FÉCHAIN. Thank you, ma’am. I’ll tell her what you say. MADELEINE. Is she in good health? FÉCHAIN. Perfect. BRIGNAC. That’s fine. You’re a grand fellow, a real example of public virtue. FÉCHAIN. It’s just the way I’m made, so I can’t help it. [_Laughing with stupid vanity_] Aha, if only everyone were like you or me! The way you talked, you know! Why, number thirteen had to be on the way after that. How many have you? BRIGNAC. Two. FÉCHAIN [_making a face_] What! what! Oh, you must make up for lost time. MADELEINE [_to Lucie, low_] Nasty old beast! BRIGNAC [_a little awkwardly_] There, splendid. You’re the right sort. Come and see me again some day. If you want a recommendation— [_He takes him to the door_]. FÉCHAIN. Thank you kindly. BRIGNAC. Goodbye. FÉCHAIN. If I might make bold, sir, could you lend me twentyeight francs? I’m a bit behind with my rent. BRIGNAC. I’ll lay your request before the town authority and second it warmly, I promise you. MADELEINE. But perhaps he’s in need of it at once. [_To Féchain_] Give me your address and I’ll bring you the money. I shall be glad to pay my respects to that fine wife of yours. FÉCHAIN. Oh, ma’am; but you’d be likely to miss her. She’s often out of the house. MADELEINE. That doesn’t matter. I shall see the children anyway. Where do you live? FÉCHAIN. You’re very kind, but I shouldn’t like a lady like you to come to our sort of place. My landlord’ll wait so long as he knows that M. Brignac is going to help me. Thank you all the same. HOURTIN [_to Brignac_] Let me say a word to this fellow. I feel sure I’ve seen him somewhere. [_Brignac nods. To Féchain_] Pardon me— FÉCHAIN [_starting_] Oh! Good day, doctor. HOURTIN. Ah, I thought so. I was sure I knew you. You were working at the hospital once? FÉCHAIN. Yes, sir. HOURTIN. Quite so. No; you do _not_ live at Chartres. FÉCHAIN [_after a silence_] No, sir. I live at Paris. Only when I see there’s to be a meeting like this not far away, I go to it. I’m a poor man, and then— HOURTIN. Then you get a loan from the chairman? FÉCHAIN. If I can. Sometimes I’m asked to a dinner. HOURTIN. Is it true you have twelve children? FÉCHAIN [_smiling_] That? Oh, yes; I’ve got the proofs. [_He takes some papers from his pocket_] Here are their birth certificates, all twelve. I always have them about me—never go without them—so as I can shew them. You can count them. HOURTIN [_taking the papers_] Do all your children live with you? FÉCHAIN. Oh, no. Why there aren’t more than seven left. HOURTIN. The others are dead? FÉCHAIN. Poor folks can’t hope to keep all they have. HOURTIN. When you had had five, you must have seen that you couldn’t support them? FÉCHAIN. Of course. HOURTIN. And you had more all the same? FÉCHAIN. We couldn’t have been worse off than we were. One more or less makes no odds; and then, after seven, things are easier. HOURTIN. How’s that?