assure you. There,--you see my basket; it is divided in two parts, and
each of my poor friends has an equal share in its contents. I have got
some clean things here for poor Louise, and I have left a similar packet
with Germain,--that is the name of my other poor captive. I cannot help
feeling ready to cry when I think of our last interview. I know it will
do no good, but still, for all that, the tears will come into my eyes."

"But what is it that distresses you so much?"

"Why, because, you see, poor Germain frets so much at being mixed up in
his prison with the many bad characters that are there, that it has
quite broken his spirits; he seems to have no taste, no relish for
anything, has quite lost his appetite, and is wasting away daily. So,
when I perceived the change, I said to myself: 'Oh, poor fellow, I see
he eats nothing. I must make him something nice and delicate to tempt
his appetite a little; he shall have one of those little dainties he
used to be so fond of when he and I were next-room neighbours.' When I
say dainties, of course I don't mean such as rich people expect by that
name. No, no, my dish was merely some beautiful mealy potatoes, mashed
with a little milk and sugar. Well, my dear Goualeuse, I prepared this
for him, put it in a nice little china basin and took it to him in his
prison, telling him I had brought him a little titbit he used once to be
fond of, and which I hoped he would like as well as in former days. I
told him I had prepared it entirely myself, hoping to make him relish
it. But alas, no! What do you think?"

"Oh, what?"

"Why, instead of increasing his appetite, I only set him crying; for,
when I displayed my poor attempts at cookery, he seemed to take no
notice of anything but the basin, out of which he had been accustomed to
see me take my milk when we supped together; and then he burst into
tears, and, by way of making matters still better, I began to cry, too,
although I tried all I could to restrain myself. You see how everything
went against me. I had gone with the intention of enlivening his
spirits, and, instead of that, there I was making him more melancholy
than ever."

"Still, the tears he shed were, no doubt, sweet and consoling tears!"

"Oh, never mind what sort of tears they were, that was not the way I
meant to have consoled him. But la! All this while I am talking to you
of Germain as if you knew him. He is an old acquaintance of mine, one of
the best young