—­Well, I ask for nothing better, she answered laughing; and addressing herself to Marcel:  Will you take my band-box for me?

He took the box, and at the same time offered his hand to help her to get up.  She leant on it prettily; and bowing to him, and to Ridoux also, she sat down beside Marcel.

—­You have come back then into the country, Mademoiselle.

—­I have not left it, sir; I have been ill.  I am coming out of the hospital.

—­Oh, really.  And what has been the matter with you?

—­’Pon my word, I don’t know.  I caught a chill after an evening performance, and when I woke up the next morning, I could not move arm or leg.  My father was obliged to leave me here in the hospital.  They have been very kind to me, and an old gentleman has even paid my coach-fare.  Oh, there are good people everywhere.

—­And you are going to Nancy?

—­To Nancy first, then I shall rejoin the company, which ought to be at
Epinal.

Ridoux was listening in his corner.

—­You know this young person then? he said.

—­I know her through having seen her once at Althausen.

—­Twice, the young girl corrected him:  when I arrived and when I went away. 
You remember, we were both of us at our window?

Marcel remembered it very well; he remembered still better the fantastic sight in the market-place, and the lascivious dance, and the theatrical low-cut dress of the mountebank, which had awakened all at once the passion of his feelings.  But as he was afraid of allowing the young girl to suspect that the memory of her had left too deep a mark upon him, he answered.

—­I don’t remember.

Meanwhile, a throng of beggars besieged the diligence; allured by the sight of the two cassocks, they recited all at the same time litanies, paters and aves in undefinable accents and in lamentable voices.  Ridoux and Marcel with much ostentation distributed a few sous among the most bare-faced and importunate, that is to say among the most expert beggars and consequently those who least deserved attention, then they threw themselves back into the carriage and shut their ears.

—­I have nothing more, said Ridoux, I have nothing more; go and work, you set of idlers.

—­Poor things, murmured the player; no doubt, among the number there are some who cannot work.

—­There, said Ridoux, is where the old order of things is ever to be lamented.  Formerly there were convents which fed all the beggars, while now these starving creatures will soon eat us all up.  Ah, it makes the heart bleed to see such misery.

And he took a pinch of snuff.

A poor woman, pale and sickly, with a child on her arm, kept timidly behind the greedy crowd.  Zulma perceived her, and made her a sign.  Then, taking a pie out of her hat-box, she cut it into two and gave her one half.