brigand's stony heart, but he contrasted the happy peacefulness of the lives of these labourers to his own wretched, stormy existence; and still further did he envy them when he reflected upon all that the Chouette might have in store for him; he shuddered as he reflected upon the future she would provide for him, and more than ever regretted, by having recalled his old accomplice, having for ever lost the means of dwelling with good and honest persons, such as those with whom the Chourineur had placed him. Father Châtelain surveyed the Schoolmaster with an air of surprise. "My good man," said he, "I did not know you were so utterly destitute." "Alas! yes, it is even so. I lost my sight by an accident while working at my trade. I am going to Louvres to endeavour to find a distant relation there, who, I hope, may be willing to assist me. But, you are aware, people are not always so open-hearted as they should be; they do not like distressed objects, such as myself, coming to claim kindred, and are frequently harsh and unkind," answered the Schoolmaster, sighing deeply. "But the most selfish heart would grieve at your distress," replied the old labourer. "The most hard-hearted relative would pity a man like you--a good and honest workman overtaken by a sudden calamity, and left without hope or help. Then the moving spectacle of this young and tender child, your only friend and guide, would wring pity from the very stones. But how is it that the master for whom you worked previously to your accident has done nothing for you?" "He is now dead," said the Schoolmaster, after a short hesitation; "and he was my only friend on earth." "But then there is the hospital for the blind." "I am not the right age to qualify me for admission." "Poor man! yours is, indeed, a hard case." "Do you think it likely that, in the event of my relation at Louvres refusing to assist me, your master, whom I already respect without knowing, would take pity on me?" "Unfortunately, you see, the farm is not a hospital. Our general rule is to grant all infirm or afflicted travellers a temporary shelter of a night or a day in the house. Then some assistance is furnished, and they are put on their road with a prayer to kind Providence to take them under its charge." "Then you think there is no hope of interesting your master in my unhappy fate?" asked the brigand, with a sigh of regret.