He could have known nothing, have learnt nothing on that point, for, in presence of the energy of her answer, he expressed no doubt whatever of her veracity, but contented himself with making a rough gesture which indicated how angry he felt at seeing his hungry hopes thus destroyed.

“So I’ve got to starve!” he growled.

Norine, utterly distracted, was possessed by one painful desire—­a desire that he might take himself away, and cease torturing her by his presence, to such a degree did remorse, and pity, and fright, and horror now wring her bleeding heart.  She opened a drawer and took from it a ten-franc piece, her savings for the last three months, with which she had intended to buy a New Year’s present for her little boy.  And giving those ten francs to Alexandre, she said:  “Listen, I can do nothing for you.  We live all three in this one room, and we scarcely earn our bread.  It grieves me very much to know that you are so unfortunately circumstanced.  But you mustn’t rely on me.  Do as we do—­work.”

He pocketed the ten francs, and remained there for another moment swaying about, and saying that he had not come for money, and that he could very well understand things.  For his part he always behaved properly with people when people behaved properly with him.  And he repeated that since she showed herself good-natured he had no idea of creating any scandal.  A mother who did what she could performed her duty, even though she might only give a ten-sous piece.  Then, as he was at last going off, he inquired:  “Won’t you kiss me?”

She kissed him, but with cold lips and lifeless heart, and the two smacking kisses which, with noisy affectation, he gave her in return, left her cheeks quivering.

“And au revoir, eh?” said he.  “Although one may be poor and unable to keep together, each knows now that the other’s in the land of the living.  And there is no reason why I shouldn’t come up just now and again to wish you good day when I’m passing.”

When he had at last disappeared long silence fell amid the infinite distress which his short stay had brought there.  Norine had again sunk upon a chair, as if overwhelmed by this catastrophe.  Cecile had been obliged to sit down in front of her, for she also was overcome.  And it was she who, amid the mournfulness of that room, which but a little while ago had held all their happiness, spoke out the first to complain and express her astonishment.

“But you did not ask him anything; we know nothing about him,” said she.  “Where has he come from?  What is he doing?  What does he want?  And, in particular, how did he manage to discover you?  These were the interesting things to learn.”

“Oh! what would you have!” replied Norine.  “When he told me his name he knocked all the strength out of me; I felt as cold as ice!  Oh! it’s he, there’s no doubt of it.  You recognized his likeness to his father, didn’t you?  But you are right; we know nothing, and now we shall always be living with that threat over our heads, in fear that everything will crumble down upon us.”