ness left him at the commencement of
his dreams.

But on this particular evening he had used up all his tobacco; the
pistol was completely hidden, and yet Jacques was still bitterly sad.
That evening, on the contrary Mademoiselle Francine was extremely
light-hearted when she came home, and like Jacques' sadness, her
light-heartedness was without cause. It was one of those joys that come
from heaven, and that God scatters amongst good hearts. So Mademoiselle
Francine was in a good temper, and sang to herself as she came upstairs.
But as she was going to open her door a puff of wind, coming through the
open staircase window, suddenly blew out her candle.

"Oh, what a nuisance!" exclaimed the girl, "six flights of stairs to go
down and up again."

But, noticing the light coming from under Jacques' door, the instinct of
idleness grafted on a feeling of curiosity, advised her to go and ask
the artist for a light. "It is a service daily rendered among
neighbors," thought she, "and there is nothing compromising about it."

She tapped twice, therefore, at the door, and Jacques opened it,
somewhat surprised at this late visit. But scarcely had she taken a step
into the room than the smoke that filled it suddenly choked her, and,
before she was able to speak a word, she sank fainting into a chair,
dropping her candle and her room door key onto the ground. It was
midnight, and everyone in the house was asleep. Jacques thought it
better not to call for help. He was afraid, in the first place, of
compromising his neighbor. He contented himself, therefore, with opening
the window to let in a little fresh air, and, after having sprinkled a
few drops of water on the girl's face, saw her open her eyes and by
degrees come to herself. When, at the end of five minutes' time, she had
wholly recovered consciousness, Francine explained the motive that had
brought her into the artist's room, and made many excuses for what had
happened.

"Now, then, I am recovered," said she. "I can go into my own room."

He had already opened the door, when she perceived that she was not
only forgetting to light her candle, but that she had not the key of her
room.

"Silly thing that I am," said she, putting her candle to the flame of
the resin taper, "I came in here to get a light, and I was going away
without one."

But at the same moment the draft caused by the door and window, both of
which had remained open, suddenly blew out the taper, and the