left
my house you were followed, and were seen to enter there with the
Schoolmaster."

"But M. Murphy told me that you did not know where I lived, M. Rodolph."

"I was desirous of trying you still further; I wished to know if you had
disinterestedness in your generosity, and I found that, after your
courageous conduct, you returned to your hard daily labour, asking
nothing, hoping for nothing, not even uttering a word of reproach for
the apparent ingratitude with which I repaid your services; and when
Murphy yesterday proposed to you employment a little more profitable
than that of your habitual toil, you accepted it with joy, with
gratitude."

"Why, M. Rodolph, do you see, sir, four francs a day are always four
francs a day. As to the service I rendered you, why, it is rather I who
ought to thank you."

"How so?"

"Yes, yes, M. Rodolph," he added, with a saddened air, "I do not forget
that, since I knew you, it was you who said to me those two words,'You
have both heart and honour!' It is astonishing how I have thought of
that. They are only two little words, and yet those two words had that
effect. But, in truth, sow two small grains of anything in the soil, and
they will put forth shoots."

This comparison, just and almost poetical as it was, struck Rodolph. In
sooth, two words, but two magic words for the heart that understood
them, had almost suddenly developed the generous instincts which were
inherent in this energetic nature.

"You placed the Schoolmaster at St. Mande?" said Rodolph.

"Yes, M. Rodolph. He made me change his notes for gold, and buy a belt,
which I sewed round his body, and in which I put his 'mopuses;' and
then, good day! He boards for thirty sous a day with good people, to
whom that sum is of much service. When I have time to leave my
wood-piles, I shall go and see how he gets on."

"Your wood-piles! You forget your shop, and that you are here at home!"

"Come, M. Rodolph, do not amuse yourself by jesting with a poor devil
like me; you have had your fun in 'proving' me, as you term it. My house
and my shop are songs to the same tune. You said to yourself,'Let us see
if this Chourineur is such a gulpin as to believe that I will make him
such a present.' Enough, enough, M. Rodolph; you are a wag, and there's
an end of the matter."

And he laughed long, loud, and heartily.

"But, once more, believe--"

"If I were to believe you, then you would say, 'Poor Chourineur! go! you
are a