opinot's. There are virtues so splendid that they
necessitate obscurity; men make haste to hide them under a bushel. As to
those whom the lawyer succored, they, hard at work all day and tired
at night, were little able to sing his praises; theirs was the
gracelessness of children, who can never pay because they owe too much.
There is such compulsory ingratitude; but what heart that has sown good
to reap gratitude can think itself great?

By the end of the second year of his apostolic work, Popinot had turned
the storeroom at the bottom of his house into a parlor, lighted by the
three iron-barred windows. The walls and ceiling of this spacious room
were whitewashed, and the furniture consisted of wooden benches like
those seen in schools, a clumsy cupboard, a walnut-wood writing-table,
and an armchair. In the cupboard were his registers of donations, his
tickets for orders for bread, and his diary. He kept his ledger like a
tradesman, that he might not be ruined by kindness. All the sorrows of
the neighborhood were entered and numbered in a book, where each had its
little account, as merchants' customers have theirs. When there was any
question as to a man or a family needing help, the lawyer could always
command information from the police.

Lavienne, a man made for his master, was his aide-de-camp. He redeemed
or renewed pawn-tickets, and visited the districts most threatened with
famine, while his master was in court.

From four till seven in the morning in summer, from six till nine
in winter, this room was full of women, children, and paupers, while
Popinot gave audience. There was no need for a stove in winter; the
crowd was so dense that the air was warmed; only, Lavienne strewed straw
on the wet floor. By long use the benches were as polished as varnished
mahogany; at the height of a man's shoulders the wall had a coat of
dark, indescribable color, given to it by the rags and tattered clothes
of these poor creatures. The poor wretches loved Popinot so well that
when they assembled before his door was opened, before daybreak on a
winter's morning, the women warming themselves with their foot-brasiers,
the men swinging their arms for circulation, never a sound had disturbed
his sleep. Rag-pickers and other toilers of the night knew the house,
and often saw a light burning in the lawyer's private room at unholy
hours. Even thieves, as they passed by, said, "That is his house," and
respected it. The morning he gave