argain like another, worse than
another, perhaps; so be it; when one places oneself in dependence upon
another more fortunate than oneself, one must be content with anything.
I entertained the captain of the Unicorn in exchange for my passage,
which he gave me on board his vessel. We are quits. I have cut a
contemptible figure, madame; I know it more fully than any one else, for
I have known misfortune more fully."

"Poor man!" said the widow, touched by his avowal.

"I do not say this to be pitied, madame," said Croustillac proudly. "I
only desire to make you understand that if, from necessity, I have been
compelled to accept the part of a complacent guest, I have never
received money as a compensation for an insult." Then he continued, in a
tone of profound emotion, "Can you, madame, be ignorant of the wrong
which has been done me by this proposition, not so much because it is
humiliating, as because it was made by you? My God! you wished to amuse
yourself with me: that I would have endured without complaint; but to
offer me money to compensate for your raillery--ah! madame, you have
made me acquainted with a misery of which I was heretofore ignorant."
After a moment's silence he continued, with added bitterness, "After
all, why should you have treated me otherwise? Who am I? Under what
auspices did I come here? Even the clothes I wear are not my own! Why
concern yourself with me?"

These last words of the poor man had an accent of such sincere grief and
mortification that the young woman, touched by them, regretted deeply
the indiscreet proffer she had made him. With bent head she walked
beside Croustillac. They arrived, thus, near the fountain of white
marble of which they had spoken.

The young widow still leaned on the adventurer's arm. After a few
minutes of reflection she said, "You are right; I was wrong. I judged
you wrongly. The compensation I offered you was almost an insult; but do
not for a moment think that I wished to humiliate you. Recall what I
said to you this morning of your courage and the generosity of your
heart. Well, all this I still think. You say you love me; if this love
is sincere it cannot offend me; it would be wrong in me to receive so
flattering a feeling with contempt. So," she continued, with a charming
air, "is peace declared? Are you still angry with me? Say no, that I may
ask you to remain here some days as a friend, without fear of your
refusal."

"Ah, madame," cried Croustil