"All her life passed in this way. She worked, thinking always of him. She
began to buy medicines at his pharmacy; this gave her a chance to talk to
him and to see him closely. In this way, she was still able to give him
money.

"As I said before, she died this spring. When she had closed her pathetic
story she entreated me to take her earnings to the man she loved. She had
worked only that she might leave him something to remind him of her after
her death. I gave the priest fifty francs for her funeral expenses. The
next morning I went to see the Chouquets. They were finishing breakfast,
sitting opposite each other, fat and red, important and self-satisfied.
They welcomed me and offered me some coffee, which I accepted. Then I
began my story in a trembling voice, sure that they would be softened,
even to tears. As soon as Chouquet understood that he had been loved by
'that vagabond! that chair-mender! that wanderer!' he swore with
indignation as though his reputation had been sullied, the respect of
decent people lost, his personal honor, something precious and dearer to
him than life, gone. His exasperated wife kept repeating: 'That beggar!
That beggar!'

"Seeming unable to find words suitable to the enormity, he stood up and
began striding about. He muttered: 'Can you understand anything so
horrible, doctor? Oh, if I had only known it while she was alive, I
should have had her thrown into prison. I promise you she would not have
escaped.'

"I was dumfounded; I hardly knew what to think or say, but I had to
finish my mission. 'She commissioned me,' I said, 'to give you her
savings, which amount to three thousand five hundred francs. As what I