“Well, the lady next door, she was an American, and common, very common, according to papa.  In comparison to us she had no family whatever.  Our little children were forbidden even to associate with her little children.  I thought that was ridiculous—­not that I am a democrat, but I thought it ridiculous.  But the children cared; they were so disobedient and they were always next door, and they always had something nice to eat over there.  I sometimes thought Clementine used to encourage their disobedience, just for the good things they got to eat over there.  But papa was always making fun of them; you know what a sharp tongue he had.  The gentleman was a clerk; and, according to papa, the only true gentlemen in the world had family and a profession.  We did not dare allow ourselves to think it, but Clementine and I knew that they, in fact, were in more comfortable circumstances than we.

“The lady, who also had a great number of children, sent one day, with all the discretion and delicacy possible, and asked me if I would be so kind as to—­guess what, Louise!  But only guess!  But you never could!  Well, to darn some of her children’s stockings for her.  It was God who inspired her, I am sure, on account of my praying so much to him.  You will be shocked, Louise, when I tell you.  It sounds like a sin, but I was not in despair when papa died.  It was a grief,—­yes, it seized the heart, but it was not despair.  Men ought not to be subjected to the humiliation of life; they are not like women, you know.  We are made to stand things; they have their pride,—­their orgueil, as we say in French,—­and that is the point of honor with some men.  And Clementine and I, we could not have concealed it much longer.  In fact, the truth was crying out everywhere, in the children, in the house, in our own persons, in our faces.  The darning did not provide a superfluity, I guarantee you!

“Poor papa!  He caught cold.  He was condemned from the first.  And so all his fine qualities died; for he had fine qualities—­they were too fine for this age, that was all.  Yes; it was a kindness of God to take him before he found out.  If it was to be, it was better.  Just so with Clementine as with me.  After the funeral—­crack! everything went to pieces.  We were at the four corners for the necessaries of life, and the bills came in—­my dear, the bills that came in!  What memories! what memories!  Clementine and I exclaimed; there were some bills that we had completely forgotten about.  The lady next door sent her brother over when papa died.  He sat up all night, that night, and he assisted us in all our arrangements.  And he came in afterward, every evening.  If papa had been there, there would have been a fine scene over it; he would have had to take the door, very likely.  But now there was no one to make objections.  And so when, as I say, we were at the four corners for the necessaries of life, he asked Clementine’s permission to ask me to marry him.