was beginning to boil.

"It seems to me, my good friend," he said, "that you did not act very
wisely. Still, if that is really all, I don't think they are likely to
trouble you."

"What else could there be?"

"How do I know? But if that young damsel had been carried off by M.
Maxime, if you were lending a hand in an elopement, I think you would
be in a bad box. The law is pretty strict about it, in the case of a
minor."

The concierge protested with a solemn air.

"I have told you the whole truth," he declared.

But Papa Ravinet did not by any means seem so sure of that.

"That is your lookout," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Still, you
may be sure they will ask you how it could happen that one of your
tenants should fall into such a state of abject poverty without your
giving notice to anybody."

"Why, in the first place, I do not wait upon my lodgers. They are free
to do what they choose in their rooms."

"Quite right, Master Chevassat! quite right! So you did not know that M.
Maxime no longer came to see Miss Henrietta?"

"He still came to see her."

In the most natural manner in the world, Papa Ravinet raised his arms to
heaven, and exclaimed as if horror-struck,--

"What! is it possible? That handsome young man knew how the poor girl
suffered? he knew that she was dying of hunger?"

Master Chevassat became more and more troubled. He began to see what the
old merchant meant by his questions, and how unsatisfactory his answers
were.

"Ah! you ask too many questions," he said at last. "It was not my duty
to watch over M. Maxime. As for Miss Henrietta, as soon as she is able
to move, the serpent! I tell you I'll send her off pretty quickly!"

The old merchant shook his head, and said in his softest voice,--

"My dear sir, you won't do that, because from today I'll pay the rent
for her room. And, more than that, if you wish to oblige me, you will
be very kind to the poor girl, you hear, and even respectful, if you
please."

There was no misunderstanding the meaning of the word "oblige," from the
manner in which he pronounced it; and yet he was about to enforce the
recommendation, when a fretting voice exclaimed on the stairs,--

"Chevassat! where are you, Chevassat?"

"It's my wife," said the concierge.

And, delighted to get away, he said to Papa Ravinet--

"I understand; she shall be treated as politely as if she were the
daughter of the owner of the house. But excuse me, I must attend t