he room, Tortillard made him a sign indicative
of his desire to speak with him alone, and hastily rejoined him in the
passage.

"What is it, my boy, you have to say to me?" inquired the old man,
kindly.

"Ah, my kind sir, I only wanted to say that my father is frequently
seized during the night with most violent convulsion-fits, which require
a much stronger person than I am to hold him; should I be obliged to
call for help, is there any person near who could hear me?"

"Poor child!" said the labourer, sympathisingly; "make yourself easy.
There,--do you see that door beside the staircase?"

"Oh, yes, good, kind gentleman; I see it."

"Well, one of the farm labourers sleeps in that room. You will only just
have to run to him. He never locks his door; and he will come to your
father in an instant."

"Thank you, sir; God bless you! I will remember all your kindness when I
say my prayers. But suppose, sir, the man and myself were not strong
enough together to manage my poor father when these violent convulsions
come on, could you, who look so good, and speak so kind--could you be
kind enough to come and tell us what to do?"

"Me, my boy? Oh, I sleep, as well as all the other men servants, out of
the house, in a large outbuilding in the courtyard. But make yourself
quite comfortable. Jean Rene could manage a mad bull, he is so powerful.
Besides, if you really wished any further help he would go and call up
our old cook; she sleeps on the first floor, even with our mistress and
young mademoiselle, and I can promise you that our old woman is a most
excellent sick-nurse should your father require any one to attend to him
when the fit is over."

"Thank you, kind gentleman, a thousand times. Good-night, sir. I will go
now and pray of God to bless you for your kindness and pity to the poor
blind."

"Good night, my lad! Let us hope both you and your father will enjoy a
sound night's rest, and have no occasion to require any person's help.
You had better return to your room now; your poor father may be wanting
you."

"I will, sir. Good night, and thank you!"

"God preserve you both, my child!" And the old man returned to the
kitchen.

Scarcely had he turned his back than the limping rascal made one of
those supremely insulting and derisive gestures familiar to all the
blackguards of Paris, consisting in slapping the nape of the neck
repeatedly with the left hand, darting the right hand quite open
continually out in