“In a year’s time, madame, I can repay the money you lent us, for it is God’s money, the money of the poor and wretched.  If ever I make a fortune, come to me for what you want, and I will render through you the help to others which you first brought us.”

“Just now,” said Madame Hulot, “I do not need your money, but I ask your assistance in a good work.  I have just seen that little Judici, who is living with an old man, and I mean to see them regularly and legally married.”

“Ah! old Vyder; he is a very worthy old fellow, with plenty of good sense.  The poor old man has already made friends in the neighborhood, though he has been here but two months.  He keeps my accounts for me.  He is, I believe, a brave Colonel who served the Emperor well.  And how he adores Napoleon!—­He has some orders, but he never wears them.  He is waiting till he is straight again, for he is in debt, poor old boy!  In fact, I believe he is hiding, threatened by the law—­”

“Tell him that I will pay his debts if he will marry the child.”

“Oh, that will soon be settled.—­Suppose you were to see him, madame; it is not two steps away, in the Passage du Soleil.”

So the lady and the stove-fitter went out.

“This way, madame,” said the man, turning down the Rue de la Pepiniere.

The alley runs, in fact, from the bottom of this street through to the Rue du Rocher.  Halfway down this passage, recently opened through, where the shops let at a very low rent, the Baroness saw on a window, screened up to a height with a green, gauze curtain, which excluded the prying eyes of the passer-by, the words: 

“ECRIVAIN PUBLIC”; and on the door the announcement: 

BUSINESS TRANSACTED.

Petitions Drawn Up, Accounts Audited, Etc.

With Secrecy and Dispatch.

The shop was like one of those little offices where travelers by omnibus wait the vehicles to take them on to their destination.  A private staircase led up, no doubt, to the living-rooms on the entresol which were let with the shop.  Madame Hulot saw a dirty writing-table of some light wood, some letter-boxes, and a wretched second-hand chair.  A cap with a peak and a greasy green shade for the eyes suggested either precautions for disguise, or weak eyes, which was not unlikely in an old man.

“He is upstairs,” said the stove-fitter.  “I will go up and tell him to come down.”

Adeline lowered her veil and took a seat.  A heavy step made the narrow stairs creak, and Adeline could not restrain a piercing cry when she saw her husband, Baron Hulot, in a gray knitted jersey, old gray flannel trousers, and slippers.

“What is your business, madame?” said Hulot, with a flourish.

She rose, seized Hulot by the arm, and said in a voice hoarse with emotion: 

“At last—­I have found you!”

“Adeline!” exclaimed the Baron in bewilderment, and he locked the shop door.  “Joseph, go out the back way,” he added to the stove-fitter.