myself with the sight of some good action, just as a frugal man comforts himself with the sight of his little savings laid by in an old drawer.  I can’t do this, and I want to do it.  The want takes me like a fit, at uncertain intervals—­suddenly, under the most incomprehensible influences.  A glance up at the blue sky—­starlight over the houses of this great city, when I look out at the night from my garret window—­a child’s voice coming suddenly, I don’t know where from—­the piping of my neighbor’s linnet in his little cage—­now one trifling thing, now another—­wakes up that want in me in a moment.  Rascal as I am, those few simple words your sister spoke to the judge went through and through me like a knife.  Strange, in a man like me, isn’t it?  I am amazed at it myself. My life?  Bah!  I’ve let it out for hire to be kicked about by rascals from one dirty place to another, like a football!  It’s my whim to give it a last kick myself, and throw it away decently before it lodges on the dunghill forever.  Your sister kept a good cup of coffee hot for me, and I give her a bad life in return for the compliment.  You want to thank me for it?  What folly!  Thank me when I have done something useful.  Don’t thank me for that!”

He snapped his fingers contemptuously as he spoke, and walked away to the outer door to receive the jailer, who returned at that moment.

“Well,” inquired the hunchback, “has anybody asked for me?”

“No,” answered Lomaque; “not a soul has entered the room.  What sort of wine did you get?”

“So-so!  Good at a pinch, friend—­good at a pinch.”

“Ah! you should go to my shop and try a certain cask, filled with a particular vintage.”

“What shop?  Which vintage?”

“I can’t stop to tell you now; but we shall most likely meet again to-day.  I expect to be at the prison this afternoon.  Shall I ask for you?  Good!  I won’t forget!” With those farewell words he went out, and never so much as looked back at the prisoners before he closed the door.

Trudaine returned to his sister, fearful lest his face should betray what had passed during the extraordinary interview between Lomaque and himself.  But, whatever change there might be in his expression, Rose did not seem to notice it.  She was still strangely inattentive to all outward things.  That spirit of resignation, which is the courage of women in all great emergencies, seemed now to be the one animating spirit that fed the flame of life within her.

When her brother sat down by her, she only took his hand gently and said:  “Let us stop together like this, Louis, till the time comes.  I am not afraid of it, for I have nothing but you to make me love life, and you, too, are going to die.  Do you remember the time when I used to grieve that I had never had a child to be some comfort to me?  I was thinking, a moment ago, how terrible it would have been now, if my wish had been granted.  It is a blessing for me, in this great misery, that I am childless.  Let us talk of old days, Louis, as long as we can—­not of my husband; or my marriage—­only of the old times, before I was a burden and a trouble to you.”