ers are so well satisfied with what I
do for them, that I am quite sure not to want for work; so what is there
for me to be ill about? It really is too amusing to hear you try to talk
sense, and only utter nonsense! Me ill!" And, at the very absurdity of
the idea, Rigolette again burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, so
loud and prolonged that a stout gentleman who was walking before her,
carrying a dog under his arm, turned around quite angrily, believing all
this mirth was excited by his presence.

Resuming her composure, Rigolette slightly curtseyed to the stout
individual, and pointing to the animal under his arm, said:

"Is your dog so very tired, sir?"

The fat man grumbled out some indistinct reply, and continued on his
way.

"My dear neighbour," said Rodolph, "are you losing your senses?"

"It is your fault if I am."

"How so?"

"Because you talk such nonsense to me."

"Do you call my saying that perhaps you might be ill, talking
foolishly?"

And, once more overcome by the irresistible mirth awakened by the
absurdity of Rodolph's suggestion, Rigolette again relapsed into long
and hearty fits of laughter; while Rodolph, deeply struck by this blind,
yet happy reliance upon the future, felt angry with himself for having
tried to shake it, though he almost shuddered as he pictured to himself
the havoc a single month's illness would make in this peaceful mode of
life. Then the implicit reliance entertained by Rigolette on the
stability of her employ, and her youthful courage, her sole treasures,
struck Rodolph as breathing the very essence of pure and contented
innocence; for the confidence expressed by the young dressmaker arose
neither from recklessness nor improvidence, but from an instinctive
dependence and belief in that divine justice which would never forsake a
virtuous and industrious creature,--a simple girl, whose greatest crime
was in relying too confidently on the blessed gifts of youth and health,
the precious boon of a heavenly benefactor. Do the birds of the air
remember, as they flit on gay and agile wing amidst the blue skies of
summer, or skim lightly over the sweet-smelling fields of blooming
lucerne, that bleak, cold winter must follow so much enjoyment?

"Then," said Rodolph to the grisette, "it seems you have no wish for
anything more than you already possess?"

"No, really I have not."

"Positively, nothing you desire?"

"No, I tell you. Stay, yes, now I recollect, there ar