ar them. However, he
continued: "Is it agreed, my child? Only this once? Besides, it is our
only means of finding the big Old'un. You won't have to stop with me
later than eleven. And I should so like to show you all that! You will
see what terrible sufferings there are! And perhaps we may be fortunate
enough to relieve some poor creature or other."

Pierre smiled at the juvenile ardour displayed by this old man with snowy
hair. "It's agreed, my dear Abbe," he responded, "I shall be very pleased
to spend my whole evening with you, for I feel it will do me good to
follow you once more on one of those rambles which used to fill our
hearts with grief and joy."

At this moment the servant brought in the soup; however, just as the two
priests were taking their seats a discreet ring was heard, and when Abbe
Rose learnt that the visitor was a neighbour, Madame Mathis, who had come
for an answer, he gave orders that she should be shown in.

"This poor woman," he explained to Pierre, "needed an advance of ten
francs to get a mattress out of pawn; and I didn't have the money by me
at the time. But I've since procured it. She lives in the house, you
know, in silent poverty, on so small an income that it hardly keeps her
in bread."

"But hasn't she a big son of twenty?" asked Pierre, suddenly remembering
the young man he had seen at Salvat's.

"Yes, yes. Her parents, I believe, were rich people in the provinces.
I've been told that she married a music master, who gave her lessons, at
Nantes; and who ran away with her and brought her to Paris, where he
died. It was quite a doleful love-story. By selling the furniture and
realising every little thing she possessed, she scraped together an
income of about two thousand francs a year, with which she was able to
send her son to college and live decently herself. But a fresh blow fell
on her: she lost the greater part of her little fortune, which was
invested in doubtful securities. So now her income amounts at the utmost
to eight hundred francs; two hundred of which she has to expend in rent.
For all her other wants she has to be content with fifty francs a month.
About eighteen months ago her son left her so as not to be a burden on
her, and he is trying to earn his living somewhere, but without success,
I believe."

Madame Mathis, a short, dark woman, with a sad, gentle, retiring face,
came in. Invariably clad in the same black gown, she showed all the
anxious timidity of a poor