I had had enough of this dialogue, and put an end to it abruptly by opening the door and asking M. Vauberger for a light. I could not have astounded him more if I had asked for his head. Though I particularly wished not to give way before these people, I could not help stumbling once or twice as I went up the stairs. My head was swimming. Usually my room was as cold as ice. Imagine my surprise at finding a bright, cheerful fire, which sent a pleasant warmth through the room. I wasn’t stoic enough to put it out, and I blessed the kind hearts there are in the world. I stretched myself out in an old arm-chair of Utrecht velvet, which, like myself, had been brought by reverses from the first floor to the garret. I tried to sleep. For half an hour I had been dreaming in a kind of torpor of sumptuous banquets and merry junketings, when the noise of the door opening made me jump up with a start. I thought I was dreaming still when Mme. Vauberger came in, carrying a big tray with two or three savoury dishes steaming on it. Before I could shake off my lethargy she had put the tray down and had begun to lay the cloth. At last I started up hastily. "Well," I said, "what does this mean? What are you doing?" Mme. Vauberger pretended to be greatly surprised. "I thought you ordered dinner, sir?" "Oh, no." "Edouard told me that——" "Edouard made a mistake; it’s for one of the other tenants; you had better see." "But there’s no other tenant on this floor, sir ... I can’t make out..." "Well, it was not for me. What does all this mean? Oh, you annoy me! Take it away." The poor woman began to fold the cloth, looking at me reproachfully, like a favourite dog who has been beaten. "I suppose you’ve had dinner already, sir," she said, timidly. "No doubt." "That is a pity, because this dinner is quite ready, and now it will be wasted, and the boy’ll get a scolding from his father. If you hadn’t had your dinner already, sir, you would have very much obliged me if——" I stamped my foot violently. "Leave the room, I tell you," I said, and as she was going out I went up to her. "My good Louison," I said, "I understand, and I thank you; but I am not very well to-night, and I have no appetite." "Ah, M. Maxime," she exclaimed, in tears, "you don’t know how you hurt my feelings. Well, you can pay me for the dinner; you shall if you like; you can give me the money as soon as you get some ... but if you gave me a hundred thousand francs, it wouldn’t make me so happy as seeing you eat my poor dinner. You would do me a great kindness, M. Maxime. You, who are so clever, you ought to understand how I feel. Oh, I know you will, M. Maxime!" "Well, my dear Louison, what am I to do? I can’t give you a hundred thousand francs ... but ... I am going to eat your dinner. All by myself, too, if you don’t mind." "Certainly, sir. Oh, thank you, sir; I thank you very much indeed. You have a kind heart, sir."