And I told her my story, as clearly as I could, through my sobs; and soon a pair of small arms were thrown round my neck, and a smooth little face laid against my wet one caressingly. I felt as if half my troubles were over. 'Don't cry, little boy,' said Ninette, grandly; 'I will take care of you. If you like, you shall live with me. We will make a _ménage_ together. What is your profession?' I showed her my fiddle, and the sight of its condition caused fresh tears to flow. 'Ah!' she said, with a smile of approval, 'a violinist--good! I too am an artiste. You ask my instrument? There it is!' And she pointed to an object on the ground beside her, which I had, at first, taken to be a big box, and dimly hoped might contain eatables. My respect for my new friend suffered a little diminution. Already I felt instinctively that to play the fiddle, even though it is an old, a poor one, is to be something above a mere organ-grinder. But I did not express this feeling--was not this little girl going to take me home with her? would not she, doubtless, give me something to eat? My first impulse was an artistic one; that was of Italy. The concealment of it was due to the English side of me--the practical side. I crept close to the little girl; she drew me to her protectingly. 'What is thy name, _p'tit_?' she said. 'Anton,' I answered, for that was what the woman Maddalena had called me. Her husband, if he was her husband, never gave me any title, except when he was abusing me, and then my names were many and unmentionable. Nowadays I am the Baron Antonio Antonelli, of the Legion of Honour, but that is merely an extension of the old concise Anton, so far as I know, the only name I ever had.' 'Anton?' repeated the little girl, that is a nice name to say. Mine is Ninette.' We sat in silence in our sheltered nook, waiting until the rain should stop, and very soon I began to whimper again. 'I am so hungry, Ninette,' I said; 'I have eaten nothing to-day.' In the literal sense this was a lie; I had eaten some stale crusts in the early morning, before I gave my taskmasters the slip, but the hunger was true enough. Ninette began to reproach herself for not thinking of this before. After much fumbling in her pocket, she produced a bit of _brioche_, an apple, and some cold chestnuts. '_V'la_, Anton,' she said, 'pop those in your mouth. When we get home we will have supper together. I have bread and milk at home. And we will buy two hot potatoes from the man on the _quai_.'