hitherto
been able to count on.

Under these circumstances, and towards the end of December, at the time
when bread was dearest, and that dearth of corn was beginning to be felt
which made the year 1816 so hard on the poor, the stranger observed
on the features of the girl whose name was still unknown to him, the
painful traces of a secret sorrow which his kindest smiles could not
dispel. Before long he saw in Caroline's eyes the dimness attributed
to long hours at night. One night, towards the end of the month, the
Gentleman in Black passed down the Rue du Tourniquet at the quite
unwonted hour of one in the morning. The perfect silence allowed of his
hearing before passing the house the lachrymose voice of the old mother,
and Caroline's even sadder tones, mingling with the swish of a shower
of sleet. He crept along as slowly as he could; and then, at the risk
of being taken up by the police, he stood still below the window to hear
the mother and daughter, while watching them through the largest of the
holes in the yellow muslin curtains, which were eaten away by wear as a
cabbage leaf is riddled by caterpillars. The inquisitive stranger saw a
sheet of paper on the table that stood between the two work-frames, and
on which stood the lamp and the globes filled with water. He at once
identified it as a writ. Madame Crochard was weeping, and Caroline's
voice was thick, and had lost its sweet, caressing tone.

"Why be so heartbroken, mother? Monsieur Molineux will not sell us up or
turn us out before I have finished this dress; only two nights more and
I shall take it home to Madame Roguin."

"And supposing she keeps you waiting as usual?--And will the money for
the gown pay the baker too?"

The spectator of this scene had long practice in reading faces; he
fancied he could discern that the mother's grief was as false as the
daughter's was genuine; he turned away, and presently came back. When he
next peeped through the hole in the curtain, Madame Crochard was in bed.
The young needlewoman, bending over her frame, was embroidering with
indefatigable diligence; on the table, with the writ lay a triangular
hunch of bread, placed there, no doubt, to sustain her in the night and
to remind her of the reward of her industry. The stranger was tremulous
with pity and sympathy; he threw his purse in through a cracked pane
so that it should fall at the girl's feet; and then, without waiting to
enjoy her surprise, he escaped, his