tell him what had brought me there? Even if he had anything to tell me,
how did I know he would speak? He had brought letters from N------,
and knew those who had written them. But it cost me an effort to
question him, and I feared he would suspect what was in my mind. Our
first words were polite and insignificant. I thanked him for his
kindness in bringing letters to Madame Pierson; I told him that upon
leaving France we would ask him to do the same favor for us; and then we
were silent, surprised to find ourselves vis-a-vis.

I looked about me in embarrassment. His room was on the fourth floor;
everything indicated honest and industrious poverty. Some books, musical
instruments, papers, a table and a few chairs, that was all, but
everything was well cared for and presented an agreeable ensemble.

As for him, his frank and animated face predisposed me in his favor. On
the mantel I observed a picture of an old lady. I stepped up to look at
it, and he said it was his mother.

I then recalled that Brigitte had often spoken of him; she had known him
since childhood. Before I came to the country she used to see him
occasionally at N------, but at the time of her last visit there he was
away. It was, therefore, only by chance that I had learned some
particulars of his life, which now came to mind. He had an honest
employment that enabled him to support his mother and sister.

His treatment of these two women deserved the highest praise; he deprived
himself of everything for them, and although he possessed musical talents
that would have enabled him to make a fortune, the immediate needs of
those dependent on him, and an extreme reserve, had always led him to
prefer an assured income to the uncertain chances of success in larger